Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 120: Solhaven (2)

The inn was too warm. The kind of thick heat that clung to the skin and made the breath sit heavy in the chest.

Lindarion sat upright in bed, back to the wall. The blanket was pooled around his waist. The cot creaked with every breath.

He hadn't slept.

His eyes stayed half-open, unfocused. But the tension never left his shoulders. Not even when the candle by the door burned low, flickering in the quiet.

Then—

A pulse.

Not sound.

Not motion.

Mana.

Low, wide, trained.

Not the wild leak of someone flaring out by accident.

No. This was intentional. Controlled. Moving through the room like a wave of pressure.

A new presence.

His eyes sharpened at once.

Then something else clicked into place.

A thin line of cold drifted across the back of his neck. Not wind. Not weather.

[Core Status – Minor Recovery Detected]

The words appeared in his mind, still and silent. Not spoken. Not written. Just known.

His posture eased slightly.

'It's healing… Finally.'

The damage done in the Man's hold had locked his Core into a semi-burnt state — fractured, barely functional, held together by instinct and pain.

But now, slowly, it was knitting itself back together.

No flare of strength. No sudden gift.

Just a fraction more resilience.

He pulled the coat tighter around his shoulders, blade already resting near his side.

The mana outside grew stronger.

Two signatures. One denser. Smoother. Like fire banked under steel.

The other had the weight of armor. Familiar, but not dangerous yet.

He stepped toward the door, careful. Quiet.

Opened it just enough to see.

Down the hallway, figures emerged from the stairwell.

One in a full cloak. The fabric moved with the weight of a trained body. The presence was unmistakable — someone with years of controlled mana use, likely fire or wind aligned, from the heat pushing faintly outward.

The second wore a knight's uniform. Standard Caldris colors, but accented differently. Not local garrison.

An envoy then. Maybe military. Maybe something worse.

The cloaked one stopped. Shifted slightly. Their head tilted, just a little.

Listening.

Lindarion didn't breathe.

The knight beside them muttered something. He couldn't make out the words.

The taller figure nodded once and spoke softly, voice deep, faintly rough.

"He's here. Somewhere."

Lindarion's heart stayed even.

'They're not talking about me. They'd be closer. They'd know.'

He shut the door again with the same care. Clicked the lock into place.

His fingers brushed the grip of the blade.

The system still echoed faintly in the back of his mind — a distant pulse like a second heartbeat.

[Greater Core Recovery: 3%]

It wasn't much.

But it was more than nothing.

He sat back on the bed, facing the door. He didn't plan to sleep. Not now.

'Something's happening in this town,' he thought. 'And I'm not the only one hiding from it.'

He leaned back against the wall. Let his body rest.

Eyes stayed open.

Listening.

Waiting.

—

The sun hadn't broken through the clouds yet.

Just a pale strip of light along the rooftops. Grey and thin. The kind that gave no warmth, only shape.

Lindarion stepped out into the chill with his coat drawn tight and scarf pulled down low. His side hurt less than yesterday. Still stiff. Still swollen. But manageable.

He felt the difference.

Mana moved cleaner through his limbs now, a faint trickle he could direct into his legs, his hands. Enough to keep the blood from going stagnant.

[Greater Core Recovery: 5%]

'Still slow,' he thought. 'But steady.'

The street was quiet at this hour. A few merchants opening shutters. A man tossing salt across the ice-packed stone. Somewhere nearby, a hammer rang once against metal. Nothing sharp. Nothing urgent.

He moved toward the square. Not quickly. Just moving for the sake of it. Getting a feel for the town while most of it still slept.

And then he stopped.

Two figures stood ahead, near the frozen well.

One turned at the sound of his steps.

The knight.

Broad-shouldered. Clean armor. Red-trimmed cloak, lined for cold. A longsword hung at his side, not ceremonial.

The other, the cloaked figure had turned a second later.

Eyes found him.

Sharp. Focused.

A man maybe in his thirties. Close-cropped black hair, trimmed beard, no jewelry. His stance was relaxed, but the air around him felt different. Heated. Not burning, but charged.

Fire affinity. High-level. Probably battle-experienced.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Lindarion held their gaze evenly.

He made no effort to hide what he was. The ears, the pale skin, the eyes too sharp for human blood.

The silence dragged.

Then the knight finally spoke.

"…You're an elf."

Not hostile. But not casual either.

Lindarion let his voice stay calm.

