The Sovereign Chronicles novel Chapter 47

Kaelen retraced his path back toward The Sacrificial Peaks.

This journey was much faster than his initial escape. However, as he neared the borders of The Sacrificial Peaks, he encountered something bizarre.

Night was falling. Kaelen had just bathed under the waterfall in Whisperfall Glen, caught an Aether-Trout, and was preparing to roast it over a fire when a figure suddenly stumbled into the valley.

The man's steps were erratic. His clothes were shredded to rags, and heavy, pitch-black Umbral Shackles weighed down his limbs. He looked exactly like an escaped prisoner.

He swayed on his feet, thoroughly exhausted and incredibly frail.

Kaelen frowned, slowly rising to his feet. His right hand casually drifted to the Throwing Dagger at his waist, watching the intruder with razor-sharp vigilance.

The man’s hair was a tangled, matted mess, his body caked in filth. He clearly hadn't expected to find anyone occupying the glen.

He stood paralyzed at the entrance for a moment, then slowly began to back away.

But right then, aggressive shouts echoed from the ancient forest outside the glen. It sounded like a pack of hunters closing in on their prey.

The prisoner's unkempt hair was plastered to his face, making his expression unreadable, but Kaelen could physically sense the sheer desperation rolling off him. The shouts grew louder. Gritting his teeth, the man turned to flee back into the open.

Kaelen suddenly pointed deep into the glen. "Hide there!"

The man peered into the darkness, then glanced back at Kaelen. Without a single word, he dragged his shackled body to the furthest end of the valley, slipping behind a dense wall of thick vines that concealed a hidden alcove.

Kaelen sat back down on his rock and casually turned his Aether-Trout over the flames, acting as if nothing had happened.

Moments later, a squad of men clad in sleek black combat gear burst into the glen. Their Aether auras were razor-sharp, cutting through the air like unsheathed blades. Even from a distance, Kaelen could feel the oppressive, martial pressure radiating from them.

Their eyes immediately locked onto Kaelen roasting his fish by the lake. Frowning in unison, they halted their advance, refusing to charge blindly into the valley.

Kaelen's heart hammered in his chest, but he forced a mask of utter boredom, lazily looking up at them. The squad wore identical uniforms, carried identical curved blades, and their faces were hidden behind identical white jade masks with only two thin slits for eyes. It was incredibly unsettling.

"Did anyone pass through here?" one of the masked men demanded, his voice a deep, reverberating bass. The eyes behind the mask bored into Kaelen.

Kaelen looked at him, then made a show of looking around the empty glen, before returning his attention to his fish. "Are you talking to me?"

"Is there anyone else here?" The man's tone dropped several degrees.

"If you want some fish, I can share. If you're looking for trouble, I'm ready to play." Kaelen remained seated, aggressively bluffing. If his arrogant display intimidated them, he won. If they called his bluff, he would instantly dive into the lake beside him. The lake looked small, but Kaelen knew there was an underwater channel connecting to a roaring river outside. He had mapped the terrain perfectly; he wouldn't dare rest in such an open spot otherwise.

"Heh. Arrogant whelp." The group sneered, but remarkably, none of them stepped foot into the glen. Their hesitation grew. This was the deep territory of The Veilwood Forest, swarming with lethal threats. A lone traveler couldn't survive here, yet this boy was cleanly dressed, looked freshly bathed, and was leisurely cooking a meal. Either he possessed overwhelming strength and zero fear, or his powerful master was nearby. It wasn't uncommon for legendary Warriors to bring their disciples into the ancient woods for lethal training.

They had a mission to complete and didn't want any unnecessary variables. After a tense standoff, they turned and vanished into the trees.

Kaelen kept roasting his fish, maintaining his relaxed posture. The man hidden in the alcove didn't rush out either. It wasn't until night fully set in and the squad was long gone that Kaelen finally exhaled. Slowly, The Fugitive emerged from the shadows.

"Want some? It's perfectly done." Kaelen split the golden, sizzling Aether-Trout in half, placing one portion on a broad leaf beside him while taking a bite of the other.

The Fugitive stood frozen for a long time. Only when Kaelen had almost finished his half did the man slowly creep forward. He shot Kaelen a wary glance before tearing into the fish, swallowing it in massive, desperate gulps. He devoured it in seconds.

Kaelen tossed him his remaining half as well.

The Fugitive didn't stand on ceremony, wolfing it down with feral hunger.

Kaelen asked no questions. Saving the man was a matter of convenience, but it didn't mean he wanted to get dragged into this mess. Judging by the uniform of those pursuers, they belonged to a highly dangerous faction. Kaelen needed to stay out of it.

Deep into the night, The Fugitive still hadn't left. He curled up into a ball behind the vines. He was skeletal, his clothes reduced to mere strips of cloth. The massive Umbral Shackles locked around his wrists, ankles, and waist dug deeply into his flesh, leaving horrifying, bloody grooves. With his matted hair and face caked in grime, it was impossible to tell what he looked like.

In the darkness, his hollow eyes stared blankly at the weeds in front of him. His emaciated frame shivered violently, whether from the biting cold or sheer agony.

Kaelen didn't chase him away. He sat cross-legged near the waterfall, meditating and drawing in the ambient Vitality of the world to restore his Aether reserves and physical stamina.

The night passed peacefully. Neither disturbed the other, and the masked squad never returned.

The next morning, Kaelen walked over to the vines and frowned down at the sleeping figure.

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