SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign
Chapter 128: Discovered (2)

Chapter 128: Discovered (2)

Not hard. Not soft. Just dumb.

Taira didn’t look. "If this is about the ManaCore arbitration request, tell Kleff he can shove it. I’m not signing off on another soulbound vendor contract until I see real numbers."

"It’s not Kleff," came a male voice. Younger. Breath clipped.

She turned one eye toward the door.

"Then walk in."

A man in standard guild support blues stepped through, holding a folded tablet and a face like he’d just found a dragon egg in a sewer.

He held the tablet out without saying anything.

Taira didn’t move.

"Report," she said flatly.

"Level-four red zone activation in the North Tundra," he said. "Private clearance. Undocumented sink signature. Registered mana trail points to sir Varik."

That made her pause.

Only for a second.

Then she reached out and took the tablet.

"Varik’s not freelance."

"No, ma’am."

"He’s not affiliated."

"No, ma’am."

"So why’s his name on a ghost rift clearance?"

"No idea," the guy said. "The system tagged it anomaly class. Someone triggered a hidden node. He was there when it collapsed."

She scrolled the report with one finger.

Minimal data. But the node entry was logged.

One name stood out. Not in the text. In the gap.

Unknown. Unflagged. Unlicensed.

"Solo?" she asked.

"Sort of," the aide said. "Varik’s system tagged another body with him, but we’ve got no ID. Just that someone else triggered the core and registered damage on the interior logs."

She looked at him, deadpan. "So a ghost dungeon, solo run, hidden node, and a no-name rookie who triggered the core?"

He nodded.

Taira closed the tablet, set it down.

Then stood up slowly.

"What’s the spell pattern?"

"Unknown. No flagged glyphs. Unmatched casting. Range spectrum says high precision, mid-range support. But it doesn’t look support."

"Why?"

"Because whatever he’s doing, it left a crater trail. And the anomaly locked."

Taira cracked her knuckles. One at a time. The sound bounced sharp in the quiet.

"Track it. Run a silent tag trace. If they bought anything in the last hour, I want it flagged."

"Yes, ma’am."

He turned to leave.

"And get me Varik’s last location," she added. "If he’s picking up students, I want to know why."

"Already on it."

The door hissed shut behind him.

Taira looked out the window. The glass had dimmed again. Her reflection stared back.

A half-smile curled at her lip.

’Varik doesn’t train kids. He kills things. So who the hell’s worth dragging into a sink?’

She reached down, flicked open the system hub on her belt.

The guild comm opened with a sharp tone.

"Evyn," she said.

A voice crackled back. "Boss?"

"Put me in touch with East Rift Traffic. I want unlisted shifts in the last twelve hours."

"On it."

She sat back down, fingers drumming once on the metal.

Not frantic. Just thinking.

A quiet hum played again from her corner broadcast screen.

She glanced at it.

Paused.

Then smiled wider.

"Ghostweave," she said aloud.

Just the name.

Then turned back to the report.

And started digging.

—

The wall behind Ryven Kael’s desk was made of reinforced mirrorsteel, full panel, polished, brutal. It reflected the office at all hours, like it was always watching.

He liked it that way.

The man himself sat with his boots kicked up on the desk, shirt sleeves rolled, collar open, black tactical undersuit showing beneath a lightweight grey jacket.

His hair was cut short, uneven, like he didn’t have time to care. Silver lining ran through one temple, not dyed. Earned.

A rank? SS.

Title? Guildmaster of Embervault.

The most combat-heavy guild on the east continent.

The office buzzed with a quiet mana pulse from the comm terminal. Something waiting. He didn’t answer it right away.

Instead, he picked up the glass on his desk, dark whiskey, untouched, and stared out at the skyline.

Thin towers. Distant airfields. And somewhere beneath all of it, people wasting time pretending rank meant safety.

Then the door cracked open.

Not knocked. Just opened. Like whoever was outside knew better than to wait.

"Ry," said a gravel voice. "You’re gonna want to see this."

Ryven didn’t turn. "Better not be a bribe request again. I told Vella I’m not paying kids to pretend they found rift cores."

"It’s not that. It’s... it’s sir Varik."

That got his attention.

He turned in his chair, just a little. One brow raised.

"Varik? You mean that Varik?"

The other man, stocky, mid-rank runner with three black pins on his collar, nodded once and held up a datapad. His fingers twitched against it. Nervous.

Ryven leaned forward.

"Don’t just hold it. Speak."

"Private rift. North Tundra region. Secret level access. It got cleared. And Sol was inside."

Ryven narrowed his eyes. "He’s still operating solo?"

"Not this time. There was another mana trace with him. New. Unregistered. Unlicensed. But someone triggered the core."

Ryven took the pad.

Scrolled once.

Froze.

"Hidden dungeon node... wiped clean in under an hour?"

"Yes."

"And Varik wasn’t the one who triggered it?"

"No. The system flagged another signature. No name attached."

Ryven sat back.

’Varik doesn’t team up. And he sure as hell doesn’t let someone else run point.’

He scanned the rest of the file.

The terminal pinged again. This time with footage.

Short clip. Rift interior. Frozen forest. Something fast. Something loud.

He tapped play.

The sound popped once, then the screen flashed as the image showed a blastwave knocking back half a dozen forest elves. Mana reaction logs marked unknown class casting. No registered spell names.

Ryven leaned forward.

Paused the video.

Then whispered, "What the hell are you, kid?"

The man at the door cleared his throat. "Should we start a probe? Try to find the new signature?"

Ryven set the datapad down.

"Not yet. Let Varik make the next move. We watch."

He picked up his glass. Finally drank.

Then added, almost amused, "And if you hear anyone say the word ’Ghostweave’ again, I want a name and a location. You hear me?"

The man nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

The door hissed shut behind him.

Ryven didn’t move.

Just stared at the frozen frame of the playback again. The blast. The elf bodies in the air. The impossible mana reading.

Then he muttered, "’Solo clear, my ass.’"

He pulled up a secondary window on his system. Correct content is on NovelFire

And started a private folder.

Title: Ghostweave.