Mistaken Match: Marrying the Enigmatic CEO; Chapter 2372

Mistaken Match: Marrying the Enigmatic CEO

Chapter 2372; Blackshoot Princes

“Damnit! Damn it all!”

Over in Tocvale Military District, Dragonicus’ voice thundered through the room as he slammed his fist onto the table. The wood groaned under the force, and the echo of his anger seemed to hang in the air. “You’ve got all these men, and you can’t find a trace of Mackenzie? What good are you to me?”

The room fell silent. His subordinates, eyes lowered, dared not speak.

After a long pause, Elric stepped forward. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension. “Commander, the Fierce Claw Army have scoured half of Chanaea. We’ve turned over every stone in Mysticwood, and there’s no sign of any Saintess of Saint King.”

A low murmur spread through the room.

“Seriously, in this day and age, who still believes in those old myths?”

“Yeah, the Mysticwood region’s practically been assimilated into the modern world.”

“Exactly. We’re in the modern era, for crying out loud.”

Dragonicus’ fists clenched as he readied to lash out again. But Elric pressed on quickly. “It seems the Holy Fire organization hasn’t infiltrated Chanaea. They must be operating overseas. Mackenzie isn’t here.”

Dragonicus’ eyes flashed with disbelief. “That can’t be true!”

He swing his arm in frustration, knocking a cup off the table. “Anyone who crosses the border leaves a record. Who could slip past Chanaea’s border surveillance without being caught, unless they’re a D*mn ghost?”

Elric, unfazed, stepped in with a cold measured reply.

“That’s the problem. After Mackenzie was hit with the witchcraft worm, we don’t even know what she’s capable of now. Quintus believes she’s already crossed into Southroyal.”

Dragonicus’ rage flared. “Damnit, I’m going after her!”

He turned on his heel, ready to storm out.

“Commander, you can’t!”

Elric’s voice cut through the air like a whip, “Emmanuel’s coming to Tocvale today. He carries Mr. Hale’s personal seal and is leading the military efforts against Ashdon Nation. You need to follow his orders.”

“D*mn it!”

Dragonicus froze, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his temper under control.

Meanwhile, in Chanaea, military preparations were underway, the southern seas poised for battle with Ashdon Nation.

For to the south, Quintus rode his father’s black steed, his eyes scanning the horizon as he entered Southroyal.

After a few discreet inquiries, he learned of a mysterious region, bought by a noble family years ago, now off limits to the public.

Ordinary men would never be allowed near it.

But Quintus wasn’t ordinary. An SS-class expert, he dismounted and made his way past the high-tech security with the ease of a shadow.

The land around Quintus was a tapestry of green-lush forests, clear streams winding through rocky crags, and towering mountains rising in the distance. The beauty was undeniable, but what caught his attention even more was the unmistakable presence of people.

They were everywhere, moving quietly through the landscape, dressed in distinctive style of Mysticwood. He had seen it before, fine cloth, dark embroidery, the kind of elegance that spoke of old traditions.

Quintus moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the path ahead. He saw a group of figures, walking in tight formation down a narrow trial. He quickly dropped behind a thick cluster of bushes, the leaves rustling softly as he shifted his weight.

In his earlier days, he might’ve rushed in, too eager to act. But now, as a Holy Guardian with a duty to protect the Saintess, he had learned the value of patience and discretion.

He watched the group pass. They were impeccably dressed, their steps perfectly synchronized. These were no ordinary travelers, they were headed somewhere important.

Before he could make his move, another group appeared. They, too, wore Mysticwood garb, but there was something different about them.

The color, for one.

The first group had worn shades of green, blending into the landscape. The one, however, wore rich red, the color of power, of command.

Quintus could feel it in the air; the difference between the two groups was palpable. The red-clad figures moved with purpose, their eyes sharp, their formation tighter. These were soldiers, no doubt.

His pulse quickened. Something big was happening, something he couldn’t miss. This might be connected to the Saintess, maybe even Mackenzie’s return.

His instincts kicked in. If he followed them, he could find Mackenzie at last.

Without a second thought, Quintus kept from the branches of one tree to the next, moving quickly but quietly through the thick forest.

But as he neared a crossroads in the path, a new group emerged from the shadow of the trees.

