Mangowo
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Chapter 163: Ever Dabbled in Involuntary Guest Acquisition?
🕑 Added 2025-07-05 00:30:01 +0000 UTC[That should serve as a good warning…]
Thalador's balls, that blast was a proper ear-ringer. Massive. Loud enough to wake the dead, probably. I whipped around, gawking at the screen. "You knew this clusterfuck was coming?!?"
[Well, not precisely this theatrically. Figured you were aiming at that twitchy squirrel. Not the entire arboreal specimen.]
Which… ugh. Fine. Point to the scaly smartass. I had switched targets last second.
"But how the hell did it go boom like that?"
[You applied a resistance-calibrated spell to standard arboreal matter. Thing’s about as magically tough as wet paper, but full of nice, burny wood. Connect the dots, hatchling. Sometimes lessons stick best when they explode in your face.]
This smug lizard! Couldn’t even argue, though. My own dumb curiosity gobbled me up, and spat out a violently exploded tree.
"Hold up… you mentioned resistances. So the spell was too spicy for this little twig? But what about the squirrel? Far as I know, critters only build magic resistance after they grow a core, and that gets tougher as the core changes colour and levels up. Pretty damn sure that creepy squirrel wasn’t packing one."
[Sentient biology operates… fundamentally differently than botanical matter. Wanted you to chew on that yourself, figure it out firsthand. Doesn't look like you've got the luxury of pondering time now.]
“No kidding! That boom probably painted a target on my back. These trees are massive—when one of them explodes, you don’t get a quiet moment after.”
I gritted my teeth. “Thibault’s still stashed in the warehouse down the slope. If the Iron Pact gets a sniff of this, we’re toast. Argh! I swear, I try to take one breath, and the forest stages a pyrotechnic rebellion. Do I bail? Relocate? Viper and Vyra better know another hidey-hole!”
I cast my senses outward like sonar—sweeping the air. One signature was already moving, fast, right from the warehouse.
“Vyra’s inbound. Guess the fireworks worked.”
[Charging blindly into chaos often ends with teeth missing. Recommend you halt the panic spiral, hatchling. Wait.]
"And get caught by the Iron Pact for loitering with a dismembered dude who definitely doesn’t wanna be here? Sounds like a fantastic plan."
[But sometimes… unexpected doors creak open when you stand your ground in the messy bits.]
Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water, freezing me mid-panic.
Why the cryptic crap about unexpected doo— Oh. OHH. "Lotte, for fuck's sake, ever heard of just saying it?" I remembered her muttering about a 'golden thread' in my near future. "Is this it? That thread you yammered about?"
[Who can say? Perhaps.]
That was basically a roaring 'YES' in dragon-speak. Now I was properly twisted. Easiest path to bolt. Like always. Hide at the first whiff of trouble. Only face stuff when I knew the score, knew I could handle it. I’m adaptable, sure, but not a damn fool.
I just shut my eyes. Breathed. Deep. Couldn’t run forever. Fate wasn’t always gonna serve things up neat. Hold your fucking ground, Jade. A sudden, weird rush buzzed through my veins, sharp and electric.
Instead of backing up, I leaned in. Let the air around me twist and blur as Phantom Dragon Dance kicked in. Then I moved, not towards safety, but straight towards the damn burning tree.
Vyra showed up quicker than a greased weasel. Her long fox ears flicked like antennae, that massive ice axe already gripped tight. She started hollering my name the second she crashed through the undergrowth – then choked it off hard at the sight of the tree. Or what was the tree. Just splinters and smoke now.
I stood maybe five feet from the smoldering wreck. Plain as day. Or so one would think. Her gaze swept right over me like I wasn’t even there. Interesting…
My air sense pulsed out, sharp and clear. No Iron Pact goons inching closer. Yet. So, screw it. Time to test this fancy new stealth upgrade on an unsuspecting foxian guinea pig.
Vyra prowled closer, scanning the wreckage. Her ice axe dissolved into sparkly motes. Fingers curled, and wicked claws of pure frost sprouted, biting into the bark of a nearby, un-exploded tree. Up she went, silent and fluid, then took off leaping through the canopy like a pissed-off squirrel, eyes raking the forest below.
