CHAPTER 265: _WHERE’S YOUR PROOF?

Elian’s POV

*****

"Welcome to Veilastra city." The commander’s voice echoed into their sky craft after a couple of minutes of high-speed flying.

Elian and Lucian sat in the Lunarian sky craft, which followed the directions of the Arcadian air crafts from Silver Pine forest. The former’s mind still reeled from the battle against the Umbra beasts.

Despite their best attempts, seven out of the ten Arcadian soldiers still lost their lives. Despite HIS attempts. And even after all that Kyren was still out there.

He subconsciously clutched the ruby necklace, glancing through the side holographic windows showing the view outside. A view that stole his breath away.

Veilastra.

Around them were lines and rows of floating crystal towers that shimmered like staffs of gods under the sunlight. These crystal towers touched the clouds. And people—witches—lived in them.

Runes were etched into the buildings on the ground level of the city.

The runes weren’t just markings.

They pulsed softly and rhythmically. Like the heartbeat of the entire city was stitched directly into its stone.

Magic and architecture braided together so seamlessly in the city that Elian couldn’t tell where spellwork ended and engineering began.

Glittering transit rails spiralled between floating structures like silver threads. Sky platforms glided on silent mana currents, carrying witches in long coats embroidered with living sigils that shifted as they walked.

Even the streets below shimmered with mana lines glowing blue and silver underneath the transparent crystal pathways.

Lucian leaned forward slightly. "This place... is way more breathtaking than the books make it."

Elian swallowed, because yeah. It was.

On the distant horizon, a massive obsidian spire hummed with rotating golden rings, each etched with runes that reconfigured themselves in real time like an AI powered by ancient spellcraft.

Arcadian capitalism at its peak.

A city powered by mana. A city thriving on it.

Elian had never seen anything so terrifyingly beautiful.

The commander’s voice echoed into the Lunarian craft from their communication systems: "Veilastra is the Arcadian capital of innovation. Magi-tech research, spell-forge industries, dimensional labs... all headquartered here."

As if on cue, a flock of tiny metallic drones swept past their skycraft, leaving trails of holographic glyphs advertising potion brands and arcane enhancement clinics.

Lucian raised a brow. "They have ads."

Elian almost snorted. "Of course they do. It’s Arcadia."

But beneath the awe and the neon rune glow pulsing through the skyline, a cold knot twisted in his stomach.

Their main reason for being here wasn’t to enjoy the view. They were here to finally meet the Arcadian Council. In person this time.

And hopefully, they could make those bone-headed old witches see that corruption was sleeping somewhere in their circle.

Elian tightened his grip on the ruby necklace. ’I’m coming for you, Kyren.’

Eventually, the sky craft vibrated with a faint hum as it approached the obsidian tower. An entrance in the tower opened, letting the sky crafts fly through seamlessly.

After flying past a few hundred meters of huge black walls etched with golden runes, they finally arrived at an interior that took Elian by surprise.

A large courtyard with Arcadian soldiers already waiting on the marble floor, each holding laser guns and donned in full-body tech armour.

The sky crafts landed on the ground, ramps opening soon after.

"Stay close." Lucian held Elian’s palm tightly as they walked down the steps.

Under the stern scrutiny of the Arcadian soldiers.

"... I don’t trust these witches for a second." Lucian continued with a whisper. "If they make any wrong moves I—"

"You don’t trust the people who so graciously let you into our seat of leadership?" A feminine voice, melodious and powerful, boomed through the courtyard.

Elian and Lucian swerved their heads simultaneously, meeting the gaze of a robed woman who walked past the line of Arcadian soldiers gathered.

"Councillor Morwen." The soldiers bowed but she merely waved at them, a small smile curling her lips.

One directed at Lucian and Elian. And completely devoid of warmth.

[Now that’s not a good way to start diplomatic discussions.] The system chimed.

Elian swallowed hard, clutching Lucian’s hand tighter when their feet finally touched the courtyard’s marble floor.

The female witch was one of the five Arcadian Council witches. And from what he got during their video call with her—she was the leader.

"Greetings." Lucian placed his right hand on his chest, bowing curtly. "Forgive how... Harsh that sounded. But with everything that has happened, can you blame us?"

Trying to keep himself busy, Elian scanned his eyes through the courtyard.

In addition to its large size, it also featured a crystal dome ceiling that was several tens of meters high. On the edges of the round courtyard were several floors with rows of entrances, each leading to a different room.

"Still as critical as ever, Alpha Prince." Morwen clasped her palms together, robes shimmering with almost every movement. "But if you remember, our last call ended with my fellow councillors and me leaving to attend to an urgent situation. One in Silverpine."

