Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 187: The Hunter

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.

According to the system, he was a textile magnate from the Earth Domain’s northern sector with ties to several minor clans and a clean political record.

Even the cab driver, a vetted Wind Clan contractor, played his role seamlessly. Unaware of who sat in his backseat, he chatted casually with the checkpoint officers, speaking the local dialect with a rhythmic familiarity that eased suspicion. Meanwhile, the sensors outside scanned the false identity NOVA had built—and found nothing amiss.

A faint ping echoed inside the cab, accompanied by a soft shift in the barrier light from cautious blue to welcoming green.

"Clear," a guard finally announced, stepping aside with a nod.

The mana-cab eased forward like a ghost slipping into sacred ground.

Alex didn’t speak. His fingers rested against the mana-glass window, tapping once with absent rhythm. His eyes were fixed forward—not out of curiosity, but calculation.

And then he saw it.

The city of the Wind Clan.

Even from the outer ring, it was a spectacle to behold—an architectural symphony carved by wind, magic, and ancient pride. Towering structures rose like monuments to elegance, shaped by currents instead of chisels. No sharp corners. No brutalist designs. Every edge flowed. Every surface curved as if the wind itself had brushed across stone to leave its mark.

The skyline shimmered not with neon or industrial might, but with floating bridges, aerial gardens, and rotating mana-collectors that resembled wind chimes from a bygone age. Pale green lights drifted lazily above streets, suspended by barely visible threads of wind mana. Each lamp hummed a soothing tune, more like a lullaby than illumination.

The roads themselves pulsed with life—soft veins of glowing runes ran beneath the pavement, guiding traffic and mana alike, like ley lines disguised as infrastructure. Alex’s cab glided silently over one of them, its mana core resonating gently in sync with the path.

Knights in ceremonial cloaks patrolled the avenues on foot or atop slow-moving gliders, their armor dyed in misty hues of emerald and frost. Their eyes were not hostile—but they were alert. Watchful. Calculating.

On the sidewalks, families in layered robes strolled beneath banners that fluttered without wind. Children played with hovering wind-kites, giggling as they ran across delicate stone bridges suspended above streams of faintly glowing air currents.

It was calm. Refined. Controlled.

To the unaware, it would seem like paradise.

To Alex, it was a gilded cage.

"Only those who serve are allowed to live here," NOVA’s voice echoed faintly in his mind. "Even the nobles walk on a leash."

This wasn’t a city built for freedom. It was a system—a finely tuned, generational mechanism that regulated its people the same way it regulated mana flow.

A few moments later, the cab passed through a silver-plated roundabout adorned with wind chimes that rang without touch, and ahead, nestled at the curve of an elegant slope, stood his destination—a towering five-star hotel made of shimmering crystal-glass and wind-sculpted marble.

Vines of wind-kissed ivy slithered decoratively up its front columns, their edges glowing faintly in the breeze.

Above the arched entrance, a massive wind crystal hovered, rotating slowly and humming with a low, resonant power that vibrated in the chest. The energy it released wasn’t oppressive—but deeply ancient. Tamed. Channeled.

The cab slowed to a perfect stop at the hotel steps. Several attendants in silver and jade uniforms emerged in smooth formation, bowing in quiet respect as the mana door *hissed* open.

Alex stepped out.

His polished black shoes clicked softly against the cobblestone, and the air immediately changed—cooler, cleaner, tinged with fragrant herbs carried on the breeze. Somewhere in the upper floors, a harpist played a slow, wistful melody that danced gently down the walls like a feather on the wind.

He paused for a moment.

Looking up at the structure, Alex inhaled deeply—drawing in the weight of his surroundings. Not awe. Not admiration. Just acknowledgment.

This place was built to impress outsiders.

To remind them they were standing in a realm ruled not by money, but by **legacy**.

His gaze lingered for only a moment longer before he adjusted his cuffs, gave a faint, practiced nod to the waiting attendants, and stepped forward.

Tomorrow will be difficult.

Not because of what he had to do.

But because of the truths waiting to be unearthed.

And as he passed through the threshold into the heart of Wind Clan territory, one thought lingered quietly behind the illusion.

The prey doesn’t know the hunter has already stepped into the storm.

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