CHAPTER 249: 249

Beside him, Martina stood like a statue, her arms still crossed over her chest. She hadn’t spoken in a while, seemingly content with the silence. But Kael knew better—her silence was never emptiness. It was a calculation.

After a while, unable to suppress the growing unease in his chest, Kael turned slightly toward her and asked, his tone quiet but serious, "Your Highness... how do we plan to leave the city?"

His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. That question had lingered in his thoughts ever since they arrived. With the guards locking down the districts and checkpoints multiplying, escape was no longer just a problem—it was a looming danger.

He hadn’t asked earlier, partly to avoid rousing panic among the others, especially the younger ones. But now, under the quiet of the night and with only Martina present, it could no longer be avoided.

Martina didn’t answer immediately. She shifted her gaze toward him, thoughtful, and after a beat, she said, "That’s a good question... but I’ll take care of it."

Kael blinked. A visible question mark seemed to flash across his face.

"You will?" he asked, incredulous. "Your Highness, if there’s even one more spy among the informants, we might all be in serious trouble."

At his concern, Martina gave a soft chuckle one with no warmth at all.

"Now that you say that..." she said, her tone casual, but her eyes turned sharp—like frost-tipped blades. "...I do find it troublesome."

Kael’s breath hitched slightly. It wasn’t her words that unsettled him—it was the sudden shift in her aura. Her body hadn’t moved, but the air around her had dropped in temperature. The air felt heavier, darker, like something ancient had stirred from slumber.

Her greenish eyes gleamed coldly beneath the moonlight. Kael saw it clearly now—murderous intent blooming behind that regal demeanor. It wasn’t rage. No, Martina was far beyond rage. What he saw was purpose—calculated, merciless, and absolute.

She had no intention of letting the betrayers escape. She didn’t just want to catch the spy—she wanted to erase everyone who dared to cross her.

But a moment later, as if switching off a switch, she sighed and waved a hand. The dangerous aura dissipated like mist caught in morning light.

"You don’t need to worry about that," she said, her voice returning to a composed, almost motherly calm. "I’ll handle it."

Kael didn’t press further. Deep down, he believed her—and that was what unsettled him most.

....

While Kael and the others finally had a moment of rest at the inn, the city above them remained choked with unrest. But far beneath the cobbled streets of Nevan, in the damp, shadowy underbelly of the port district, an entirely different storm brewed.

Inside a sealed underground chamber—once an abandoned smuggler’s base, now repurposed for something far darker—a heavy, murderous aura pressed against the air.

At the center of the room sat Adele.

Her violet hair shimmered like strands of silk, draping down the sides of a high-backed seat carved from dark, polished stone. She was elegance wrapped in danger, a picture of regal calm, yet the wine glass in her gloved hand swirled with a tension that matched the storm in her narrowed eyes.

The room was filled with the scent of wet stone, old wine, and fear. Around her stood seven men—informants, scouts, and spies—all rigid and pale-faced as they waited for their mistress to speak.

She said nothing at first, choosing instead to sip slowly from her wine. The liquid touched her lips, but she didn’t savor it. It was a ritual—an anchor keeping her from snapping.

The torchlight flickered along the damp stone walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed ready to consume the weak-hearted.

Then, after a long, cold pause, Adele lowered her glass and tapped her finger gently against it. The sharp clink echoed like a death knell.

Her eyes slid toward the man on the far left—sweaty, fidgeting, his collar soaked from stress.

"So," she said, her voice smooth as silk yet carrying the weight of coiled fury. "You’re back."

No one dared respond. She already knew the answer, but her words demanded a confession.

Adele let her gaze drift lazily from one face to another before finally fixing on the trembling scout.

"You searched all night," she continued, her tone turning acidic. "The entire night. The ports. The tunnels. The safehouses. The warehouses and the gates."

Another pause. Her voice dropped lower.

"And you found nothing?"

The man she was watching swallowed hard, lips twitching, before stammering out a desperate defense.

"L-Lady Adele, we searched every route. But someone tipped them off, we think. When we reached the north pier, it had already been abandoned. We suspect they slipped through the merchant lanes during the fog—"

Crash!

Adele moved like lightning.

The glass in her hand, half-filled with dark red wine, hurtled through the air with terrifying force and struck the man squarely on the cheek. A dull crack rang out as the glass shattered, spraying crimson droplets across the stone floor—not all of it wine.

The man screamed and stumbled back, clutching his face, a thin cut already leaking blood just below his eye.

The other men didn’t move a muscle.

Adele stood slowly from her chair, the hem of her violet cloak brushing the stone behind her with a soft whisper. Her presence seemed to expand, and the chamber shrank in response.

Her lips curled into a smile—one so cold it made the torches flicker.

"Do I look like someone who enjoys hearing excuses?"

The bleeding man whimpered.

"I trusted you a lot to keep eyes on the them," Adele continued, her voice rising just slightly, enough to crack through the bones of every man present. "I gave you everything and you let one woman and her little entourage slip past you?"

Her eyes sharpened.

"No... not just any woman. That scheming little snake. And now she’s vanished again... under your watch."

She descended the short steps from her seat and walked with slow, deliberate steps toward the injured man. Blood dripped from his hand to the stone, leaving a crimson trail, but he dared not move away.

Adele crouched beside him, brushing his hair back with mock tenderness as her voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

"I gave you one night. One task. And you couldn’t even catch them whom might be found easily mana sense."

He shuddered.

Adele stood up, flicking her hand as though brushing away dust.

"Get out," she said coolly. "Before I change my mind."

The man nearly collapsed in relief, bowing repeatedly as he scrambled toward the chamber doors. The others quickly followed, retreating with as much quiet urgency as they could muster.

The heavy iron door slammed shut behind them, leaving Adele alone in the chamber once more.

For a moment, the room was deathly silent.

Then she exhaled through her nose and returned to her chair, reaching for a new glass and the nearly empty bottle of wine at her side. She poured it slowly, red liquid trickling in like blood from a wound.

Her violet eyes glinted.

"You’re more slippery than I expected."

She leaned back, legs crossed, and stared at the map spread out before her—a map of the city’s entire port sector, inked with notes, arrows, and red Xs marking failed checkpoints.

"You won’t get far," she whispered, sipping from the glass again.

Her voice drifted across the empty chamber, soft and deadly.

"Since you attacked here.It would be fair to cross fire over there."

And with that, she sank deeper into her seat, lost in thought—but her gaze never left the map, nor the mark labeled.

The label indicates Martina’s hidden base in the city of Aerilon that was around 50 miles away.