MTLNOVEL Chapter 37: Chapter 37~ Hunt
The Night of Infiltration
Southern Border — Asphalia-Zweinston Line
The moon hung behind a veil of thin clouds, casting a silver hue over the icy treetops. The wind whispered low across the mountains, carrying the silence of a world holding its breath.
Sylves stood at the edge of Whitebark Fortress, dressed not in armor, but in a close-fitting black cloak reinforced with woven enchantments. His silver-blonde hair was tied loosely behind his neck, a single earring glittering faintly beneath his hood. His mother stood before him.
Ylva said nothing at first. Then, with steady hands, she reached up and brushed his hair aside to kiss his forehead.
"For luck," she whispered. "And for the goddess to return you to me."
Sylves nodded, gently. "I will return, Mother. I promise."
A moment later, he vanished.
---
The spatial portal flared into life at the outer edge of the southern ridges—its swirling voidlight crackling with controlled force. Hawk's fusion of Void and spatial magic allowed traversal across familiar lands, but the magic had limits. Sylves could not go where he had never been.
(Note: Portal transportation is a spatial magic. The portal which Sylves and Hawk use is combined with void magic. They cannot travel to places where they haven't been. So Sylves had to carry his journey ahead on foot.)
And so, he ran.
Through the dense night forest he moved—swift and silent, a shadow gliding over roots and snow. Trees blurred past him. His senses extended in all directions, his Void-sense alert to any living presence within a hundred meters. No motion. No sound. Only the sound of his own breath, measured and steady.
Time blurred.
Eventually, the land dipped, and the wide, slow-flowing Eira River appeared ahead, its black waters reflecting the dim stars. On the other side: Zweinston.
Sylves crouched in the underbrush, eyes scanning the opposite bank. Soldiers stood in distant pairs, laughing softly over weak campfires, unaware of the death watching them from across the water.
He waited.
A minute. Five.
Then, without so much as a whisper, he moved—body slipping into the water, limbs flowing like liquid. The cold bit into his skin, but he barely noticed. Every motion was calculated. Every breath controlled. He reached the other bank undetected and climbed out, wet clothes steaming slightly in the cold night air.
He moved again.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. The Zweinston patrols grew denser the deeper he crept. Sylves ducked through ruins, weaved between carts and dry walls—always unseen.
Then—footsteps.
He turned a corner and nearly collided with a figure stumbling through the dark. A soldier, off-duty. He reeked of cheap ale. His eyes squinted through the haze of his intoxication.
"Who're you…?" the man slurred, swaying. "Hahh… a kid? What're ya doin' out—?"
He never finished the sentence.
Sylves's hand flicked up—barely a gesture.
The man disintegrated mid-step, his body swept into a tear of pure void that closed behind him with a soft shhhk. No scream. No sound. Only empty air remained.
Sylves stood still, his eyes flickering slightly.
He lowered his hand.
"That makes my first kill," he murmured, more to himself than anyone. "I feel… a little bad."
But the words hung there, hollow.
He exhaled—and his expression returned to stillness.
"No… I don't feel anything."
He turned forward again, and walked on, silent as death.
---
Whitebark Fortress – War Room, Night Before the Counteroffensive
The war table was surrounded.
Duke Danise stood with arms folded, his sharp gaze fixed on the center map where Sylves had spread the latest intelligence. Countess Arelia Vilmire leaned forward, eyes glinting with calculation. Bronn Aswel's scarred fingers tapped rhythmically against his sword hilt. Tension hung in the air like a drawn bowstring.
Then Sylves spoke—his voice cold, clear, unwavering.
"Please proceed with the frontal assault… just as planned. Draw their attention. Make them think you're committed to breaking through head-on."
Everyone turned toward him.
Sylves pointed to a section marked on the far left of the map. "Meanwhile, I'll use the portal I inscribed earlier this evening. It opens behind their beast encampment. I'll unleash their own war beast—the elemental they thought safely bound. Once it goes berserk, chaos will spread. And in that chaos…"
He looked up, his violet eyes gleaming under the war room's dim lanterns.
"…I'll burn their camps."
The statement was met with stunned silence. Sylves continued without pause.
"If resistance is light, I'll proceed directly toward the capital. The paths I memorized during infiltration will guide me. I should reach there by midnight."
Danise stiffened. "The capital… alone?"
"I'll assess the situation, gather details on the royal stronghold, and then return using my portal for rest—if needed. Then... I go back."
He met his father's eyes.
"And that night… I finish it. I end their king."
There was a sharp intake of breath from Count Arelia. Even Bronn's stoic expression shifted to disbelief.
