FROST
Chapter 46: The Cavern Where Secrets Bleed

Chapter 46: The Cavern Where Secrets Bleed

The ethereal elf’s low chuckle rumbled through the cavern as he stepped out of the swirling dust. His carmine hair shimmered in the fractured light — dark red silk cascading past his shoulders, catching glints of gold and ember from the dust that still floated in the air.

West’s grip on Silvermist tightened — steady, firm, protective. He had been too confident that Sebastian’s seal would hold, at least for a while longer. He had focused too much on Silvermist’s fraying condition, and in that moment of distraction, he had forgotten what they were dealing with.

The elves were not ordinary especially this one and his sibling. They are strong, ancient, and proud enough to see seals and obstacles as nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Did you really think that little seal of your friend could hold us back?" the elf drawled, his voice smooth but edged with a dangerous kind of amusement.

Slowly, he lifted the blade in his hand — a long, enormous sword that gleamed like it had been forged from molten silver — and swung it lazily before resting it on his shoulder as if it’s as light as a needle.

And then, with the ease of someone toying with his prey, he placed one foot on a large boulder, resting his elbow on his bent knee. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but every line of his body radiated confidence and control.

"You gave our men a little fun chase," he continued, lips curling into a smirk. "But now, we’ll be taking over."

The words lingered in the air like smoke.

Silvermist dared a glance at West. His silence unnerved her more than any threat could. His brow was drawn, his grey eyes sharp and locked on the elf — not in panic, not in fear, but in thought. Quiet, intense thought.

"W-West," she whispered, her arms still loosely around his neck, her heart thundering in her chest. His only response was a slight flex of his fingers against her side — a silent reassurance, or maybe a warning to stay still.

The elf chuckled again, the sound vibrating through the cavern walls. "I almost let you run farther," he mused, idly toying with his sword like a man distracted by something trivial. "But that wouldn’t be any fun, would it? What good is the hunt if you’re already exhausted by the time I catch you?"

He gave a careless flick of his wrist toward the hidden pool, now covered by broken stones. "Still... I’m impressed you found this place," he said, his scarlet eyes scanning the cavern walls with appreciation. His gaze lingered on the faintly glowing patterns that had once guided them to safety.

And then, without turning his head, his piercing crimson gaze slid back to West, sharp and calculating, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I just wonder how."

West still didn’t respond. His face remained unreadable, calm as still water, as though the elf’s words were nothing more than idle chatter carried by the wind. He simply stood there, the weight of the moment pressing down around them, yet his demeanor remained composed, detached even. Only after a few long, heavy seconds did he exhale quietly — not in exasperation, but as though releasing something he’d already accepted.

"I thought we would only be dealing with some weak forest spirits," he murmured, almost lazily. He gently set Silvermist down, his movements unhurried, dusting off his uniform with deliberate care, as though brushing away mere inconveniences. His eyes finally flicked toward the elf, calm but sharp. "But I guess we ended up attracting elves of high levels."

Silvermist blinked, still trying to steady herself. She watched as West straightened, hands slipping into his pockets, his shoulders loose yet firm, like a quiet storm waiting for the right moment to break.

"So," he continued, voice smooth but quiet, "did you chase us all the way here just to fight with me? Is that it?"

The elf’s grin widened. His sharp features glistened with arrogance as he balanced effortlessly on the boulder, sword now resting lazily across his lap. He let out a light, mocking chuckle.

"Not really," he said, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes. "I was just really looking forward to testing your abilities... knowing you’re the new vessel of our king’s soul."

West’s brow twitched, barely noticeable, but enough for Silvermist to catch it. That one subtle reaction told her everything — this was not something the elf should know.

Truly, only those who are present in East’s Purification knew the truth. Only the King himself, The Triad, and the Guardians. No one else. Certainly not a forest spirit who had never set foot in the Guardian realm.

Beside him, Silvermist swayed slightly, limping forward with wide eyes. "V-Vessel?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "King?" Her gaze darted between the elf and West, searching for answers in their faces.

The elf laughed, a melodious, unsettling sound. "Ah," he sighed, tapping the flat of his sword to his shoulder. "Apologies. I thought the apprentices knew."

