CHAPTER 162: THE GREAT SUN HUNT

Word did not travel across the surface world through banners or horns. It moved through the dark, passed from mouth to shadow in the subterranean trade hubs and back-alley black-market guilds that ran like veins beneath the human kingdoms.

The offer issued from the Obsidian Citadel was simple, precise, and intoxicating:

For every head of a Sun-Gilded Sentinel brought to the Citadel’s outer gates, the Lord of the Citadel will grant five Obsidian Crystal Beads.

To the outer clan mercenaries and dark elf hunters who had tasted the Moon Flame Art, the bounty was far more than gold, serving as true lifeblood. Having felt their cultivation leap an entire notch in a single breath, the agonizing crawl of their original techniques without a bead was unbearable. They were hooked, starving for the pure, dark energy that kept their internal flames roaring.

Before High Lord Lorien could even finalize his grand march, the shadows of the surface world had already begun to move.

Across the borders of the Solarian territory, the fifty Sun-Gilded Sentinels, shining in their golden-etched mithril plate and radiating pure solar arcana, marched as the vanguard of the elven force. Arrogant in their absolute strength, they moved in small, proud patrols through the border forests, believing no human or surface warlord would dare challenge the pride of Mount Eldoria.

They did not expect the Underdark to come to them.

In the dark alcoves of the surface borderlands, elite hunter packs formed almost overnight. Exiled Shadowblades, veteran arachne slayers, and rogue clan captains who usually fought one another for scraps now formed silent, lethal hunting parties.

"Five beads for one golden helmet," a scarred dark elf hunter muttered, crouching on a high pine branch as he watched a four-man Sentinel patrol pass below. His violet eyes burned with a desperate, feverish light. "My core demands it."

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"Strike the neck seams," his partner whispered from the shadows, daggers drawn. "Don't ruin the head."

The assault was not a glorious war; it was a cold, systematic slaughter.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, the darkness belonged to the hunters. Void-phase magic blurred their movements as they executed the simplified Flow Step, bypassing the heavy mithril armor of the Sentinels entirely. Shadows detached from tree trunks; daggers coated in spider venom slid through gorget gaps; silent shadow-arrays muffled the dying screams of High Elves who had never known defeat.

By dawn of the third day, the ripple effect shattered the Solarian command.

High Lord Lorien stood within his vanguard war tent, his golden aura flaring in absolute rage. Before him lay a bare wooden table, and resting upon it were the golden, runic helmets of twelve Sun-Gilded Sentinels, retrieved from the forest floor.

The heads inside them were gone.

"Who did this?!" Lorien roared, his solar mana incinerating the wooden table into ash in an instant. "Which human scum dared ambush the elite of Mount Eldoria?!"

A trembling Solarian scout knelt before him, pale as snow. "My... My Lord... It was not human army units. The tracks... the residual mana... it is dark elf umbral arcana. Rogue hunters from the deep. They aren't holding territory. They are hunting our Sentinels like wild beasts, taking only their heads!"

Far to the west, at the base of the Obsidian Citadel, the gates swung open in the dead of night.

A line of cloaked dark elf hunters stepped out of the fog, dropping dripping leather sacks at the feet of Old Bones and Caius.

Caius stood upon the battlements, looking down at the bloody trade. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a heavy pouch of Obsidian Crystal Beads to the lead hunter, whose hands trembled in manic joy as he caught it.

"Twelve Sentinels down before their army even reaches my valley," Caius murmured, a cold, sharp smile playing on his lips. "It seems our bounty system is quite effective."

Old Bones chuckled softly beside him, adjusting his long saber. "The black-market guilds are in a frenzy, My Lord. More packs are crossing the threshold every hour. High Lord Lorien thought he was leading a crusade, but now his pride is being hunted piece by piece."