Chapter 187: The Hunter
A sleek, obsidian mana-cab hovered to a smooth halt just beyond the fortified checkpoint that marked the threshold into the Wind Clan’s dominion—an edge of the Russian heartlands cloaked in midnight mist. Its flawless chassis gleamed like a blade under moonlight, casting rippling reflections of the glowing ward-lines embedded in the cobblestones beneath.
Arcane sensors mounted on curved pylons buzzed faintly, scanning the vehicle with pulses of pale blue mana that shimmered across its polished surface like waves on dark water.
Towering sentries flanked the barrier—guards clad in ceremonial armor etched with the swirling sigils of wind. Their helms bore crests of feather-like crystal, and their halberds crackled faintly with bound air mana.
They stood motionless as statues, the kind bred more for tradition than fear, yet the tension in their posture told of training too deep to be unlearned. Every breath of wind that passed them seemed to whisper discipline.
Inside the cab, a man sat with immaculate stillness. Middle-aged by appearance, perhaps in his mid-forties. Silvered hair, neatly combed back. A dark green suit of expensive make clung to his lean frame like it was poured onto him, accented by a forest-toned tie and silver cufflinks glinting with runic filigree.
He looked like an upper-tier diplomat or a merchant noble on official business—someone who belonged in boardrooms or treaty halls.
But he wasn’t that.
He wasn’t even who he appeared to be.
He was Alex.
Beneath the crafted illusion—layered flawlessly by the artifact—lay the true figure, hidden from the world’s sensors and eyes alike.
The identity he wore had been scrubbed into the Wind Clan’s administrative networks through forged licenses, fabricated tax records, and a deep-dive business portfolio constructed line by line.