CHAPTER 268: CHAPTER 268: THE FAMILIAR SCENT

Noel sat in Nicolas office, the warm glow of mana-lamps casting shadows across the wooden desk. His body still felt sore, every muscle carrying the echo of the battle, but the ache in his chest wasn’t physical. Noir paced near the corner, tail moving in short, sharp motions. She wasn’t calm either.

On the far side of the room, beneath a simple cloth, lay the body of the dwarf he had fought. Noel’s eyes lingered on the outline—the broad shoulders, the stillness. He stepped closer, pulling the cloth back just enough to see the pale, lifeless face.

’An innocent,’ he thought bitterly. The man’s neck was marked, a mark that screamed ownership and chains. ’Probably had family in the factory too... probably fighting because someone held them hostage.’

He remembered the fight in vivid detail—the clash of steel, the mana-charged blows, and between each attack, the desperate, rasping plea: "Kill me... please... kill me." The dwarf’s eyes back then had been empty, but in that emptiness, Noel had seen truth.

Noel exhaled slowly, lowering the cloth again. He could almost feel the weight of it settling over him. "Guess I can’t just sit here, huh?" he murmured, glancing at Noir. She tilted her head, ears twitching as if she understood.

He crouched, scratching lightly behind her ear. "If I can’t stay still, I guess you can’t either. Seems like we have to act, too."

Noir gave a short, low huff, tail flicking once.

"Sorry for the girls," he added with a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "They probably guessed I wouldn’t stay put anyway."

Noel rose, straightening his coat, and gave one last look at the covered body. "Torwan’s not going to have it easy," he said under his breath, his tone sharp with intent.

Noir moved to the door first, waiting. Noel followed, pushing it open and stepping into the dim corridor. Their footsteps echoed quietly as they made their way toward the arena’s side exit, where the distant hum of the city waited.

The door shut behind them with a muted thunk, leaving the office—and the dwarf—silent.

The streets of Tharvaldur opened before Noel like nothing had happened. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of stone dust and roasting meat from food stalls. Merchants called out their prices in deep, booming voices, the clatter of carts and the rhythmic steps of boots on cobblestone filling the air.

To anyone else, it was just another day in the dwarven capital.

Noel walked with his hands in his pockets, Noir padding at his side. The contrast gnawed at him—inside the arena, lives had been toyed with, twisted into entertainment. Out here, laughter and trade thrived, untouched by the ugliness beneath.

’They have no idea,’ he thought, scanning the faces around him. Dwarves carried crates of ore, children dashed between market stalls, and shopkeepers haggled like their lives depended on it. The city’s surface was a living, breathing thing... but under it, something rotten was festering.

He thought back to the fight—the dwarf’s eyes, the brand, the pleas. Then, inevitably, his mind circled back to the smile Torwan had given him. That smirk hadn’t been one of victory or even amusement. It had been calculated, a quiet message: I know who you are.

Noel’s jaw tightened. That expression had stayed with him since the moment he left the arena floor. Torwan wasn’t just a powerful figure here—he was a predator who felt comfortable enough to play games in the open.

They passed over a wide stone bridge, the kind that connected entire sections of the city suspended in the great cavern. Below, streams of lava glowed faintly, their heat carried upward in occasional waves. Noir’s nose twitched, her head turning every so often as if something in the air bothered her.

"You’re restless too," Noel said quietly. Noir glanced up at him, ears angling toward his voice. "Good. Keep your senses open."

A pair of dwarven guards crossed their path, chatting idly about tournament matches. They didn’t give Noel a second glance. That, at least, worked in his favor.

He kept walking, letting the noise of the market fade into a dull backdrop as his mind sharpened on one goal. There were threads here—hidden ones—and if Torwan thought he could wrap them around Noel without resistance, he was mistaken.

The sunlight filtering through the cavern’s skylight glinted off the stone streets, and Noel’s pace quickened. Noir followed, her ears still twitching, as if she’d caught the faintest whisper of a trail.

Noir lowered her head, sniffing with deliberate movements, her pace slowing until she froze in place.

Noel reached into his coat sleeve, feeling the familiar cool metal of the Omen Coil around his forearm. The relic was subtle—blackened steel etched with faint, swirling lines that pulsed lightly with mana. He tightened it with a practiced twist, feeling the faint hum of activation.

The Omen Coil’s presence was like a steady weight against his skin, sharpening his perception, pushing away the fuzziness that illusions often brought. He knew Torwan well enough to expect tricks—illusions were one of his favorite tools.

Noir gave a low growl and moved forward, following a scent that seemed to cut through the mingled smells of coal, stone, and food. Noel’s eyes scanned every shadow, every corner. The Coil wasn’t just there for protection—it let him feel when something wasn’t right. The edges of his vision seemed cleaner now, less prone to warping.

They slipped past a row of shuttered shops until Noel spotted it: faint traces of mana on the brick wall—thin, almost invisible threads clinging to the surface. He touched them lightly, and the Coil pulsed once, confirming it was illusion residue.

"Not bad," he muttered under his breath. "But not enough."

He followed Noir around another corner, into a narrow lane that smelled faintly of smoke. The trail wove between crates and barrels, the path almost too erratic for a normal walk. Whoever they were tracking wasn’t trying to move unseen—they were trying to mislead.

A faint shimmer passed across the far end of the alley, like heat haze. Noel’s eyes narrowed, but the Omen Coil cut through it instantly, revealing the faint outline of a figure for a heartbeat before the shimmer vanished.

"Torwan..." His voice was low, more thought than speech.

Noir’s pace quickened suddenly, pulling him along until the alley opened into a much busier street. The sudden rush of voices and movement hit them like a wall. Noel scanned quickly, but the trail scattered here—too many scents, too much mana.

Noir froze mid-step, her ears locking forward. Her head snapped toward the left, nostrils flaring, and then she bolted into the crowd without hesitation.

Something in her movements told Noel this wasn’t just a lead—it was something she recognized.