I ghosted right behind her silently and landed beside her on a thick limb. Glanced down. Not a damn leaf stirred. Not a twig cracked under where I’d been. The forest floor looked untouched, pristine. Like I’d never been there.
How the hell does this even work? Was my whole presence just politely asking the world to ignore me now? Like reality itself had decided I was background noise? Quantum magic was one seriously weird bastard.
Couldn’t resist pushing further. Right on Vyra’s tail, I mimicked her leaps. A hanging branch swayed gently as I pushed past it. But sound? Nothing. Not a rustle, not a whisper. Just sheer silence clung to me.
The fun, however, slammed to a halt. My air sense pinged hard. Someone new. Details snapped into focus: the rigid lines of plate armor, the specific curve of a breastplate warping the air currents around it. Iron Pact. No question.
And damn, those flying swords of theirs are no joke. They were FAST. Before I could blink, the guy was standing smack in the middle of the blast zone, surveying the mess.
Vyra, oblivious as a brick, was swinging back towards the clearing. Headed straight for him, probably about to yell my name again and paint a target on both our backs. Nope. Not happening. I dashed forwards, a silent blur, and clamped a hand over her mouth just as she drew breath.
"It's me," I hissed right into her ear.
Her eyes went saucer-wide, snapping back. I dropped Phantom Dragon Dance, letting the distortion ripple away, and gave her a quick, sharp wave. Then, finger to my lips. Pointed emphatically towards the clearing where Mr. Iron Pact stood, looking about as thrilled as a constipated badger. Young drakkari, maybe my age. Bronze horns poking through messy blonde hair. Utterly terrified, like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Where the holy hell on a biscuit were you?!?" Vyra whisper-screamed, once my hand eased off.
I just grinned at her, pure mischief. "Right behind you. The whole damn time." No point lying. The truth was way more fun, and way more impressive. "Seriously, Vyra. Your situational awareness needs work. Like, remedial classes." The absolute, balls-to-the-wall stealth. I wasn’t even being smug—I was just being honest.
Because now… I had it. True stealth. No tricks. No illusions. I was gone to both eye and spell. Visually invisible, magically silent. Now… just how far could I push this? The possibilities itched under my skin.
Though that question—how far can I go unseen—wasn’t something I needed answered right now. That was a “when the universe feels like telling me” kind of problem. Unless I could convince some red cores with decent perception to play volunteer dummy…
Oh wait—I had Lysska now.
That actually sounded like a great experiment to pencil into my future agenda.
Right. Future problems for future Jade. For now? Shut the fox up. Her curiosity was bubbling over, and before she could start up another round of questions, I clamped a hand over her mouth. Not gently.
There was a time and place, and this wasn’t either.
“Should I warn Viper?” she hissed out anyway, the moment I let go.
…Okay, that was a valid question.
Still, I said, “Hold on. The warehouse’s a fair distance off. Let’s wait a few more minutes—see if more of the Iron Pact shows up.”
“But what even happened here?” she whispered, for the third time now.
“I said I’d tell you later.”
Right now, I needed to figure out what Lotte’s so-called golden thread was. From what I’d gathered, it wasn’t a person—it was an opportunity. A moment wrapped around a choice. Not something you could see directly, but something you could grab—if you made the right decision at the right time.
So that was the play. Watch. Wait. And when the right moment came, catch it.
Down at the tree, the first enforcer—bronze horns, tight posture—stood frozen. Every nerve in his body on alert. I watched him tap the side of his head—activating spirit vision the same way most people did. Ritualized. Trained.
I’d never needed all that. My perception didn’t rely on tricks or training wheels—it just was.
He scanned the area carefully. Then more presences flared in my Air Sense—riders on flying swords, cutting through the air like arrows.
Within moments, nearly a dozen enforcers had landed around the blast zone.
So yeah, they were taking this seriously. A rogue explosion inside the Veilwoods? That probably hit every alarm bell in their little playbook.
I took Vyra’s hand and silently dropped us both down from the trees.
