The smell of rain and wet stone drifted through the open window as a storm gathered over Willow Creek. Han Sen gripped the edge of the dresser, his knuckles white. Every breath was a struggle: a sharp, shallow reminder that his 3 Health Points were a thin line between life and a grave.
He looked at the iron-bound chest Zhao Ling had left him. Inside sat the secrets of his enemies. He didn't have time to study them.
[Warning: Tracking pulse detected.]
[Detection range: 300 meters and closing.]
The air in the room grew heavy, pulsing with a rhythmic, invisible pressure. It felt like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him. Nixi shivered under her shroud, her tiny talons digging into Han Sen's shoulder.
He had to get out of the manor. If he stayed here, he would be a caged bird. Lord Zhao might protect him, but a Level 75 Lord fighting a Level 55 Beast Tamer would turn this palace into a pile of rubble. Han Sen wouldn't survive the collateral damage.
He opened his skill menu. His eyes landed on [False Reality].
[Allocating Skill Points: 5,000,000]
[False Reality has evolved into: Veil of the Non-Existent (Max Level).]
The world didn't just change: it went silent. The rhythmic pulsing of the tracker didn't stop, but the connection to Han Sen snapped. To the rest of the world, the space Han Sen occupied was now a blank spot in the universe.
He moved toward the balcony. He didn't use the door. Using [Ghost-Veil Steps], he drifted over the railing like a piece of ash caught in a draft.
He landed in the palace gardens. The grass didn't even bend under his feet. He moved through the shadows of the hedges, his eyes fixed on the main gate.
A man stood there. He was draped in a cloak made of grey feathers, and a massive, three-eyed hawk perched on his leather-clad arm. This was Elder Fang, the Huntsman.
[Detected: Elder Fang (Level 55)]
Elder Fang held a bronze compass in his scarred hand. The needle was spinning wildly, shaking with such violence that it hissed against the metal casing. The man's gaze was predatory, scanning the palace walls with a cold, hungry intensity.
"It was here," Fang whispered. His voice was like dry leaves skittering over a tombstone. "The pulse was pure. A divine fledgling."
He looked toward the guest wing where Han Sen had been sleeping. The three-eyed hawk let out a piercing screech, its middle eye glowing with a sickly yellow light.
Han Sen froze behind a stone statue. He could feel the hawk's gaze passing over him. The bird's vision was designed to see through illusions, but his [Veil of the Non-Existent] was a law-breaking skill. It didn't create an illusion: it removed the truth.
The bird tilted its head, confused. It saw nothing but empty air and stone.
Fang growled, tapping the compass. "Dead? No. It couldn't have vanished. Search the city! If it has a master, bring me their head. If it is wild, bring me its heart."
The Huntsman turned and walked back toward the city streets, his grey cloak billowing like the wings of a vulture.
Han Sen waited until the sound of the man's heavy boots faded into the rain. He slumped against the statue, his chest burning.
[HP: 2/10]
[Status: Critical Strain. The Veil is consuming your life force.]
He deactivated the skill. The world rushed back in: the sound of rain, the smell of damp earth, and the weight of his own exhaustion. He stumbled toward the servant's gate, blending into the crowd of workers leaving for the night.
He needed a place to hide that wasn't an inn or a palace. He needed a place where the scent of a Level 1 trash wouldn't stand out.
He looked toward the smoke-clogged horizon of the Slums. The Vulture was hunting a God. He wouldn't look for one in the mud.