Chapter 87: The Noble’s Request II

Chapter 87: Chapter 87: The Noble’s Request II

"Alright," Eric said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes meeting her sharp crimson gaze. "I’ll back you up. Tell me when we move out."

Alena offered a graceful dip of her head, a soft breath of quiet relief slipping past her lips as the rigid tension in her shoulders finally eased. The cold, aristocratic aloofness that usually clung to her like a second cloak softened by an imperceptible margin.

"Thank you, Eric. We depart early next week," Alena answered, her voice even and melodic against the quiet hum of the dormitory suite. "The journey and the preliminary reconnaissance should take roughly two weeks in total, ensuring we return to the capital well before the month turns."

Eric leaned back slightly, calculating the calendar dates in his head.

*Two weeks... That timeline lines up cleanly,* he analyzed, running through his academic timetable. *Moon is resting securely inside the climate vivarium in his lab, soaking up the pulverized mana dust and completing her initial metamorphic incubation. By the time we return, the mandatory buffer period will have elapsed. I can walk straight into RB-1 and submit the Quadrallis Butterfly paper directly to Professor Sonia’s desk without raising a single eyebrow.*

"Prepare as thoroughly as your schedule permits," Alena continued, her tone smoothly regaining its crisp, operational edge. "Though you need not worry about absorbing the brunt of the assault. I intend to eliminate their main combat vanguard and their syndicate boss myself. Your primary responsibility will be perimeter reconnaissance, directional tracking, and intercepting any stragglers attempting to flee into the jagged crags."

Eric gave a firm, confident nod. "Understood. Coal’s aerial vision and my Appraisal will ensure none of them slip the net."

"Then I will take my leave for now," Alena said, rising gracefully from the plush leather sofa and smoothing the hem of her tailored charcoal overcoat. She adjusted the silver clasp resting at her throat, the faint scent of winter frost and cedarwood trailing in her wake. "Once again, thank you for agreeing to accompany me, Eric."

Eric stood up as well, walking her toward the entryway with an easy, dismissive wave of his hand. "No worries at all. That’s what friends are for, right?"

"F-Friends...?"

Alena froze mid-step, her polished boots halting instantly against the hardwood floor.

A delicate, sudden dusting of rose flushed across her porcelain cheeks. Her liquid ruby eyes flickered with genuine shock, caught completely off-balance by the casual, unpretentious label. For a girl raised in the ruthless, transactional viper pit of high-tier noble politics, where every smile was an investment and every alliance was sealed with blood contracts or ledger debts. The simple concept of a friend offering aid without demanding collateral was an entirely alien sensation.

Catching herself before the silence stretched into awkwardness, Alena turned her face slightly away, clearing her throat with a quiet, polite cough. A soft, radiant smile touched the corners of her lips, warmer and more unguarding than any expression Eric had ever seen her wear.

"Yes... I suppose you are right," she murmured softly, her fingers lightly curling against the fabric of her coat. "I will see you soon, Eric."

With a polite, measured nod, she turned the brass handle and stepped out into the fourth-floor corridor. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind her, the latch sliding into place with a crisp mechanical snap.

The instant the brass lock engaged, Eric’s relaxed posture completely shattered.

He collapsed backward onto the sofa, burying his face directly into both hands with a muffled, agonizing groan that vibrated through the cushions.

"Fuuuuck... why did I say it like that?!"

Eric kicked his legs in pure frustration, violently rolling onto his side as the memory of his own corny line looped relentlessly through his head like a broken record.

*That’s what friends are for, right? Seriously?! Who speaks like an after-school theater troupe?! That was so unbelievably lame!*

He dragged a decorative throw pillow over his face, his cheeks burning scalding hot for two solid minutes. He half-expected Coal to materialize just to mock him for the sheer cringe. Only after taking several deep, grounding breaths did he finally push himself upright, tossing the pillow aside and rubbing the back of his neck with a dry, self-deprecating smirk.

"Whatever. At least she didn’t skewer me with a lance," Eric muttered aloud, shaking his head. "Her reaction was actually kind of cute."

Exhaling a long breath, Eric pushed the social embarrassment firmly out of his mind. His expression shifted, hardening into sharp, tactical calculation.

An expedition against an entrenched syndicate of cutthroats was no child’s play, regardless of how terrifying Alena’s Captain-rank combat arts were. The Iron-Tooth Syndicate had operated in the rough borderlands for years, surviving border patrols and guild purges through sheer rat-like cunning. In the chaotic, unpredictable crossfire of a live raid, relying purely on an ally’s blade was sheer suicide.

Throughout the previous week of Moon’s evolution experiment, Eric had not slacked off in the slightest; if anything, he had trained harder than ever.

Every morning, he had drilled the razor-thin edge-compression of Crescent Slash until the projected blue arc whistled through the practice targets with absolute kinetic stability. He had refined his Shadow Steps across the timber floorboards until his shifting footfalls displaced zero air and made zero sound. He practiced Advanced Swordsmanship daily, methodically burning every counter, parry, and thrust into his muscle memory to push his mastery closer to the Major realm. And in between the physical drills, he attended every single departmental lecture without missing a beat.

More crucially, his progression in Professor James’s Rune Crafting class had taken a massive stride forward.

During Wednesday’s session, Professor James had introduced the lecture hall to an advanced utility matrix: the Tracking Rune.

Unlike the self-contained, closed luminescent circuit of a basic Illuminate glyph, a tracking matrix operated on a paired-resonance circuit. It demanded two distinct physical vessels etched to synchronize across a distance:

The Anchor Stone (Main Rune): Carved into a base mineral vessel, such as a mana stone or elemental stone, and physically planted upon a target, a supply carriage, or a hidden landmark.

The Beacon Stone (Auxiliary Rune): Held within the tracker’s palm, emitting continuous, low-frequency mana pulses that resonated with the anchor, feeding directional bearing, elevation, and proximity directly into the user’s sensory perception.

The geometric layout was significantly more convoluted than a simple light glyph, demanding dual-layer harmonic loops that mirrored one another without collapsing into static interference. If the etched curves deviated by half a millimeter, the resonance would fracture, leaving the stones inert.

However, because the matrix relied strictly on low-density mana conduits rather than explosive elemental charges, the entire apparatus did not require expensive mid-tier crystals. It could be carved stably into common, low-level Mortal-rank stones as well.

For an upcoming wilderness operation in the dense, craggy forests surrounding Riverdale, where syndicate goons knew every concealed ravine, abandoned mine shaft, and camouflaged tunnel, a pair of functional tracking stones would be an absolute game-changer. It would turn an arduous game of hide-and-seek into a one-sided slaughter.

Eric walked over to his study desk, pulled a fresh F-rank mana stone from his drawer, and placed it beneath the brass lamp. He uncapped his mythril-tipped runic stylus, took a steady breath to calm his pulse, and set the fine metallic nib against the mineral’s crystalline surface.

He had not completely mastered the dual resonance loop yet, but with his Rank-C Skill Comprehension actively deconstructing the interference nodes stroke by stroke, he was certain he could carve a flawless, operational pair before their departure next week.