“No way…”

His breath caught in his throat. The first two groups had been large, hundreds strong, but this? This was different. This was overwhelming.

The new group stretched as far as the eye could see, easily numbering in thousands.

Their clothing was black, uniform, military, and perfectly coordinated. They moved like a single entity, their formation an unbroken line that seemed to go on forever.

Quintus’ heart sank. There was no mistaking it now. This was a Blackshoot Tribe’s force.

He had planned to slip ahead, to get a closer look. But now, he paused. Something about the sheer scale of this force sent a chill down his spine.

He had to be careful. If the Great Saint King was among them, or any experts, for that matter, he couldn’t afford to be spotted. Getting caught now would be disastrous.

He ducked behind the nearest tree, holding his breath as the Blackshoot Tribe’s soldiers passed by. The sound of their boots crunching on the forest floor seemed to echo in the still air.

Then, from the rear of the group, a loud voice rang out.

“The Saintess, Blackshoot Princess approaches!”

Quintus’ heart stopped.

Could it be? Was Mackenzie in that group?

His mind raced. If she was, he wouldn’t have to push deeper into enemy territory. He could just follow them.

Excitement surged in his chest. He dropped down from his hiding spot, crouching low in the underbrush, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the gaps in the thick foliage.

The Blackshoot Tribe’s force loomed before Quintus, a sea of soldiers and carriages that almost felt like a living, breathing shadow. At the heart of it all, a black ox-drawn convoy crept forward, the heavy wheels of its carriages rolling smoothly over the earth. Eight black horses pulled the vehicles, their hooves striking the ground with a rhythm as dark as the night itself.

The convoy radiated an aura of foreboding power, yet there was something undeniably elegant about it, an undeniable femininity woven through its every detail.

Around the convoy moved thirty-six women, all cloaked in Mysticwood attire.

Their beauty was impossible to ignore, drawing the eyes of every onlooker like moths to a flame.

The carriage itself stood out a true masterpiece, its sides gleaming with golden black phenix totems. It had a real, almost mythical quality, something straight out of an ancient storybook. Inside, Quintus could feel it in his bones; a princess was likely waiting.

“Mackenzie… it has to be Mackenzie!” he whispered to himself, his pulse quickening.

His focus sharpened.

His mind was clear now, no distractions, only the goal. He had to get her back.

This was it. He would capture Mackenzie before they reached the Mysticwood gathering point. The opposition would be lighter this way, and he could move more swiftly.

Without hesitation, he leaped forward toward the carriage.

“Wath out! An assassin!”

“Protect the Princess Saintess!”

The warning rang out, and in that instant, Quintus knew he’d been spotted.

The words ‘Princess Saintess’ stung him in the chest. Mackenzie?

Yes, he knew she was the Saintess, but why was she being called a princess now? The confusion gnawed at him, but there was no time to dwell on it.

His mission was clear.

He couldn’t let this chance slip.

He reached the carriage, but before he could touch it, a handful of black-clad guards lunged at him, swords drawn.

The fight was about to begin, Cold Steel against steel, Quintus’ specialty.

The guards were skilled, but no match for him. Even the strongest among them barely reached the level of an S-class fighter. For Quintus, an SS-class warrior, they were little more than obstacles.

He knocked two of them down with ease, his movements fluid, controlled, never hesitating. Then, without breaking stride, he jumped straight into the carriage.

“Mackenzie!” he called out, a surge of triumph rushing through him. He broke through the entourage just like that.

Of course he did. He was too strong for them, after all. Or so he thought.

She sat in the middle of the dimly lit lent, draped in the luxurious Blackshoot garments.

From the back, her silhouette alone was enough to make his heart race. She was vision of beauty, her figure graceful, almost ethereal.

“Mackenzie! I’m taking you out of here now!” Quintus shouted, reaching for her arm.

But just as his fingers neared her, she spun around with a fluidity that caught him off guard.

Her hand shot out, fast and fierce, seizing his wrist with a vice-like grip.

“Quite the strength…”

A chill ran down Quintus’ spine. He had expected resistance, but this? This felt different. Had Mackenzie changed? Was this the dark power she’d acquired?

Before he could even process the thought, the women lifted her veil, revealing her face.

And in that moment, he knew. This was not Mackenzie. Not even close. Those beguiling eyes were not hers.

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