Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The man paused when he saw Lindarion, but didn't show surprise. Just adjusted the cut of his smile.

"You're not one of mine," he said, voice smooth and polite. "That much is obvious."

Lindarion didn't answer. He didn't need to.

The man walked down three wide steps, slow and careful. "This estate isn't open to the public. You're either brave, stupid, or both."

Ashwing's voice touched the edge of his thoughts. "He doesn't recognize you. Not yet."

"I'll give you a moment to explain yourself," the Duke said, stopping about fifteen feet away. "If you don't have anything good, I'll have the guards handle it."

Lindarion spoke without shifting. "There's something beneath your estate."

The Duke tilted his head. "Is that what you're here for? Some treasure hunter chasing ghost stories?"

"No," Lindarion said. "I'm here because something old is pulsing through your leyline."

The Duke's eyes narrowed, but the smile stayed. "You sound like a failed mage with too much time and no formal training."

"Funny," Lindarion replied. "You sound like someone who knows exactly what I'm talking about."

That got a pause.

Very slight. Not long enough for most people to notice. But Lindarion wasn't most people.

"Whatever you think is down there," the Duke said, "this land was cleared by Caldrisian scholars. Decades ago."

"That's not true."

"You're calling a noble a liar?"

"I'm calling you nervous."

Ashwing curled a little tighter around his wrist. "He's going to try and deny until you push harder."

"Either invite me in," Lindarion said, "or I'll find the vault myself. Won't take long."

"You're trespassing," the Duke said.

"And you're hiding a sealed rune beneath your wine cellar."

Now the smile dropped.

Just for a second.

Then it came back, practiced and sharp.

"You're confident."

"I'm right."

The Duke exhaled. "Follow me."

He turned and started walking toward the inner garden path without looking back.

Lindarion followed. Ashwing didn't speak.

They passed two silver-cloaked guards. Neither raised their heads. Either they didn't see Lindarion as a threat, or the Duke had already sent some message ahead.

Down a long hall, past two reinforced doors, then through a spiral stairwell.

The walls here were different.

No paintings. No trophies. Just smooth stone. Not decorative.

Functional.

At the bottom, a single metal door with no handle.

The Duke pressed his ring to a panel on the wall. There was a sound, more of a shift than a click. The door opened inward.

Inside was a round chamber. Empty.

No furniture. No shelves. Just stone. And in the center, a flat disc of metal inlaid with a symbol that glowed faintly blue.

Lindarion stepped forward.

Ashwing said it first. "That's not dormant."

The light was too steady. Too pure.

Lindarion crouched beside the disc. The closer he got, the more his back teeth started to ache.

It was active.

But quiet. Hidden.

Just enough to go unnoticed by most.

He looked up at the Duke.

"You've been feeding it."

The Duke didn't answer.

Lindarion stood.

"You've got three seconds to tell me where the others are."

The Duke's face finally shifted from polite to defensive. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Lindarion's hands didn't glow. He didn't reach for a weapon.

But the air changed.

Ashwing's scales shimmered faintly with heat.

"One."

"I'm telling you—"

"Two."

"There's no one else—"

"Three."

Lindarion moved.

He didn't draw a blade. He just closed the distance and grabbed the Duke by the collar, slammed him back into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster behind him.

"You're hiding an active part of a world-breaking rune under your estate. This isn't political anymore. You have no protection here."

The Duke's breath caught. He still didn't speak.

"Who gave you the instructions?"

Still silence.

"Who built the seal?"

Nothing.

Lindarion pulled back just slightly, his hand crackling with low sparks.

Ashwing's voice returned.

"He's not going to talk. Not because he won't. Because he can't."

Lindarion let go. The Duke dropped to the floor, coughing.

He didn't look injured.

But he did look afraid now.

Lindarion looked at the disc again.

Then back at the man.

"This place isn't yours anymore."

—

The Duke was still coughing when Lindarion stepped forward again.

One hand. No flourish.

He pressed two fingers against the side of the man's throat and applied just enough force to compress the artery.

The Duke tried to jerk back. Didn't get far.

Ten seconds.

His limbs went slack.

Another five.

Unconscious.

Lindarion let him drop gently, silently. He dragged the body to the wall and leaned it against a crate in the corner. Nothing visible on the skin. No bruises. Just sleep.

Ashwing's voice returned. "No alarms. No pulse wards."

"They don't expect visitors."

Lindarion adjusted his stance, drew his cloak tighter, and extended one hand.

Darkness flowed out, not thick, not showy. A ripple of dim that folded around his form like shadow conforming to muscle. He didn't vanish. He blended.

He moved without sound, walking back up the spiral corridor.

One level. Two.

The upper hallway was wider, lined with doors.

He opened one, carefully, slowly.

A study.

Papers, ledgers, glass containers. No one inside.

Another room, servants' quarters. Empty.

He moved further in.

The fourth door opened into something else.

Stone beneath carpet. Cold.

And the air changed again.

No fresh flowers here. No polished brass.

Just stale mana.

Old, clinging.

Ashwing hissed through the bond. "Here."

Lindarion stepped inside.

There were scrolls.

Not hidden.

Just stored with care.

Folded documents labeled in elegant script.

No magical seals.

They didn't need to protect them, no one else was supposed to be down here.

He picked one up.

The paper wasn't local. The ink shimmered slightly when tilted.

He unrolled the page.

There it was.

A diagram.

Three rings.

Intersecting.

The pattern was familiar.

Part of the greater rune he'd seen before.

Part of what sat beneath Solrendel.

Ashwing shifted slightly against his wrist.

"There's more."

Lindarion moved to the far cabinet.

Broke the lock with a twist of lightning barely stronger than a blink.

Inside—

More scrolls.

Crates.

Sealed vials.

And a map.

Marked.

With glyph sites.

Dated.

Planned.

Every one of them linked.

Lindarion didn't speak.

He just rolled the map and slid it into his coat.

He'd seen enough.

This wasn't a rogue noble dabbling in forbidden things.

This was organized.

Funded.

Protected.

And still—

No one had noticed him.

He pulled the shadows tighter and stepped into the hall.

He wasn't finished.

Not yet.