Chapter 166: Vanished Coffin

Chapter 166: 166: Vanished Coffin

He followed the northern carrier path without rushing.

The red coffin had left a clear trail at first. It was not only the mark of boots or the drag of a heavy frame over stone. It carried an old blood smell, cold and thick, like a sealed wound that had been reopened after many years. Even Elowen could feel something wrong in the air when they moved along the path, though she could not explain it properly.

Lucard did not need her to explain.

He could read the trail better than any hunter.

The people carrying the coffin had been frightened. Their steps were uneven. In some places, one side of the carrier frame had scraped against stone because the person on that side had moved too fast. A few drops of sealing ash had fallen along the road. Once, Lucard found a dark red mark on a rock where the coffin must have touched it through the cloth.

He touched the mark with one finger.

The blood power inside it was already fading.

"They passed here not long ago," he said.

Elowen stood a few steps behind him, holding her injured shoulder. "Can we catch them?"

Lucard looked ahead. "Maybe."

She did not ask if catching them was good. She had learned enough not to expect a normal answer.

They continued forward.

The path became narrower after a while. Black stones rose on both sides, and the ground sloped toward a dry streambed. A normal group carrying something heavy would have slowed there, but the coffin’s trail became stranger instead. The scrape marks grew lighter. The footprints became fewer. The smell of old blood thinned until it almost vanished.

Lucard stopped.

Elowen stopped too, this time without being told.

The last marks ended near a flat circle of pale stone.

There were no broken branches ahead. No drag marks. No fresh footprints. No spilled ash. The coffin had not turned left or right. It had not gone farther along the streambed. It had not been hidden under stones. It had simply reached that pale circle and disappeared.

Elowen looked around with confusion. "Where did they go?"

Lucard crouched and touched the ground.

The stone was warm.

Not from sunlight. The surrounding stones were cool under the mountain wind. This warmth came from magic. A movement spell, perhaps. Or a prepared relay point. Maybe a flying beast had landed here and taken them. Maybe the coffin had been lifted by a hidden formation.

He looked up.

There were faint marks on one high stone. Claw marks. Large. Deep. Not fresh enough to give blood, but new enough to matter.

"Something carried them," Lucard said.

Elowen’s eyes widened. "A beast?"

"Or a flying mount."

"Velkhur has those?"

"Duke families have many things."

She looked at the empty sky. "Then the coffin is gone."

"For now."

Lucard’s voice was calm, but his eyes stayed on the pale stone longer than before.

The coffin had recognized his blood. The system had warned him that prolonged contact might awaken its contents. Now Velkhur had moved it away by a method prepared in advance. That meant Lord Garrick’s people had known the path was unsafe and had prepared a way to escape with the coffin if trouble came.

It was not a foolish plan. Not a perfect one either.

The coffin had left a faint trace in his senses. It was not enough to follow across the sky, but enough that he would remember it if he came near it again.

Elowen watched him carefully. "Are you angry?"

"No."

"You look quiet."

"I am thinking."

"That is worse sometimes."

Lucard stood. "The coffin is no longer nearby. We move."

"Where?"

He opened the old Stoneford map. The marks around the northern part of the Maw Range were dense. Some were beast dens. Some were old hunter shelters. Some were spring marks. One of them stood near a broken cliff line, marked with blue ink and a small note written in old noble script.

Elowen came closer and read it.

"Deepwell Spring," she said softly.

Lucard looked at her.

She continued, "My mother told me about this place once. She said old mages visited it when the lower water rose. The spring has ordinary water on top, but the purest water comes from below. If someone can take that deep water without letting it mix with the surface, it can increase mana and help a mage rank up."

"Useful."

"Very useful," Elowen said. "But dangerous. The records say the spring does not give deep water easily."

Lucard looked at the map. "How?"

"I do not remember everything. Something about pressure, cold, and mana flow. Some people dive. Some use tools. Some try magic. Most fail because the surface water ruins the deep water if it mixes too early."

Lucard folded the map. "Then we go there."

Elowen sighed quietly.

"What?" he asked.

"I already knew you would say that."

"Then you are learning."

"I am learning that every dangerous place on a map becomes our next road."

