The trail led them to the borderlands.
Not a city, not even a village—just a forgotten estate half-swallowed by forest and time. The air around it felt wrong. Mana clung to the stones like old blood, faint but deliberate.
"This place is pretending to be empty," Reya murmured, her fingers hovering over a shallow bowl of water. The surface rippled without wind. "Someone was here recently."
Lenny crouched, eyes narrowed. "Small traces everywhere. Weak. Like they wanted to hide… but not completely."
Eira nodded. "A relay point."
They moved in quietly.
The first trap activated the moment they crossed the threshold—blades of compressed wind slicing through the hall. Frey reacted instantly, unfolding a defensive sigil she'd memorized months ago. The walls shifted, revealing hidden passages as figures stepped out of the shadows.
Black-robed mages. Not elites—but trained.
The fight was fast and ugly.
Eira's blade cut through the air, cold mana crystallizing with every swing. Lenny called out faint signatures, guiding strikes where enemies thought themselves hidden. Reya's bone tokens cracked one by one, predicting movements seconds before they happened. Frey locked down escape routes, sealing the estate from within.
When it ended, only one enemy remained.
The man was older, his mana dense and unnatural, stitched together by external reinforcement. He laughed even while kneeling, blood soaking into moss-covered stone.
"So you found us," he rasped. "Too late to matter."
"Who funds you?" Eira asked, sword resting lightly at the man's throat.
The villain's eyes flickered—not with fear, but with amusement. "You think monsters like us survive on ideals? Gold feeds magic. Nations feed gold."
Reya stiffened. "Which nation?"
The man smiled wider. "The one smiling at you across the negotiation table."
Before Eira could press further, the man bit down hard.
A pulse of corrupted mana surged through his body, tearing him apart from the inside. By the time it faded, there was nothing left but ash and a scorched sigil burned into the floor—an emblem none of them recognized.
Silence followed.
Then Frey crouched near the altar, pulling something free from beneath a cracked stone. "He didn't want everything destroyed."
It was a scroll.
Sealed with layered enchantments and foreign script, the mana signature was unmistakable—refined, official, and not from their kingdom.
Reya swallowed. "This is diplomatic-grade magic."
Lenny frowned. "Meaning?"
Eira's grip tightened on the scroll. "Meaning this wasn't just an organization."
He looked toward the distant border, where mountains cut the sky.
"It's being backed," he said quietly. "By a neighboring nation."
No cheers followed. No relief.
Only the cold understanding that the enemy wasn't hiding in shadows anymore.
They were standing in plain sight—smiling, trading, and waiting.