But before anyone could speak, Hawk stepped forward, arms crossed.
"Sylves."
His voice held an edge.
"You feel it too… right?"
Danise blinked, looking between the two. "Feel what?"
Sylves's gaze shifted to the southern edge of the map.
"There's something in that direction," he said slowly. "During my infiltration… even with void-sense extended, I couldn't peer into it. The air there bends differently. It's heavy… wrong."
Hawk nodded. "A pressure I haven't felt since the last Despair Catalyst showed up. But this isn't Void… it's something else. Something old."
"A weapon?" asked Countess Arelia.
"Or a guardian," Hawk replied grimly.
Sylves stepped beside him, staring into the southern haze beyond the map's edge.
"Whatever it is… it stands between me and the king. I'll have to break through it."
Danise clenched his jaw. "Sylves… you've already done enough. Let us reinforce you—"
"There's no time," Sylves said firmly. "Even if we send a battalion, they won't get close without alerting the enemy."
"But it's suicide!" Count Bronn barked. "That's no regular magic pressure—it's like a storm that's been caged for years."
"Then I'll uncage it."
Sylves turned from the map. "Trust me. I don't intend to die. Not until I've won."
A silence followed—a heavy one. The kind that settles before something irreversible is set into motion.
Danise finally spoke, his voice low.
"We commence tomorrow night, then."
Sylves gave a nod.
Hawk turned toward him, half-grumbling. "If you survive this, I'm going to start losing bets. And I hate losing bets."
Sylves smirked faintly. "Then pray I live, Master Hawk."
They gathered around the table once more—refining routes, assigning commanders, and confirming the decoy assault. The lines were drawn. Orders would go out before dawn. Final briefings would occur under lanternlight. And when darkness fell again… the Empire's reckoning would ride on a single shadow.
---
The Night of Execution
Zweinston Outskirts – One Hour to Midnight
The forest was deathly quiet.
Sylves stood at the edge of the camp's perimeter, crouched on a branch that swayed gently under his weight. Below, Zweinston's forces rested under thick tents, the silence of sleep hiding the chaos that would soon erupt.
He closed his eyes, extending his void sense once again—just like Hawk taught him. He felt every heartbeat, every footstep, every flicker of life around him. It was vast, almost overwhelming. But he found the beast—no, beasts—chained in a pit toward the east of the camp. Magic-enhanced creatures of war. One, in particular, pulsed with unstable mana. A wyvern, perhaps… or something worse.
He broke a magic crystal and whispered, "I'm in position."
Far behind the southern ridges, a glyph lit briefly on Hawk's gauntlet.
---
Zweinston Frontline – Just Before Midnight
From the southern ridgelines, the forces of Asphalia advanced. Not in full assault—but with a fire meant to distract.
Arrows launched into the sky like stars. Siege wards shimmered blue against incoming bolts. Horns echoed across the trees. A distraction large enough for Sylves to slip through unnoticed.
And it worked.
The soldiers of Zweinston rushed to the front. Shouts of urgency filled the air. Mages lit barriers. Commanders barked orders. No one noticed the void ripple near the beast pens.
---
Back at Camp – Beast Pits
Sylves crouched at the edge of the pit. The wyvern below roared, snapping its chain and thrashing wildly. Beside it, two more beasts stirred.
With a whispered incantation and a flick of his wrist, the locks shattered, and the chains unraveled like string in the wind.
He vanished.
Below, chaos erupted.
The wyvern soared out with a shriek, fire igniting half the camp. Soldiers scattered, some still dressing, others grabbing weapons mid-run.
Then, from the eastern tents, explosions burst into the night. Sylves had dropped enchanted voidfire beads along supply lines and command tents. Now they detonated in synchronized bursts, consuming weapons, carts, even some mages caught unaware.
"SABOTAGE!"
"THE WYVERN—IT'S LOOSE—"
"TENTS ON FIRE—"
"WHERE'S THE COMMANDER—?!"
Sylves watched from above, balanced on the smoke-choked branch of a dying pine, his cloak fluttering behind him. He narrowed his eyes and then opened a new portal.
---
Inside Zweinston Royal Chambers – Same Time
The high tower in the heart of Zweinston's capital stood cold and monolithic. King Vali Zwein sat upon a black throne carved from obsidian, flanked by his ministers and generals. They had received reports—one after another—of fire in their camps, of wyverns gone rogue.
"They're panicking, Your Majesty," said Bram Joogis, still panting from the sprint up the spiral steps. "Our southern front is falling into disorder."
"And this wasn't part of the assault?" the king asked, voice cold.
"No, Your Majesty. We suspect... sabotage. There's word of a figure seen moving in the shadows. Dressed in black."
