Chapter 405 Troubles

Just as Arianne opened her mouth to respond, her brows suddenly creased. Her gaze swept to Lyra, then to Michael. Something in her posture shifted. She didn’t voice her concern, but her eyes said enough.

She’d noticed.

Michael, on the other hand, had already risen. He turned slightly toward the case containing the Poison Wyvern Blood Essence.

"I’ll step out for a moment," he said. "You two, stay calm."

Without waiting for questions, he picked up the case and walked out.

The hallway outside was quiet. Oddly so. No staff. No footsteps. Even the faint chatter from other rooms had vanished.

Michael paused, his eyes narrowing. He slowly scanned the corridor. Then he looked up, then back toward the hallway curve.

Nothing.

He took a breath and knelt, placing the case gently on the floor. With one hand on the latch, he opened it and pulled out the vial containing the Poison Wyvern Blood Essence.

Just holding it sent a faint numbness through his fingers. Even sealed, the essence radiated a venomous chill.

Michael didn’t hesitate. He slipped the vial into his storage space, then reached in again—this time drawing out a heavy amount of gold coins. Quietly, he stuffed the into the now-empty case and closed it again.

If anyone was watching, they’d think the case still held the original treasure.

Michael stood, gave the hallway a glance, then turned and stepped back into the private room.

Both girls looked up immediately.

"You took your time," Arianne said, but her voice was more wary than playful.

Michael gave a casual shrug. "Just had to check something."

She tilted her head. "Did you see anything?"

Michael paused for a breath, then answered honestly. "No."

It wasn’t a lie.

He had tried to spread his senses outward before he entered the room—but no matter how he focused, they didn’t extend past three meters.

That wasn’t normal.

His range might not be overly vast, but three meters?

That was a cage.

Michael didn’t speak further.

He didn’t need to.

The tension that had crept into the room didn’t need to be explained.

It didn’t take a genius to know something was wrong.

Michael walked over to Lyra and handed her the case without ceremony. "Hold this."

The dark elf blinked. Her crimson eyes flicked to the polished case, then back to him. She took it cautiously, the metal cool in her hands. For a moment, she didn’t speak.

Then, almost grudgingly, she said, "Understood."

Arianne frowned. "You’re giving that to her? Just like that?"

Michael glanced at her. "It’s not an issue."

Arianne stared. "That’s a case for a priceless blood essence, not... not something you hand off like a bag of coins."

Michael shrugged. "It’s just a container. Besides, I doubt she’ll run off with it."

Arianne’s lips pressed into a line. She didn’t push the issue, but her gaze lingered on Lyra for a long moment.

Arianne studied the dark elf more closely.

Compared to the forest elves—whom many revered for their grace, wisdom, and harmony—dark elves were... tainted.

Their reputation was infamous, earned over centuries of war, betrayal, and blood-stained traditions. It wasn’t just rumors. Dark elves had natural inclinations—violent instincts, emotional intensity, and a darker affinity with mana.

Some called it corruption. Others said it was simply their nature.

Arianne had grown up hearing tales of what dark elves were capable of.

Forest elves were united. A proud and peaceful race.

But dark elves were fragmented—tribes divided by ideology, bloodlines, and ambition. Many of those tribes embraced cruelty as strength. Others reveled in their feared image.

Arianne didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned by Michael’s lack of caution around the dark elf. Yes, the contract guaranteed obedience—but still. His casual attitude toward someone with such a dangerous reputation was unsettling.

Then again, it wasn’t really her business.

Her thoughts were more occupied with something else.

The letter her father had sent.

What exactly did it say?

Unfortunately, the Duke hadn’t addressed it to her directly. She had no right to pry, not officially. But curiosity gnawed at her, and just as she was about to ask Michael outright—hoping to confirm her suspicions—he spoke first.

Michael’s gaze remained steady as he turned to Arianne and Lyra.

"We’re leaving," he said plainly.

Arianne blinked. "Now? But—"

"Something’s wrong with the auction," Michael cut in. His tone wasn’t panicked, but there was a firm weight behind the words. "I don’t know what exactly."

He didn’t need to say more.

Both girls felt it too.

Arianne adjusted her dress as she spoke. "You think someone might make a move?"

"I’d be shocked if no one did," Michael said, stepping to the door again.

He didn’t sense anything directly.

But his instincts screamed louder now.

He didn’t trust coincidences—especially not when they involved things like Great-Tier scrolls and miracle fruits.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Both of you, keep close. We move together."

Lyra remained emotionless, holding the decoy case in her arms without complaint. There was a gleam in her eye now—an alertness she hadn’t shown before. She was recovering quickly.

Arianne followed without much resistance.

Michael pushed the door open fully.

The hallway beyond was still eerily empty.

Too empty.

They stepped out, all three falling into step—Michael in front, Arianne close behind, and Lyra taking up the rear with silence.

Michael’s eyes scanned every shadow, every corridor bend.

Michael’s eyes scanned every shadow, every corridor bend.

And then—he stopped.

His foot froze mid-step, his entire body suddenly on edge.

Behind him, there was no sound again. He turned his head.

Arianne and Lyra stood exactly where he left them—but something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Their eyes had gone blank.

Rolled back, whites exposed.

Their bodies were rigid, almost statuesque, like puppets whose strings had been cut mid-movement.

Michael’s breath hitched for a moment.

He stepped back toward them swiftly, eyes narrowing.

A quick check of their pulses revealed that they were alive.

But they weren’t "here."

Michael’s mind worked rapidly. "An illusion?"

He swept his senses through the area.

There was no visible change.

But still—they were out cold, mentally.