Once again—nothing. No sound. Not even a breeze stirred around us. My presence, and now Vyra’s by extension, was a vacuum in the fabric of the world. A perfect hole that nothing looked directly at.
None of the enforcers even glanced our way.
And even if they had… I could feel it now. That pressure. That weight. The way the world itself judged us in proximity to one another.
Their strength felt like dry amber. My own was wildfire, untamed and hungry.
They didn’t stand a chance.
Not long after, I watched the first guy—the blonde drakkari—break away from the group. He motioned to another, and together they peeled off. Then another pair. Then more. Until they’d split into six teams of two, each one heading out in a different direction.
A search sweep.
Probably looking for anomalies. Figuring out whether this explosion was some rogue alchemist’s accident, or if the Veilwoods themselves were stirring. Either way, their plan was obvious—investigate, report back, don’t get killed.
I crouched lower, eyes tracking their movements, waiting.
Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was just me being me.
Either way, I decided to trail the first two enforcers. Vyra followed quietly beside me—still wrapped in the bubble of my stealth field, unaware just how close we could be without being noticed. Neither of the two had any clue we were right behind them.
Honestly… it was perfect.
There's just... something about creeping up on people who are blissfully ignorant. Does things to me. My focus zeroed in on those juicy, unsuspecting necks. Had to physically stop my damn tongue from doing a creepy little victory lap over my teeth and lips. Gross, but true.
The younger one, the drakkari, finally spoke. “I don’t think anything’s actually wrong here. Weird stuff always happens around the Veilwoods. Last time it was that summoning, now a tree explodes on its own.”
Summoning?
Wait a minute… were they talking about me?
The older guy laughed—rakari, mid-twenties maybe. Carried himself like someone who’d seen some real crap but didn’t take most of it seriously anymore.
“Summoning that never even happened, Sergiy” he snorted. “And considering what followed, I’m like 90% sure that senile old bastard was working with the Vor’akhs, just trying to stir up noise.”
The younger one—Sergiy, apparently—looked like he’d swallowed a particularly bitter lemon. “But Vorak literally risked his life in the middle district.”
Wait—Vorak? The guy who came to question me? The one I helped bind that massive spectral eel?
"Same damn district where that Vor'akh spy was living," the Rakari shot back. "He was literally fighting beside her. You honestly think that makes him look good?"
"Whoa, whoa, Senior," the Drakkari – Sergiy, apparently – stammered. "Since when was she a Vor'akh spy?"
The Rakari gave him a look dripping with pity. "You haven't checked in at Pact HQ lately, have you kid?"
"Not... exactly," Sergiy mumbled. "Last night got... complicated. Orders were to handle things here."
“Well then, little Sergiy, lemme catch you up: turns out her room had all kinds of juicy stuff—letters, secret meeting spots, encrypted messages, shady symbols. Whole investigation’s out now. They’re calling her a terrorist.”
I just… stared, trying to process.
Vyra leaned in close, whispering, “Who are they talking about?”
No idea. But they said she fought with Vorak, stayed in the middle district… That narrowed things way down.
“…Zharitsa?” I muttered back. Only name that fit. Red core, Captain of the Alchemy Tower guards, respected. Hell, I’d fought beside her. She had guts. She cared. There was no way—no way—she was tied to the Vor’akhs.
But Sergiy didn’t look convinced either. He held back his rebuttal, but his face said he wasn’t buying any of it.
Then the rakari added, “Not like it matters. She’s dead.”
What.
My chest tightened. What do you mean she’s dead?! When? How? I was just—she was just—
The rakari kept talking. “Though, of course, the higher-ups aren’t sold. Say she’s faking it. Wouldn’t be the first time someone got ‘blown up’ and walked away from it. Especially with her little eel friend going kaboom. Might’ve taken her out because she went too deep.”
“You sound way too sure.”
“If you ever used your brain for anything other than compliance, you’d see the pattern. Cause, effect, outcome. Connect the damn dots."
They kept walking, still tossing theories around, but I wasn’t listening anymore.
Something had frozen up inside me.
