Chapter 89: Tracking I

Chapter 89: Chapter 89: Tracking I

Stepping out of the reinforced alloy-and-crystal transit concourse of the Riverdale Terminal, Eric and Alena emerged into the crisp, high-altitude frontier air.

Overhead, heavy runic conduits hummed between polished steel utility pylons, stepping down high-voltage currents from the regional mana-grid to power the district. Across the wide avenue, automated mag-lev cabs and armored logistics transports hissed over black asphalt, their pneumatic shock arrays dampening smoothly over the frost-heaved seams.

"Let’s head to my place first," Eric said, adjusting the high collar of his traveling cloak over his fitted drake-scale cuirass. "You can drop your pack and rest while I do a sweep through the commercial district for fresh intel."

Alena nodded, tapping the holographic control interface on her runic exosuit. "Lead the way."

Eric brought up his silver smartband, pinging a transit cab from the kerb terminal. Within seconds, a sleek, low-slung mag-cab glided to a halt beside them. They slid into the rear cabin as the vehicle accelerated down the wide transit avenues of the lower wards, passing prefabricated composite housing blocks, automated repair bays, and glowing runic holosigns advertising monster-processing components, synthetic mana-fuel, and alchemical extracts.

Ten minutes later, the cab settled beside the reinforced perimeter fence of Sunshine Home.

Eric stepped out onto the paved walkway, holding the door for Alena before walking up to the newly renovated front porch and tapping the chime panel beside the door.

"Emily! I’m back!"

The heavy oak door unlatched. Emily stepped onto the threshold in sturdy linen work-trousers and an apron, wiping charcoal dust from her knuckles with a rag. The instant her hazel eyes landed on him, her face broke into a radiant smile, and she pulled him into a fierce, breathless hug.

"Eric! You’re really home!" She stepped back, looking him over with obvious relief before her gaze shifted toward the tall, poised girl standing quietly on the porch. A sly, knowing grin touched Emily’s lips. "Well, look at you. Away at the capital for barely two months and you return with an elite young lady?"

"Sis, please," Eric sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his ears warmed. "She’s the lead investigator on a regional mandate. This is Alena Blackthorn."

Emily quickly tucked her rag into an apron pocket, offering a warm hand. "Welcome to Sunshine Home, Alena. Excuse the tools in the hall, we’re reinforcing the hearth vents and replacing the cellar flue before the winter frost sets in."

"The hospitality is mine to appreciate, Miss Emily," Alena replied smoothly, shaking her hand with measured, aristocratic grace.

The inner parlor door burst open before they could cross the foyer. A small avalanche of boots thudded against the hardwood as the children swarmed into the hall.

"Big Brother Eric!"

"Did you bring sweetcakes from the capital?!"

"Woah, look at her coat! Are those real runic matrices?!"

"Hold your ground, gremlins," Eric laughed, bracing a hand to block a waist-high tackle while steering them clear of Alena’s composite plating. "Hands off the armor. She’s our guest."

"It is quite alright, Eric," Alena said softly, a rare, relaxed smile softening her porcelain features as Mark peered wide-eyed at the etched runes along her pauldrons.

Emily clapped her hands, herding the noisy pack toward the dining room. "Wash your hands, everyone! We’ve got seasoned beef roast, roasted tubers, and fresh cider from the market."

The midday meal was warm and unpretentious. The younger children traded wooden plates and bickered over spiced root crusts while Lily repeatedly tried sneaking breadcrumbs to Jade beneath the bench. For Alena, raised amidst the rigid etiquette of House Blackthorn’s banquet halls, the informal chaos was an unexpected shift. She answered questions about the capital’s sky-bridges without condescension, ate what was set before her, and settled easily into the room’s rhythm.

Once the plates were cleared, Eric checked the chronometer on his smartband and caught Alena’s eye.

"I’m heading out toward the outer wards to trace patrol lines," he murmured. "Keep your communication channel open."

"Understood," Alena said, her crimson eyes settling into cold focus. "Do not engage high-tier targets alone."

"I’m just a ghost today."

Eric slipped out the back entrance, vaulted the rear fence, and hopped onto an outbound elevated mag-tram bound for the western industrial sector.

Stepping off at a decommissioned freight platform, he ducked behind a row of sealed alloy shipping containers and activated his technique.

Shadow Steps.

His silhouette blurred across the metal decking. Bounding soundlessly over the corrugated rooftops and ventilation arrays of the warehouse district, Eric settled onto the high concrete parapet of an abandoned processing plant overlooking the central market plaza.

Below, the frontier town’s economic decay was on full display.

Association security contractors were completely absent from the streets. Instead, scarred men clad in reinforced composite jackets bearing iron-fang badges lounged near service alleys and holosign stalls, openly brandishing stun batons, short-barreled mana carbines, and sidearm pistols.

The Iron-Tooth Syndicate had stepped directly into the power vacuum left by the frontier guards.

Eric sharpened his gaze.

Appraisal.

│ Race: Human

│ Stage: Mortal

│ Level: 7

│ Talent: Rank E

*Mortal-rank weaklings* Eric observed from the heights. Just some Street-level debt collectors.

He watched their movements for twenty minutes. After splitting an extortion pouch, the four men separated down different alleys to collect protection tithes from local leatherworkers and food stalls.

"Target isolated."

Eric pulsed the spiritual bond in his chest, summoning Coal to an overhead iron rafter.

Keep watch on the perimeter, Coal. Let me know if anyone turns down this lane.

Caw.

The crow’s dark eyes locked onto the alley mouth.

Dropping soundlessly behind a cluster of automated waste compactors, Eric closed the distance on a lone thug who had stopped beneath an alley awning to review an account balance on his datapad.

Shadow Steps.

In a fraction of a microsecond, Eric bridged the gap without displacing a gust of air, appearing dead in the man’s blind spot. His right hand snapped forward in a precise, mana-infused palm strike against the cervical junction of the neck.

THWACK.

The thug’s eyes rolled up, the datapad slipping from his limp fingers as his knees buckled. Eric caught him under the shoulders, dragging his dead weight behind the shadow of a metal recycler before he hit the ground.

"Clean," Eric muttered.

Rifling through the man’s tactical vest, he found a lined pouch holding ten low-grade Mortal-rank mana stones.

Eric slipped one stone out, sliding a prepped Anchor Tracking Rune into the pouch in its place. He pulled the magnetic clasp shut, tucked the pouch back inside the lining and bounded straight back up the exterior fire escape.

Two minutes later, the thug groaned, clutching the back of his throbbing neck. "Ugh... that low-grade synthetic drug hits like a sledgehammer..." Shaking off the daze, he scooped his datapad from the grate and staggered down the alley, completely oblivious.

Over the next forty minutes, Eric repeated the silent sequence on two more isolated syndicate collectors moving through the district.

Reaching the maintenance platform of a decommissioned comms tower, Eric retrieved three matched Beacon Stones from his belt pouch.

He channeled a thin strand of starlight mana through his fingers.

HUMMM... HUMMM... HUMMM.

Three distinct, low-frequency mana pulses resonated through his palm, triangulating their exact coordinates across Riverdale’s digital map overlay.

Eric looked north toward the shadowy, industrial crags where the high-speed rail lines cut into the roots of the mountain range, a sharp grin touching his lips.

The net was cast. Time to see where the signal went.