She paused, tilting her head.

For a brief second, her gaze lingered on Elian. Just a beat. But enough to make the latter feel uneasy.

[I can’t tell exactly what level she is as a witch. But damn—she’s like a mana battery. Probably a transcendent cored mage like Kyren. Maybe more.]

More?!

’There’s only one more level after transcendent, isn’t there?’ Elian questioned. ’So what do you mean she could—’

[It’s a possibility. But for now, my scanners can’t pinpoint the exact level unless she tells us herself. Or—unless you complete your mission so I can evolve.]

"Councillor." The witch commander stepped forward quickly just then, bowing. "The Alpha Prince mentioned that Lunaria sensed the mana surge from SilverPine. Named it a continental-level threat."

Morwen scoffed. "And you believed him? It’s clear to me they’re both here to find their Rogue King friend."

Elian’s fists clenched tightly beside him.

He bit down on the urge to snap back, jaw ticking. Lucian stepped forward before he could open his mouth.

"We’re here because something is wrong in Silverpine," Lucian said, voice cold enough to frost the runes under their feet. "And if you’d let us actually report our findings instead of assuming motives, you’d know that."

Morwen raised a brow, unimpressed. "Then speak. What did you supposedly find?"

The commander swallowed, stepping between them. "Councillor... with your permission—"

"Report," she clipped.

He nodded quickly. "We found traces of another squad in Silverpine. Not ours, Rogues or Lunarians. Their boot markings weren’t Arcadian design but they were witch-made. Someone’s modified their equipment."

Morwen’s eyes narrowed just slightly. "Modified? By whom?"

"That’s the problem, Councillor," the commander said. "We... don’t know. But whoever they were, they opened something."

Lucian crossed his arms. "A rift. Through spacetime."

The courtyard stirred. A few soldiers shifted, muttering. Morwen’s expression tightened.

"That’s impossible," she snapped.

Elian stepped forward, voice steady but low. "We saw the fracture lines in the earth. The residual mana signatures."

"And we detected traces of physical augmentation magic too," the commander added. "Someone on the ground was using enhanced strength spells. High-level ones."

Morwen slowly turned her head toward him, lips curling. "Fascinating. So all I’m hearing... are signs."

Elian bristled.

She lifted her chin. "Signs of soldiers you can’t identify. Signs of magic you cannot confirm. Signs of phenomena that conveniently vanished the moment you arrived." She flicked her fingers dismissively. "Where is your proof?"

Lucian’s patience snapped like a brittle twig.

"Oh, I don’t know," he said with a sharp laugh, "maybe we would have proof if we weren’t conveniently attacked by Umbra beasts five minutes after stepping into the forest."

The air in the courtyard went razor-thin.

Elian watched Morwen’s expression flicker—just once. A crack in the mask.

Lucian stepped closer, towering. "You expect me to believe Umbra beasts — shadow predators that haven’t been seen in Arcadia for decades — just happened to be wandering by? Right when we’re investigating? Right when we’re getting close to something?"

"That implication," Morwen hissed, "is dangerously close to accusing us of treason."

Lucian didn’t blink. "I’m accusing someone. Maybe not you. Maybe someone above you."

Elian’s stomach dropped.

Oh gods. He went there.

Whispers rippled through the soldiers. Even the commander paled.

Morwen’s magic flared, raising the tiny hairs along Elian’s arms. "You tread a narrow line, Alpha Prince."

"Then give us something to trust," Lucian shot back. "Send more than a clean-up team. Let us speak to the one person who would know what the heck is going on."

Morwen narrowed her eyes. "Who?"

"The High Matron."

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

Morwen’s entire posture snapped taut.

"No."

Her voice echoed through the courtyard. "Absolutely not. She does not entertain foreign delegates. She does not involve herself in trivial—"

"She’s your Supreme Leader," Lucian cut in. "And you’ve kept her locked away for years. No public addresses. No appearances. No council broadcasts. Just whispers, rumours and conveniently timed absences."

Elian felt the temperature drop.

"Lucian—" he whispered, tugging his sleeve.

But the prince was done holding back.

"Your secrecy is suspicious." Lucian took another step. "And if you think we’re going to stand here and pretend otherwise while the continent could be collapsing in on itself—"

Morwen snarled, mana crackling around her robes. "You over step!"

"And you hide too much."

Magic flared hot enough to rattle the crystal dome.

Just when it seemed the courtyard was about to explode—

A force slammed through the air like a tidal wave of pressure.

Every light rune in the dome flickered.

A voice followed, smooth, ancient, and powerful enough to drop Elian’s stomach straight into the abyss:

"I’m not hidden."

All eyes snapped to the far end of the courtyard.