[The Elven Royal Castle - Interior Corridor]
The group moved in a tight formation, their footsteps echoing wetly against the Castle floor. The sound was nauseatingly squelchy, a stark contrast to the disciplined silence of the Black Scripture.
As the Astrologer maintained the spell, the phantom of Zesshi flickered ahead of them, a harbinger of absolute violence. The corridors, which had once boasted the intricate, nature-woven aesthetics of the Elven race, carvings of vines and leaves that seemed to breathe, were now a gallery of horrors.
It was not merely that blood was spilled; it was painted across every surface like a madman's fresco. It dripped from the crystal chandeliers like macabre rain and pooled in the grout of the marble tiles, turning the white stone into a jagged mosaic of crimson.
There were no bodies here, only fragments.
An arm ending in a jagged stump lay near a potted plant. A ribcage, cracked open like a boiled egg, was embedded in the plaster of the wall. It appeared as though a hurricane made of razor blades had swept through the halls, churning flesh and bone into an indistinguishable paste.
(This damage... It's consistent with a blunt weapon moving at supersonic speeds, or a slashing weapon with enough mass to crush as it cuts.)
Clemence swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He kept his eyes moving, scanning the corners, but his mind was locked on the devastation.
He knew her strength better than anyone. He had sparred with her, if one could call being beaten half to death a "spar," countless times. He knew the depths of her sadism, her twisted desire to find someone, anyone, who could defeat her. But this... this was not a battle. This was an extermination. It was a child crushing ants with a hammer.
"The target is moving to the inner sanctum. The Royal Chambers," Sherry whispered. Her voice was strained, tight with effort. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she struggled to maintain the mana flow required to keep the time-echo visible.
"She... she is laughing."
Clemence looked at the phantom. The Zesshi of the past was indeed smiling a wide, feral grin that split her face. She was enjoying the slaughter.
"Keep up the pace," Clemence hissed, gripping his spear until the leather wrap creaked. "If she breached the sanctum, the Elf King is likely dead. We need to secure the body before the castle collapses."
They ascended the grand staircase, stepping over the shattered remains of what might have once been the elite Royal Guard. The heavy double doors to the Elf King's chambers lay in splinters, blasted inward as if struck by a siege ram.
"Ready weapons. Maximum caution," Clemence commanded.
The Black Scripture burst into the room in a perfect breach formation, shield up, casters back, strikers on the flanks. They expected to find the Extra Seat standing amidst her conquest, perhaps sitting on the corpse of the King, bored and waiting for praise.
They found only silence.
"Sherry?" Clemence barked, not lowering his guard.
"I... I don't understand."
The Astrologer stood frozen near the center of the room. Her eyes were wide, filled with a terror that transcended physical danger. It was the look of a scholar who had just seen the laws of physics unravel.
The ghostly image of Zesshi, which had been walking confidently into the center of the room to confront an unseen enemy, suddenly distorted. It didn't fade away naturally as the spell ended. It shattered.
Like a reflection in a mirror struck by a heavy stone, the image cracked and dissolved into motes of meaningless, static light.
"The trail ends here," Sherry stammered, her hands trembling so violently she nearly dropped her divination crystal. "It's not just that she left, Captain. The magical residue... it has been severed."
"Severed? Clarify," Clemence demanded, scanning the room.
The carnage in the hallway had stopped abruptly at the threshold. The Elf King's chamber was pristine. Disturbingly so. There was no blood on the carpets. The vases were unbroken. It was as if the violence had hit an invisible wall and vanished.
"It is as if someone took a knife to the fabric of the past," Sherry explained, her voice rising in panic, bordering on hysteria. "I cannot see what happened here. I cannot feel the Elf King. I cannot feel the Extra Seat. There is a hole in the world where their information should be. My divination... It's being eaten."
A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature settled into Clemence's bones, seeping through his enchanted armor.
To hide one's tracks was a skill; a rogue or ranger could cover footprints. To mask magical energy was difficult but possible with the right items. But to erase the very concept of one's presence from the timeline of the world? To block the Thousand Leagues Astrologer at close range?
That was a feat reserved for the realm of the Dragon Lords or something worse.
"Search the perimeter. Don't separate. Maintain line of sight," Clemence ordered.
They moved as a single organism, checking the adjoining rooms. They breached the Throne Room, a cavernous hall that should have been the heart of the nation.
It was empty.
The throne sat vacant, looking small and insignificant in the gloom. Dust motes danced in the light filtering through the high windows, undisturbed.
They ascended to the Royal Treasury, expecting traps or guardians. The heavy vault doors, forged of adamantite and enchanted steel, were open.
Inside, the shelves were bare.
Not a single coin, scroll, or magical item remained.
"Nothing," Quinta muttered, "No bodies. No loot. It's as if this section of the castle was licked clean by a starving beast."
The group reconvened in the center of the Throne Room. The silence was louder than the screams of battle. It was the silence of a predator that had already finished its meal and moved on, leaving nothing for the scavengers.
(Think, Clemence. Think.)
The Captain's mind raced, simulating scenarios.
(Even if the Elf King had defeated Zesshi, an impossibility in itself, would he clean up? Would that arrogant, hedonistic fool hide the bodies? No. He would parade her corpse. He would mount her head on a pike to taunt the Theocracy.)
Clemence felt a cold sweat trickling down his back. The implications were terrifying.
Zesshi Zetsumei was the trump card of the Theocracy. She was the guardian of humanity's future. For her to vanish without a trace implied the existence of a hostile entity capable of subduing a God-kin effortlessly. But more than that...
The looting. The lack of bodies. The anti-divination countermeasures.
This wasn't a rage-fueled duel. This was a calculated operation.
"Captain," Tyr said, his voice low and grave from behind his massive shield. "This isn't an assassination. This is an erasure."
Clemence looked at the empty throne, and for the first time in years, he felt the sensation of being prey.
"We leave," Clemence said, turning sharply. "Immediately. Valen, prepare the mass teleportation scroll. We are not hunting anymore. We are trespassing in the den of something we do not understand."