The king narrowed his eyes.
"A shadow figure? A mage?"
"No. Something stronger."
For a moment, silence fell over the chamber. Then, from behind the throne, a voice rose—a deep, chilling one.
"I told you someone would come."
All eyes turned. From the veil of black mist behind the throne stepped a tall, gaunt man clad in layered robes of violet and deep grey. His eyes were void-black, his veins pulsing with faint green light.
It was the court's trump card. The King's hidden ace.
Catalyst of Despair: Malvark the Withered. He was still incomplete. Malvark thought, "I'll use the life force of this country's people... And become complete."
"He's coming here," Malvark said softly, his tone almost reverent. "Through the void. He reeks of Hawk Frost's scent. But this one's younger… more volatile. If you wish to survive, Vali Zwein, prepare your capital."
The king stood slowly, his expression hardening. "Then let him come."
---
Zweinston – Royal Capital Walls
Sylves stepped through the portal onto a high, unused watchtower outside the inner district. The city pulsed with alarms. Bells rang in intervals. Guards swarmed the courtyards.
He didn't care.
This place was enormous. And heavily enchanted. Anti-teleport wards were active around the palace. But there were blind spots. Hawk had taught him how to spot and exploit them.
He ran.
Slipping through rooftops, leaping balconies, avoiding spotlights of magical detection. Time ticked forward, and the closer he got, the thicker the air felt.
And then he felt it.
The pressure.
Like a weight being pushed down on his shoulders.
He stopped behind a cathedral arch, eyes lifting toward the palace's highest spire.
"That's where he is," he muttered.
But the presence… it wasn't the king. Not entirely. It was the thing from before. The same force he and Hawk had felt from far away.
A Catalyst... Of despair.
He grit his teeth.
"He is weaker than those who attacked the academy... maybe he's incomplete? But still, I have to cut through that… and still reach the king."
He steadied his breathing. Raised his hand.
A portal flickered—but this one was unstable. He couldn't target the upper palace. The wards twisted his path. The moment he stepped into the void, he was yanked to the side—tossed out like prey.
He landed hard—inside a dark, circular hall.
It was quiet.
Then came the footsteps.
And a voice like dripping oil. "You came sooner than expected, child."
Sylves turned.
Malvark stood in the center of the hall, arms folded. "You smell of void and fire. You bear Hawk's touch. But you're no teacher's pet."
"I didn't come to talk," Sylves said coldly.
"Pity," Malvark sneered. "Neither did I."
Then the battle began.
Malvark struck first, shadows spiraling around him in arcs of corrosive void energy. Sylves spun backward, a flicker of white-blue flame bursting from his palm to counter.
A clash of dark and light.
The two mages weaved and vanished, reappearing in blinks of light and void, spells clashing with thunderous explosions. Statues cracked. Floor tiles shattered. Magic boiled the air.
Sylves's movements were precise—measured. He ducked low, conjured a blade of raw elemental energy, and sliced upward. Malvark caught it with a barrier—but too slow. The edge nicked his cheek.
A black gash opened.
Malvark hissed.
"You're better than I thought."
Sylves didn't respond. He rushed forward again.
They collided, void tendrils spiraling like serpents while Sylves fired compressed beams of mana at point-blank range. The walls exploded outward from the impact.
Then Malvark released a pulse of pure dread—a scream not of sound, but of soul. Sylves staggered.
"You've never killed in numbers," Malvark whispered. "You've taken one life. I've taken thousands."
Sylves recovered, void aura swirling around him now, fiercer than ever.
"I'm not here to match you."
He pulled something from within his cloak—an anchor crystal laced with Hawk's void signature.
"I'm here to end you."
The crystal shattered.
A surge of spatial collapse hit the room—anchored to Sylves's void frequency. It twisted the space inside-out, sucking Malvark into a rift too small to escape.
The Catalyst howled—but too late.
He vanished into nothingness.
Sylves dropped to one knee, breath heaving. His magic was drained… but his path was clear now.
The king was next.
---
Zweinston Royal Throne Room – Moments Later
Vali Zwein stared toward the southern window, his eyes narrowed.
"He's here," he said. "I can feel it."
---
Meanwhile – Whitebark Fortress
Hawk sat beside the war table, eyes closed, his sense linked through void resonance.
Then he smiled faintly.
"He's past the first wall," he muttered. "One more to go."
Danise, seated beside him, remained silent—his gaze set on the glowing rune that linked to his son's life force.
Ylva entered from behind, holding her breath.
"Is he fine?"
Hawk opened his eyes.
"He's more than fine. He's hunting."
---