He tilted his head to Silvermist, his grin becoming something darker, more knowing. "But don’t worry," he added with a gleam in his eyes. "You’ll see it for yourself... If you’re strong enough to windstand this—"

The air trembled and cracked as the elf’s massive sword came down with terrifying speed, slicing through the air like a bolt of lightning. Silvemist’s instincts kicked in just a heartbeat before impact — her body reacting faster than her thoughts. She gathered her mana in a panic, leaping high and far to the left. But in her panic, she overshot, landing awkwardly with a stumble, rolling across the damp moss and crashing into a jagged rock.

Across from her, West had already moved, effortlessly leaping to the right with all the quiet precision he always carried — not a wasted movement, not a sound, his coat fluttering behind him as though carried by an invisible current.

The moment Silvemist’s knee hit the ground, the aftershock of the sword’s magic exploded across the cavern floor. A deep trench carved itself into the earth with violent force, sending shards of rock flying in every direction. Dust clouded the air. The walls groaned as cracks spiderwebbed along their surfaces, and loose stones tumbled down like warning bells.

Silvemist’s breath hitched. She dropped to her knees and stared, wide-eyed, at the deep scar left behind by a single swing. The ground was nearly split in two.

"W-What the fuck..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

The elf chuckled darkly from the center of the destruction, resting his sword lazily over one shoulder. "Oops. Guess I overdid it."

Silvemist’s heart hammered wildly. She whipped her head around toward West — but he was already standing again, calm and composed, dusting off a few stray pebbles from his sleeve as though the world hadn’t nearly been cleaved in half.

"You’re kidding me," she muttered, still half-shaken. "He’s not even flinching?!"

The elf’s crimson eyes sparkled with delight. "Ahh... that’s the look I was hoping for," he purred. "Fear. Confusion. Realizing you’re both terribly outmatched." He took a step forward, the ground trembling slightly under his mana weight.

But West merely tilted his head, his gaze cool and unreadable. "You missed."

That single, quiet statement made the elf pause.

West dusted off his sleeves with a lazy flick. "If you’re here to test me... at least aim better."

Despite the clear flicker of annoyance crossing the elf’s sharp features, he let out a low, almost amused chuckle — a sound that echoed softly against the cavern walls, deep and smooth like rolling thunder.

"You’re bold, kid," he muttered under his breath, though there was a flicker of genuine appreciation in his crimson eyes. He straightened from his casual perch on the boulder.

The gravity of his presence seemed to settle thicker in the air with each passing second, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was laced with pride and authority. "I believe you deserve to know who you’re dealing with," he declared, his tone dark but regal. "I am Xavier — one of the leaders of the Elven Clan, a loyal servant to our late King Asmaros." He paused for a moment, letting the name linger like a reverent whisper in the cavern’s heavy silence, before tilting his head and offering a sly, knowing smile. "I already know who you are, but I’d like to know the name of our king’s incarnation."

West merely scratched the back of his head in that ever-casual manner of his, his expression calm and entirely unimpressed. He sighed, rolling his shoulders before cracking his knuckles with a slow, deliberate pop that reverberated quietly.

"I’m not interested in petty introductions," he muttered under his breath, not even sparing the formality a glance.

His voice was steady, unbothered, and laced with the dry confidence of someone who had no need for grand titles or posturing. "I’ve got better things to do. So, if you don’t mind..." His eyes flicked up. "Let’s just get this over with."

Silvermist swallowed hard, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. She could feel the weight of their auras beginning to press down on the cavern like thick smoke, suffocating and heavy.

It shimmered around them in visible waves now — Xavier’s dark crimson aura bleeding outward like ripples of molten blood, heavy and oppressive, carrying the weight of primeval power and centuries-old pride.

In stark contrast, West’s aura began to gleam steadily around him, swirling in deep, layered shades of violet and black — not violent or blinding, but steady, immense, and quietly asphyxiating , like the endless night sky closing in. There was something in his aura that was not entirely human, not just some any apprentice, something vast and restrained, as though an ocean were being held back behind a fragile dam.

The elf’s grin only widened, sharp and feral, his eyes glinting with both challenge and delight as he spread his stance and slowly lifted his sword from his shoulder.

"Very well," he drawled, his voice dripping with satisfaction as if savoring the tension stretching taut between them. "Let’s begin."

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