Raised From The Wild-Chapter 425: The Spy 2

The following morning, as always, Manna awoke at precisely 6:00 am and stepped into the garden to feed the pigeons. She scattered the bird food along the cobblestone path, watching as the pigeons flocked around her, their soft coos filled the air, a gentle symphony welcoming the new day.

Unbeknownst to her, a stealth drone hovered high above, its camera zooming in the moment she appeared.

The pigeons pecked at the scattered feed, their cooing blending with the soft rustle of the morning breeze. Then, a white pigeon tilted its head, revealing something nestled within the grains— a sleek, black capsule. With a swift peck, it seized the object in its beak and took off into the sky.

Manna, oblivious to this small event, continued her routine, heading toward the kitchen. The drone, however, shifted its focus, trailing the pigeon as it glided across the estate. The bird landed gracefully at a secluded birdhouse within the gardens of Anishton Estate.

A maid tending to the flowers straightened, casting a wary glance around before approaching the birdhouse. She reached inside, retrieving the capsule with steady hands. Carefully, she twisted it open, revealing a tightly rolled piece of paper.

Without hesitation, she pulled out her phone and typed the contents of the message— a sequence of words instantly captured by the drone’s surveillance system:

The Princess will visit Albanya in three weeks for Tamara’s son’s birthday. She will stay for a week and arrive on a Saturday.

The message seemed innocent. It was just about Princess Amaya’s schedule. But then, Amaya was no ordinary woman.

Once the message was sent, she buried the paper beneath the soil and poured water over it, erasing any trace of its existence.

Meanwhile, in Villa No. 1, Marx stirred from sleep. His laptop was already open, and the monitors on his wall flickered with a bright white glow.

A familiar face appeared on the screen— Ren, his mischievous smirk evident.

"Good morning, Uncle," Ren drawled. "That drone is a masterpiece. Think you can teach me how to build one?"

Ever since Marx visited Ren and Ava in the basement the other day, Ren has treated Marx like a peer that he could tease at will.

Marx wasn’t in the mood for games. "I’ll send you the blueprint. Learn it yourself."

Ren hummed in amusement but quickly switched gears.

"Did you trace where the maid’s message was sent?" Marx inquired as his finger flew on the keyboard.

"It was transmitted near the border of Albanya, Lupanya, and Ra-Iya," Ren reported. "Whoever is behind this is a genius. I might actually become his fan."

Marx’s cold glare made the boy falter.

"We lost the trail there," Ren continued. "I suspect they’re using old-school methods— passing messages physically to avoid digital footprints; similar to the pigeons."

Marx exhaled. "Keep looking. I don’t believe that they left no trace. There will be an electronic trace somewhere."

Ren scoffed. "You have a vast network, Uncle, a lot of resources under your command. Why are you bossing me around? I’m not your slave."

Marx studied the pale young boy whose face filled the monitor, then delivered his words deliberately.

Marx observed the delicate profile of the pale young boy whose visage illuminated the screen. Marx chose his words deliberately, allowing each one to resonate with intention as he spoke.

"No, you are not my slave nor my people. But you are Princess Amaya’s most trusted computer expert and her brother. This is a delicate task. I could only think of you as the most suitable person to handle this."

Ren froze. It was as if Marx had hit a pause button. His large black eyes flickered with emotion. The word ’brother’ struck deep.

Amaya had never treated him or Ava as experiments, nor had she looked down on them. To her, they were truly family— her little brother and sister, not monsters to be scorned.

A moment passed, and then Ren straightened.

"Rest assured, Uncle Marx. I’ll do my best." His voice cracked slightly before the monitor went black.

Marx pushed himself away from his desk and changed into his swimming trunks. Stepping onto the balcony, he slid open the glass door and dove cleanly into the pool below. The water was cool, cutting through his thoughts like a blade as he swam two full laps along the narrow, winding pool that connected all twelve villas.

By the time he emerged, clarity had settled in.

The bothersome siblings from Albanya had left early, which put him in a better mood. As he strode briskly toward the palace dining hall, his path intersected with Manna’s. She was heading toward the Princess’s quarters, likely to assist her with her morning routine.

Marx lifted his hand in a subtle gesture. The guards flanking the hallway stepped forward and seized her.

Manna gasped, her eyes wide with fear. "Mister Skylar, what have I done? Why are they restraining me? Please, let me speak to the Princess!" Her voice trembled with desperation. She sounded very pitiful and wronged. Even the guards hesitated, their grips loosening slightly.

"You’re making a mistake! I’m innocent!" she shouted, her cries echoing down the corridor.

At that moment, Princess Amaya emerged from her room, her expression one of surprise. "Marx, what’s going on? Why are the guards restraining her?"

Manna turned to her like a lifeline. "Princess, please help me! I don’t know what I did wrong!"

Marx’s cold gaze bore into her, making her shrink under its weight. The pair of ocean-blue orbs sent chills down her body.

"Are you sure?" his voice was razor-sharp. "You fed the pigeons this morning."

"Yes! But I do that every day!" Manna confirmed.

Marx’s tone darkened. "One of those pigeons picked up a capsule and flew away. Care to guess what was inside?"

Manna’s face remained blank.

Marx watched her facial expression but didn’t notice anything amiss. Her eyes were filled with innocence, but for a moment, they flickered with uncertainty. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"I don’t understand what you’re implying," she whispered. "All I did was feed them."

By now, the commotion had drawn an audience. Servants gathered in the corridor and the dining hall, whispering amongst themselves.

Manna’s gaze flicked toward another maid— Liza— standing inconspicuously among the others.

Marx smirked. He had caught that fleeting glance. His suspicions were confirmed.

Tapping a discreet button on his wristwatch, he returned to Manna and issued a challenge.

"Then prove it," he said, his voice like ice. "Prove you’re innocent."