SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 117: Drift (5)

The forest widened.

Not like a clearing, more like something had pushed the trees back. Flattened the snow. The air here felt stale. Not older. Just... touched.

Lucen stepped past a cracked tree trunk, eyes scanning ahead. His system pinged again, ambient pressure lowering slightly. Which wasn’t normal.

Then something moved in the drift just ahead. Not fast. Not a summon.

Just a man.

Bent forward, one arm dragging, clothes shredded and frozen stiff at the edges. Long coat, ripped. Hood missing. One side of his face was swollen and purple-blue, like he’d taken a hard punch and then slept on it for two weeks.

He saw them.

Flinched. Blinked hard.

Then stumbled forward and rasped, "You’re real?"

Lucen paused.

Varik stepped up beside him.

The man fell to his knees in the snow. Not dramatic. Just... empty. He dropped there like standing had been a choice he ran out of.

"I—I thought they weren’t letting anyone in. Thought it was locked."

Lucen’s eyes narrowed. "You’re not a guild scout."

"Hell no," the guy muttered. "Freelancer. I came in with a squad."

Lucen scanned him. "Where are they?"

The man laughed once. Ugly. Sharp.

"Dead. Gone. Picked apart. Some lasted longer than others."

Varik crouched beside him, still calm. "What killed them?"

The man looked up. His eye was bloodshot. Cold frost crusted across one eyebrow.

"The elves," he spat. "Those tall bastards with the robes. Said we were trespassing. Said our presence was a stain. Then they started carving spells into my partner’s back like it was art class."

Lucen frowned. "You’re saying they tortured you?"

"No," the man said. "They enjoyed it. I think they thought it was funny."

Lucen glanced behind him. The trees still looked still. No echo. No sign of the robed pair.

"They just talked to us," he said.

The man barked a laugh. "Of course they did. You’re new. They’re curious first. Then they get creative."

Varik looked at the frostline around the man’s boots.

"Where were you hiding?"

"In the roots," he said. "Under that old binding stone. I think it was dormant. They don’t search much when they’re done playing."

Lucen asked, "How long were you down there?"

"Don’t know. System’s glitching. Days? Weeks? Long enough to stop caring."

Lucen checked the man’s frame. Muscular, but fading. Probably late twenties. Hands blistered. One knuckle swollen. System link panel on his wrist was half-fried, like it had shorted from an overload.

"You want out?" Lucen asked.

The man looked up. Real focus now.

"You’re walking deeper."

Lucen didn’t answer.

The man stood slowly. Groaning. Pulling himself upright like it hurt to be vertical again.

"I’m not going with you. I just want out."

Lucen nodded. "Then walk west. Backtrack our prints. Don’t touch anything glowing."

"Noted," the man muttered.

He looked at Varik.

Then back to Lucen.

"If you make it to the core... don’t trust what it shows you. Nothing in there’s real. Not even the floor."

Lucen raised an eyebrow.

The man stepped past him, shivering now.

"Good luck," he muttered. "Or don’t. Just don’t come out like them."

He disappeared back into the trees.

Lucen waited until the sound of his footsteps faded.

Then said, "I’m starting to really hate elves."

Varik said nothing. freewёbnoνel.com

Just nodded once.

And walked forward.

Lucen followed.

—

The path narrowed.

Not a trail. Just compressed snow where the trees bowed inward, limbs bent low like the forest was waiting for something to pass.

Lucen slowed.

Didn’t speak.

His system ticked soft warnings.

[Mana Field: Compression Zone Detected]

[Drift Core: Within 800m]

[Behavioral Scan: Observers Active]

"Eyes on us," Lucen said.

Varik gave a quiet nod. "Since the last clearing."

Lucen was about to ask how many when the wind shifted.

And then he stepped out.

Right from between the trees.

No robe this time. No spell circles painted onto skin.

Just tall.

Broad-shouldered. Ears sharp, silver-tipped. Pale skin, darker veins trailing up his neck like branches under glass. His cloak was heavier. Fur-lined. Carved armor down the chest. Real. Not for show.

But he wasn’t holding a weapon.

Lucen’s spell hand twitched anyway.

The elf raised a single palm. Not a spell gesture. Just... casual.

"Don’t bother," he said. Voice calm. Clear. "I’m not here to fight."

Lucen stared. "You sure about that? You’ve got the ’boss fight’ walk."

The elf smirked. "You’re the one with burn marks and a system leaking trail glyphs."

Lucen glanced at his own boots. The frost melted slightly where he stepped. Mana pressure radiated back from each print.

’Damn it.’

Varik still didn’t move. Just watched.

Lucen exhaled slowly. "So what, you’re in charge of this place?"

"I was. Until you stepped into it."

Lucen narrowed his eyes. "That sounds like an accusation."

The elf stepped closer, slow. Deliberate.

"I’m Elaren. Warden of this zone. Keeper of the old seal. What you just walked into? That’s not just a drift. It’s ours. Built over something worse."

Lucen raised a brow. "You mean the core?"

Elaren shook his head. "The thing under it."

Varik spoke for the first time.

"You knew the core was destabilizing."

Elaren didn’t blink. "We’ve been trying to delay it. Keep it sealed. The last few who wandered in? Kicked that schedule sideways."

Lucen muttered, "Yeah, the ones you tortured."

Elaren’s expression didn’t shift.

"They trespassed. Broke anchor sigils. Damaged field balance. Some came with fire in their hands and greed in their teeth. We didn’t start the burn."

Lucen tilted his head. "You still finished it, though."

"We survive by force. Just like you do."

There was no drama in his tone. No threat. Just fact.

Lucen crossed his arms. "So why are you talking to me now?"

"Because the drift’s about to crack wide, and I’m wondering if it’s your fault."

Varik said flatly, "It isn’t."

Elaren’s gaze shifted to him. He nodded once.

Then turned back to Lucen.

"Your system’s wrong," Elaren said.

Lucen’s eyes narrowed.

Elaren kept speaking.

"Your rank doesn’t make sense. Your spells don’t line up. Your field signature bends in places even our analysts couldn’t track. Whatever you are—you’re not just a tracer."

Lucen shrugged. "Good guess."

"I don’t guess."

A long silence passed.

Then Lucen asked, "So what do you want from me?"

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