"Yes."

Another pause.

The mage narrowed his eyes. His tone was more direct.

"From Eldorath? I'm assuming."

Lindarion gave a shallow nod.

"I came from…Solrendel."

The knight exhaled slowly.

"That's a long way to walk in winter."

'And not a single word about what I'm doing here.'

'They're being careful.'

He didn't move. Just watched them.

The mage stepped forward slightly, boots crunching over salt and old snow.

"You're far from your kind, boy."

Lindarion said nothing.

The mage studied him another moment. Then tilted his head.

"You alone?"

He answered before he could think.

"Yes."

Cassian would've made a joke. Vivienne would've barked back.

Lindarion just gave them the truth.

The knight folded his arms.

"Name?"

Lindarion met his eyes.

A long moment passed.

Then he answered.

"Lindarion Sunblade."

The shift in their stance was immediate.

Not fear. Not disbelief.

Recognition.

The mage's expression sharpened. A flicker of calculation passed through his gaze.

"I see," he said quietly.

Lindarion felt his hand twitch near the edge of his coat.

'Do they know what happened at the Academy?'

'Or just the name?'

The knight's voice came slower now.

"We weren't told anyone from Eldorath was crossing the northern border. Especially not someone with your name."

"I wasn't told anyone was watching," Lindarion replied.

Something cold passed between them.

But neither reached for a weapon.

The mage took another step forward.

His eyes, though cold, weren't hostile. Not yet.

"We'll speak again," he said.

Then both men stepped past him.

Just like that.

No demand.

No escort.

No threat.

Not yet.

Lindarion stood still.

'That didn't seem like a greeting.'

'More like a message.'

And he'd heard it clearly.

—

His name was Ardan Verrick.

He'd served as a battlemage under the king, seen borders fall, and walked through more blood than most knights would ever confess to.

He had learned early that the world didn't end with war, it ended with silence.

And there, in the silence of Solhaven's square, he'd seen something that did not belong.

Lindarion Sunblade.

He recognized him. Not by power. Not by aura.

By bearing.

That posture was too precise for a trader's son. Too still for a boy fleeing from punishment or hunger.

He didn't look like royalty. Not dressed in those clothes. Not with blood dried into his coat. But it clung to him anyway. The kind of weight that couldn't be scrubbed off with cold water and humble boots.

And the name… he hadn't flinched giving it.

The prince of Eldorath, standing alone in a dying town near the Caldris border, without a single banner or guard in sight.

Ardan didn't speak until they were well past the square.

He and the knight stopped beneath the roofline of a butcher's shop, where the frost hadn't fully melted and the smell of brine masked their words.

"That boy," Ardan said quietly, "was the Lindarion Sunblade we heard about."

The knight didn't react right away.

Then he finally spoke up.

"The Sunblade heir?"

Ardan nodded once.

"No mistake?"

"None."

The knight frowned, glancing back toward the square.

"He doesn't look like I expected."

Ardan didn't answer. He'd expected something different too.

Taller than the stories made him.

Not imposing, but composed.

Not proud, but not broken either.

There had been nothing clumsy in his movements. No visible fear. Only control.

That was what unsettled him.

The boy, the prince, hadn't acted lost.

He had acted like someone choosing his steps.

"He shouldn't be here," the knight muttered.

"No," Ardan said. "He shouldn't."

The absence of his escort alone was damning. No wardens. No outriders. No trace of diplomatic escort.

More than that, no notice came from the Academy.

No formal message from Eldorath.

No rumors of a fallen heir drifting through the courts.

That kind of silence didn't happen by accident.

It happened when someone very powerful wanted it.

The knight leaned on the edge of the low wall beside him.

"You want to speak to him again?"

"Not yet."

Ardan watched the corner of the square.

The boy had already disappeared from view.

"He gave us his name. Freely. That wasn't carelessness."

The knight scratched his beard.

"So what was it?"

"A signal," Ardan said. "He wants us to know he's here. But not why."

The wind shifted slightly, blowing a line of smoke across the rooftops.

"He's not just passing through," Ardan said, quieter now. "That boy is running from something. But it's not panic in his eyes. It's preparation."

The knight folded his arms. "Orders?"

Ardan didn't speak for a while.

"We send word to Leonhardt. No formal channels."

"Why not?"

"Because whatever put that boy in this town didn't want him followed."

He turned then, cloak pulling behind him.

"And I want to know why."