Chapter 64.5: The End and Beginning of Undercurrents
The Whispering Expanse were anything but silent.
Crackling underfoot were the boots of trained warriors moving in precise, rhythmic formation. Each soldier bore elite markings of their battalion, faces hardened and taut with focus. Magical glyphs floated through the air like spectral butterflies, scanning the space with pulsing blue light. Hulking beast trackers sniffed low to the ground or raised their muzzles to the air, letting out low growls as they hunted.
Everywhere, the tension of pursuit hung thick.
"We've thoroughly searched the area and it doesn't look like he's here," one scout reported, voice hushed but sharp.
"Tch… That human bastard is hard to track. Like smoke through fingers," grumbled another.
A grizzled veteran barked, "Don't relax for a second! He might strike anytime. We've all seen what he can do."
"Hah! Please. He's injured and no one in their right mind attacks an entire elite force alone."
"You fool! That Laughing Blue Blade Reaper has done just that perhaps more than once! Don't underestimate desperation. Even a dying beast bites hardest."
The unit moved cautiously through the shifting fog, their formation unbroken. Each set of eyes scanned not just the terrain, but the spaces in-between—the shadows where the Reaper was said to vanish and reappear like a ghost.
At the heart of this particular division stood their commander, a Gold-Tier 3 warrior. His aura alone forced the air around him to hum. He stared at the tactical reports with a stormy glare.
The reports were riddled with incidents. Fortified patrols crippled, bounty hunter and mercenaries slaughtered, revolts happening, and a growing cult like following for freedom. All attributed to one man: The Laughing Blue Blade Reaper.
A Silver-Tier 4... Yet he had clashed against Gold-Tier 2 warriors in head-to-head duels and lived. His sword, said to shimmer like flowing sapphire flame embedded with starlight, had sliced through enchanted weapons and high-tier armor alike. His speed was absurd for his level. Descriptions labeled it as a flash of light. And most chilling of all, he had managed to gravely wound a Gold-Tier 3 officer in a single surprise strike.
A courier sprinted up to Varnan, breathless.
"Sir! Another squad reports possibly finding the targets location!"
The commander's eyes sharpened.
"All units, mobilize immediately! Formation Dread Net! I want overlapping tracking spells, forward scouts spread wide, and mages with barrier spells ready to deploy on command!"
The army shifted in seamless choreography, the ground trembling as they advanced. This time, they believed, the Reaper would have nowhere left to run.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Whispering Expanse deep in an overgrown hollow beneath a shattered stone arch someone stirred.
A man, shirtless and scarred, with iron-forged muscle and long, tangled black hair, leaned against a boulder. His clothes were tattered, remnants of a uniform long forgotten. Around his neck, faint remnant markings of where ancient magical shackles once shimmered like a fading brand is no longer present.
He rubbed his neck absently, the motion practiced, as if remembering the chains now broken.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. "Heh… Fate, you wicked bitch."
He spoke to no one but the wind.
"To think some brat with a blue sword would unlock these Shackles… Chains forged not just to suppress power but to bury identity."
His eyes gleamed, catching the dim light like polished obsidian.
"That sword… and that aura. A Mortal tier treasure? No… Its something beyond that. And that cultivation power that fluctuates through that boys body… Could it be related to those people? Something about it seems different though… Perhaps–."
He pushed himself to his feet, stretching, every motion releasing faint pulses of dormant energy.
"Fine then," he said, voice now rich with determination. "I will reclaim my lost cultivation. I will follow that boy. Whether it's THAT persona who survives… or the other one, I care not."
He grinned, a wild grin that echoed madness and freedom.
"Either way… It will all be a glorious time."
Two days had passed.
In that span of time, tension had only grown worse. Reports of sightings of the infamous Laughing Blue Blade Reaper flooded in from many areas of the Whispering Expanse. Every last one had been false with either, look-alikes, rumors started by opportunists, or actual killings caused by pretenders.
It was as if the Reaper had dissolved into thin air.
And this was far worse than being hunted.
Many of the factions who had once zealously pursued him were now on edge. For some, it was the sting of a missed opportunity: the chance to remove their shackles in exchange for his capture. For others, it was the gnawing unease of leaving a bleeding but dangerous threat alive somewhere in the shadows. A hidden Reaper was far more terrifying than a visible one.
But beyond the hunt, something darker loomed.
A growing number of Upper Land powers began using the Reaper hunt as a smokescreen to quietly evacuate their weaker bloodlines. Entire families and lower-tiered clans were being funneled through sealed tunnels and mystic gates back toward the safety of the High Regions.
The real reason?
The distortion gate had continuously expanded, connecting across multiple Upper Lands with alarming speed. The veil between dimensions was thinning.
Even more alarming, old zones and regions that had been swallowed centuries ago by chaotic dimensional ruptures had begun to resurface. Twisted landscapes, corrupted skies, and most disturbing of all… lifeforms.
Many were nothing more than primal, mindless beasts. But some were not.
And no one had time to investigate.
Meanwhile, in Whispering Haven City, Norg seethed with barely restrained rage.
He crushed another report in his hand confirming that nothing had been found. No trace, trail, nor Reaper.
The last thing he wanted to believe was that the bastard had slipped away again.
A deep crack split across his obsidian desk as he slammed his fist into it.
"DAMN HIM!!"
Some of his personal operatives had been butchered when the Reaper emerged. Some of his most subtle schemes had unraveled overnight. The Laughing Blue Blade Reaper was no mere thorn any longer.
The higher-ups of all of the various factions, whether they be in Whispering haven city or other surrounding areas knew. Oh, they knew.
That damned Reaper was the same child who they initially did not believe had slaughtered those demon mercenaries. The ones Norg had secretly contracted for a quiet operation. And now? That ghost had flipped the entire region on its head.
Norg had even put aside his plans involving Aeloria and the Fanged Elves. So much careful planning in This world full of death, but now they were scrambling just like everyone else.
He didn't trust them. He even initially suspected that Aeloria knew something that kid and his actions or even helped him, But it didn't make sense. They seemed to have lost some people too. They were hurt by this chaos just as much.
Whatever was happening, he would get to the bottom of it.
Far away, near the entrance of a massive magically sealed tunnel that stops any Shackled from going pass to the Rudell region in the Upper Lands; a massive allied convoy moved in formation.
The elite escort force was armed to the teeth, and in the most luxurious seat at the center rode Rudecka, her four eyes scanning the horizon with thoughtful calculation.
Her long obsidian hair fluttered behind her as her fingers tapped idly against the silver railing. The Reaper's name hung silently in her thoughts.
She hadn't believed it when Aeloria's alliance gave up the chase.
Seven days into the hunt, they had pulled back their efforts. Citing disorganization, resource drain, and the spreading distortion threat. But Rudecka didn't buy it.
She had secretly ordered eyes on them. Spies to monitor their regrouping efforts. For three days they tried to track the Fanged Elf alliance's movements. It wasn't easy—watching so many was nearly impossible—but they did their best.
And then… the Reaper vanished.
Ten days into the hunt, he disappeared like a ghost.
Rudecka leaned back, eyes narrowing.
She didn't believe for a second that the Fanged Elves hadn't found him. She had no evidence. She had no proof. She didn't even have a solid lead. Just a nagging feeling that she just couldn't get rid of.
Once she returned home, she would begin a quiet investigation.
She would be sure to investigate as much as possible, even if she has to infringe on Fae region territory, even in such tumultuous times.