Chapter 172: Eyes in the Sky

Chapter 172: Chapter 172: Eyes in the Sky

Chapter 172: Eyes in the Sky

Draven left the roaring heat of the Dwarven commercial district behind. He stepped onto one of the massive, steam-powered mechanical lifts reserved for military personnel.

He pulled the heavy iron lever, and the platform began its long, grinding ascent toward the upper Elven canopy.

The transition between the realms was usually a relief. The stifling smell of coal gave way to the crisp, clean scent of high-altitude pine.

But as the lift passed the halfway mark, something went terribly wrong.

A sudden, blinding spike of agony ripped through Draven’s chest. It felt as though a cluster of jagged glass shards had just detonated inside his lungs. His vision blurred violently. The strength completely vanished from his legs.

CLANG.

Draven collapsed to his knees, his heavy iron chainmail slamming against the metal floor of the lift. He gripped his chest, gasping for air. A harsh, violent cough tore out of his throat.

He spat a mouthful of dark, blackened blood onto the iron grate.

A glowing, blood-red interface flickered frantically across his vision.

[System Warning: Host container ’Haldor’ is experiencing critical mana channel fractures.]

[Alert: The physical vessel cannot sustain the continuous output of SS-Rank Vector Manipulation. Prolonged use of high-tier abilities will result in catastrophic physiological collapse and host death.]

Draven stared at the glowing red text. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his heavy, calloused hand.

’I pushed the container too far,’ Draven thought, his breathing shallow and ragged.

’Snapping locks, shattering glass, and moving silently... I was forcing an ocean of mana through a wooden cup. The cup is breaking.’

He closed his eyes and aggressively pulled his aura inward. He completely severed his connection to his vector authority, locking his devastating powers away deep inside his core.

The agonizing pressure in his chest slowly began to recede, leaving behind a dull, lingering ache.

He was no longer a god walking among mortals. He was now functionally trapped in the body of a physically weak, exhausted, middle-aged human guard.

The lift finally lurched to a halt at the edge of the Elven canopy.

Draven stood up slowly. His joints popped, and his muscles burned under the oppressive weight of his iron armor. Without his kinetic manipulation to lighten his steps or mask his movements, every single step was a grueling physical effort.

He moved away from the main lift station, slipping into the dense, glowing foliage. He had to rely entirely on his raw, physical military conditioning to climb the massive, sloping branches.

He forced himself to ignore the pain in his ribs, tracking a highly disciplined, completely perfectly concealed mana signature pulsing high above him.

He climbed a towering, silver-leafed oak tree. Hidden among the thickest cluster of branches, nearly a hundred feet in the air, was a sniper’s nest.

Draven pulled himself onto the branch, his iron armor clinking faintly against the bark.

The sniper did not turn around. She lay flat on her stomach, her eye pressed perfectly against the crystalline optic lens of an elegant Elven longbow. She wore a lightweight suit of shimmering, forest-green camouflage.

"Your armor clanks like a broken forge," Natalie whispered, her voice completely calm.

"But your footfalls are perfectly spaced, and you did not snap a single twig on the ascent. Stay low, Captain."

Draven crouched down beside her. "You did not need the code phrase."

"Nobody else stalks a target like you do," Natalie replied, keeping her weapon trained on the distant lower branches.

"This body belongs to an Elven Watchwarden named Faelia. Her eyesight is incredible. But we have a massive problem."

"Status," Draven ordered, fighting back another urge to cough.

"The King Level Beast is making its move," Natalie reported grimly.

"Nyx is occupying the body of a high-ranking Elven Shadow-Ranger named Ilithyia. Thirty minutes ago, a Dwarven ambassador was found dead in the neutral zone between the districts."

Draven’s eyes narrowed. "An assassination."

"A flawlessly framed assassination," Natalie corrected.

"The ambassador was killed using a highly restricted Elven neurotoxin. And planted directly inside his coat pocket was a forged military letter bearing Ilithyia’s exact, personal wax seal. The letter ordered the Dwarf’s execution."

Draven looked down through the gaps in the glowing leaves. The political trap was utterly devastating. Lord Lionel was creating irrefutable proof to convince the Forge-King that the Elves were already drawing blood.

"Where is Nyx?" Draven asked.

Natalie pointed her bow downward. "She is pinned."

Draven followed her line of sight. Three hundred feet below their sniper nest, an elite Elven kill-squad was silently surrounding a dark, hollowed-out storage branch.

There were twelve heavily armed rangers in total. Nyx was trapped inside the structure, completely cut off from the main roads.

"The Elven High Council ordered her immediate arrest for treason," Natalie explained quietly.

"They want to execute her to prove to the Dwarves that the Elven government had nothing to do with the murder. If Nyx fights back and kills those rangers, it proves the forged letter is real."

Natalie pulled the bowstring taut. The arrow began to hum with condensed wind magic.

"I have a clean line of sight on the squad leader," Natalie offered.

"I can drop him silently. It will create enough chaos for Nyx to slip into the shadows and escape."

Draven calculated the variables in a fraction of a second. If an unseen sniper started murdering Elven rangers, the entire canopy would go into total lockdown. The Elves would blame the Dwarves. The civil war would ignite immediately.

Draven tasted copper in the back of his throat. He forced the blood down.

"No," Draven ordered coldly.

Natalie glanced at him in surprise. "Captain, they are going to breach the door in less than two minutes."

"If we shed Elven blood today, Thaldrasil falls," Draven stated.

"Lower your weapon, Natalie. Send her a coded light signal using your optic lens. Tell her to drop her weapons and surrender to the kill-squad."

Natalie’s eyes went wide.

"Surrender? Captain, they will take her directly to the High Prison. It is a maximum-security fortress carved into the center of the mountain. It is an absolute death sentence."

"Let them take her," Draven commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"We cannot stop the arrest without starting a war. But we can break her out of a cell."

Natalie gritted her teeth. She trusted Draven implicitly, but ordering the Phantom Assassin to willingly walk into chains went against every instinct she possessed.

She lowered her bow. She angled the crystalline optic lens toward the dark storage branch below. She tapped the side of the glass rapidly, sending a series of microscopic, focused flashes of light directly into the shadows of Nyx’s hiding spot.

It was a Vanguard tactical code. Hold fire. Stand down. Surrender.

A moment later, the Elven kill-squad kicked the wooden door open.

Draven and Natalie watched from the high branches. Nyx did not fight. She stepped out of the darkness with her hands raised in the air, offering no resistance.

The Elven rangers immediately tackled her to the ground, binding her wrists in heavy, glowing magical restraints.

They dragged the Shadow-Ranger away toward the mechanical lifts, heading for the impenetrable depths of the High Prison.

"They have her," Natalie whispered, her grip tightening on her bow. "What now?"

"Now," Draven said, carefully pushing himself up onto his aching legs, "we plan a heist. Find Lucien. Tell him to meet me at the border of the prison sector. We are going to tear that fortress apart."