The Game's Extra: Azhriel Odyssey-Chapter 132: Emergency Quest-4

Two days before.

Inside the elven palace, a small boy quietly slipped through the corridors, careful not to draw attention. His tiny steps made no sound against the marble floor.

He glanced around once, making sure no guards were near, then hurried forward, chasing the soft sound of—

"Meow."

A red cat with glowing fur darted down the hallway, its tail flicking as if teasing him.

The boy—Veritas, the third prince of the elves—giggled softly and followed. He knew he shouldn't be out of his room.

His father had grounded him for sneaking out before. But the cat looked so cute… he couldn't resist.

He crept through the halls, slipping past guards like a shadow. The cat ran ahead, but not too fast. It was as if it wanted him to follow.

Step by step, it led him farther from the castle, out toward the edge of the forest where the moonlight filtered through tall trees.

Finally, the cat stopped under a great oak tree and began licking its paws lazily. Veritas crouched low, holding his breath. He inched closer, heart beating fast, then pounced.

"Got you!" he said with a grin, lifting the cat into his arms.

"What are you doing here? Prince, are you sneaking out again?"

"Eek!" Veritas froze, his whole body stiff. Slowly, he turned his head like a rusted hinge.

Maera stood a few meters away, arms crossed, her silver hair glinting under the moonlight.

"A-ah, M-Maera, I wasn't sneaking out or anythi—huh?"

He didn't finish his sentence. The ground beneath his feet glowed black. Strange symbols twisted and pulsed in the dirt. The red cat in his arms melted into a pool of shadow, slipping through his fingers like tar.

"Prince!" Maera shouted. She moved instantly, faster than a blink, her body cutting through the air like a blade.

But she was a heartbeat too late.

The black circle flared with light—and the prince vanished.

Maera's heart pounded. She dropped to one knee, her hand slamming against the circle, tracing the magic lines with her fingers. The faint energy burned cold under her skin.

'Corrupted spirit energy,' she realized, her eyes widening. 'A black spirit!'

Without a second thought, she dashed forward, following the lingering trace of the energy. Her body blurred, every step cracking the ground beneath her boots.

She was fast but even that didn't calm the fear twisting inside her chest.

It didn't take long before she found them.

There, beside the roots of an old tree, stood two figures.

One was a tall monk cloaked in black, quiet and still. The other was a spirit, its form half-shadow, half-flesh. And in its hand—unconscious and pale—was the prince.

"Oh, you came fast," the spirit said, grinning wide. Its voice was oily, dripping with amusement. It held the boy up by his collar like a toy.

"You wretches!" Maera's voice rang sharp as her blade left its sheath. She dashed forward, sword raised—

Shing.

The sound stopped her in her tracks.

"Move another step," the spirit hissed, pressing a long black claw against the prince's neck, "and I'll slit this little maggot's throat."

A thin line of blood trickled down the boy's pale skin.

Maera froze. Every instinct screamed at her to attack, but she couldn't.

One wrong move, and he'd die.

The spirit chuckled, showing a row of jagged teeth. "That's better. Stay right there, knight."

Her hands trembled around her sword hilt. Her heart burned with fury.

"You think you can escape after harming the prince?" she said through gritted teeth. "You'll never get far. The royal guards will be here soon."

The spirit's grin widened, cold and cruel.

"We won't wait," he said. "Drink this, or he dies. Then you can't chase us."

He flicked a small vial through the air. The liquid inside was black and oily, like night trapped in glass.

It swung once, caught the light, and landed at Maera's feet.

She froze. Her hand hovered above it, fingers trembling.

The prince's shallow breath hitched. Blood trickled from the thin cut on his throat and darkened the grass.

"Drink," the spirit barked. His voice was a hard stone.

He dragged his claw across the prince's neck again, slow and threatening. A sharp sting of red welled up. The prince whimpered, tiny and helpless.

Maera's chest ached.

Her jaw clenched.

Anger burned under her skin, but something fiercer burned brighter—duty, and the image of the prince alive and safe. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Her hands shook, but she did not hesitate.

She grabbed the vial and forced it down in one motion. The liquid tore through her mouth like fire. It tasted vile—metal and rot and bitter ash. Her throat spasmed.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. The forest tilted. For a second she tasted copper and the prince's small, scared heartbeat.

She stood for a single stunned breath. The world blurred at the edges. The ground slipped from under her like a floor giving way. Her knees folded once, twice.

She tried to plant her feet, to call out, to hold on—but the drug rolled through her like a tide. Her muscles went soft.

Her vision tunneled.

Before she fell, a fierce thought flared: protect him. Even half-alive, even dizzy and hurt, she would not let him go.

Her fingers closed around empty air as she tried to reach him, to pull him close. The prince's face ghosted before her eyes—small, pale, trusting. She felt a hot shame for failing him.

Darkness swallowed her.

The spirit laughed softly, low and pleased. "Good elf. They fetch a fine price."

He slung Maera over his shoulder with a smooth, cruel ease. The monk folded the prince into a carrier and gripped the straps like he meant never to drop them.

Side by side, they moved into the trees, their shapes slipping into shadow. The clearing sat quiet after them—a hush of leaves and the faint, slow drip of blood into the grass.

"That was how, the prince was kidnapped." Maera spoke.