My thoughts spiraled, jagged and fast. Dead? Labeled a traitor? Blamed for everything?
And then—Vyra, smirking up at me, like she’d been sitting on the punchline for too long.
“They’re talking about you, Jade…” she whispered.
THIS WAS BULLSHIT ON TOAST!
Who the hell cooked up this crock about me cozying with Vor’akhs? And what mythical "evidence" were they yapping about? Because unless someone had a wildly creative imagination and a grudge, the only mildly questionable thing in my room was a stash of highly toxic potions. And no, I wasn’t addicted, thank you very much. I just sampled them every now and then to make sure my toxin immunity hadn’t rusted.
That’s called safety maintenance!!
“I literally saved those ungrateful motherfuckers!” I hissed, maybe a tad too loud, but the oblivious pricks didn’t even twitch.
“You’re getting framed, hard,” came the whisper. “They even twisted your eel story, spun it into some slimy companion fantasy.”
“Should’ve lobbed that slimy bastard right onto their shiny HQ roof. See how their collective bitch-ass clenched.”
“Would’ve been entertaining,” she agreed. “Slightly too violent though.”
“Since when are you allergic to violence?”
I didn’t get an answer. Not that I needed one.
Because for the first time, I felt something deeper than anger.
It wasn’t just betrayal.
It was a corruption of goodwill. That rakari’s face—the disgust in his voice when he spoke about me— It lit a fire deep in my marrow. Hotter than rage. Hotter than knowing my digs got rifled through and planted with lies. Turned kindness into condemnation. Everything I’d done twisted into some grotesque theater.
I didn’t know their angle. Not yet. But whoever was pulling this had a plan—and painting me as a traitor was part of it.
Maybe this was the golden thread Lotte mentioned. Not a person. An opening.
“Not our headache, obviously. That woman’s way outta our league. But the Pact’s yanking the Blood Hounds back from the west. Won't be long 'til they’re sniffing here. If she’s holed up in the city? She’s extra crispy toast. Might even get our first public execution in years. Party time. Hopefully, this whole stinking mess clears up before the Spirit Hunt festival.”
My eyebrow started doing the jitterbug, uncontrollable. That smug prick’s face screamed for violent landscaping. Repeatedly. With my claws.
But I choked it down. Barely.
Soon enough, the patrol duo regrouped with their squad. Nothing weird found, apparently. Nobody bothered checking the warehouse – surprise, surprise, outskirts-of-creepy-forest real estate isn’t prime patrol turf.
But before the squad left, their captain—easy to spot from how he barked orders—called for two to stay behind and patrol. Just in case the woods started acting weird again. "If anything’s off, don't engage. Just run and report."
He asked for volunteers.
Crickets. Nobody fancied babysitting spooky trees.
Except that smug rakari, who raised his hand with a little too much glee. Sergiy, poor thing, looked like he’d just been handed a death sentence.
“Right! You two lucky winners get forest duty,” the Captain chirped, tossing instructions before he and the rest hopped onto their ridiculous flying greatswords, zipping back towards the middle district.
And I just stood there. Thinking. Calculating. Plotting.
I needed more information.
“What’s on your mind, Jade?” Vyra asked, eyeing me suspiciously. “You’ve got that creepy little smile. The one Lysska gets before she does something legally questionable.”
I grinned wider. And hers mirrored mine. Good partner.
Then, without a word, I vanished—slipping out of my clothes and into my half-dragon form. I reappeared behind a nearby tree, claws curling into the bark as I peeked out with all the subtlety of a creepy ghost from a cursed forest.
Two enforcers. One smug. One stressed.
Unaware.
Unguarded.
“Oh, Vyra…” I purred, voice low, violet eyes gleaming.
“Ever dabbled in involuntary guest acquisition and persuasive questioning?”
Comments
Celeria Rosencroix
Indeed, it would, and would allow a line to Vorakh, who might be the one path to cleaning up the Pact. At the least, an ally.
Skia Elafris
Jade, don't be mean to Sergiy. But you can do whatever to the idiot.
Summer Coff
Hope she can get Sergiy on side. That'd be entertaining.