"That is a useful lesson."

She gave him a tired look but followed.

They left the pale stone circle behind.

The path to Deepwell Spring was harder than the carrier road. It climbed through narrow ridges, crossed a slope of loose stones, and passed under cliffs where old bird nests hung like black knots. Elowen struggled more than once, but she did not ask to stop. Her anger from the Blood Pit had not fully faded, and it seemed to have turned into stubbornness.

Lucard noticed the change.

When a stone slipped under her foot, she caught herself against a rock and hissed from the pain in her injured shoulder. She waited for him to call her weak. He did not. That seemed to annoy her more than the insult would have.

After another hour, they heard voices.

Lucard raised his hand.

Elowen stopped.

The voices came from beyond the next ridge. Many people. Too many for a small hunting group. There was also the sound of metal cups, horses, running water, and low arguments. Lucard moved to the ridge edge and looked down.

Deepwell Spring was already full of people.

The spring sat inside a round stone basin at the bottom of a natural hollow. Clear water rose from the center and spread outward in gentle rings before flowing into three narrow streams. The surface looked peaceful, but Lucard could feel something deeper below it. Cold mana moved under the water like a sleeping serpent.

Around the spring were tents, carts, guards, and mages from different groups. Some wore noble colors. Some looked like wealthy hunters. Some seemed to be wandering mages. There were at least sixty people gathered, perhaps more hidden behind tents and rocks. They were not fighting openly, but the air was tense. Everyone watched the spring. Everyone waited.

Elowen crouched beside Lucard and looked down. "So many..."

Lucard’s eyes moved from group to group. "They came for the deep water."

"Yes," she whispered. "The lower water must be rising soon. That is why they are waiting."

At the very center of the spring stood an old man. He did not stand in the water. He stood above it.

His feet rested lightly on the surface as if the spring had become stone under him. He wore a plain gray robe, with white hair tied behind his head and a long beard falling to his chest. He held no staff, no sword, and no visible wand. Yet nobody below dared step too close to the spring while he stood there.

Lucard studied him.

He was strong. Very strong.

The old man’s mana did not press outward like Aldren’s or burn like Velkhur flame. It was quiet. That made it more dangerous. Weak mages leaked power when they wanted others to respect them. Strong mages did not need to leak anything. Their stillness was enough.

Elowen swallowed. "Who is he?"

Lucard’s eyes remained on the old man. "Someone above the others."

A young mage near the spring suddenly shouted, "Senior, how long must we wait? The Deepwell rise should have begun by now."

The old man did not look at him.

"When the water rises, it rises," he said.

His voice was not loud, but everyone heard it.

Another man, dressed like a noble servant, bowed deeply. "Our lord only asks for one vial, Senior. We have brought payment."

The old man opened his eyes slightly.

The servant immediately lowered his head farther.

"The spring does not sell water to gold," the old man said. "I will take 90 percent of the water. Rest you can fight for ten percent. I don’t care who gets how much."

No one laughed.

The servant stepped back with a stiff face.

Lucard watched the old man with greater interest.

Deepwell Spring was not only a resource. It was guarded, or at least controlled, by someone strong enough to make nobles wait like common beggars.

That meant the water had real value.

Elowen whispered, "We should not go down."

Lucard looked at her.

She quickly added, "I know. That means you want to go down."

"Not yet."

That surprised her. "Not yet?"

"Too many eyes."

Below them, one of the mages began preparing a long silver tube attached to crystal wires. Another group had brought a mana box. A third group was arguing over a sealed glass bottle covered in runes. Everyone had a different method to get the deep water, and everyone looked ready to attack if someone else succeeded first.

Then the old man standing on the water slowly turned his head.

His gaze moved toward Lucard’s ridge.

Lucard pulled Elowen down at once.

They pressed behind the stone, hidden from the hollow below.

Elowen’s eyes widened, but she did not make a sound.

A breath passed.

Then another.

The old man’s calm voice rose from the spring below.

"Little watcher on the ridge, your hiding skill is better than most. But do not think better means perfect."

Lucard’s eyes became still.

Elowen stopped breathing for a second.

The old man had noticed them.