Raised From The Wild-Chapter 444: Who Was Behind It?

Vasquez who had retraced his steps, froze mid-step.

A faint, unnatural tick... tick... reverberated through the soil around him. His instincts screamed—this wasn’t the rhythm of water, nor the settling of earth. It was mechanical.

His flashlight beam flicked to the walls. Small, dark objects glinted faintly—wedged into the carved soil.

Explosives!

"Marx!" his voice crackled through the comms, urgent and clipped. "The tunnel is rigged. Charges on the walls. Get everyone out of the chalet—now!"

The people in the room moved quickly and stuffed the hole in the floor with the mattress, then placed the bed on top of it before exiting the room and closing the door.

Prince Raquim shouted for the people to evacuate to a safe zone in the chalet.

The tick shifted into a shrill beep.

"Too late," Vasquez hissed. He lunged forward, adrenaline spiking, legs pounding against the earth. The tunnel behind him convulsed with a deafening BOOM. Soil and wooden supports disintegrated in a cascade of dust and flame.

Vasquez ran harder, lungs burning. Chunks of earth fell around him, grazing his shoulders, showering sparks into his hair. The tunnel twisted, and the roar of water grew louder, beckoning like salvation.

Then he saw it—the jagged opening, the river glinting beneath the sunlight. With no time to think, he threw himself forward, diving into the torrent just as the shockwave of the second detonation swallowed the tunnel.

KRASH! The tunnel collapsed entirely. Dirt and fire chased him into the river, slamming against the water’s surface.

Cold swallowed him. The current yanked him downstream, tumbling him in violent spirals. For a moment, he couldn’t tell up from down. He clawed upward, lungs screaming, until his head broke the surface with a desperate gasp.

Above the roar of the river, his communicator sputtered back to life. "Vasquez! Report!"

Coughing, spitting water, he clutched the tiny mic on his vest. "Alive... but the tunnel’s gone. Repeat—it’s gone. They rigged it from the start. Whoever took the princess planned this escape, and the cover-up."

On the far bank, half-hidden by shadow, Vasquez thought he saw movement—a figure slipping into the trees. He was watching and waiting.

He kicked toward the shore, every muscle trembling with the effort. The chalet was safe for now, but his gut churned. This wasn’t just an escape route. It was a trap. And someone out there had just tried to bury the truth with him, but fortunately, he survived.

Inside the chalet, the first detonation was felt as a deep rumble beneath the floorboards. Dust sifted from the ceiling beams, and the walls trembled with the force.

Panic spread instantly among the staff and guards. Some shouted, others scrambled toward the safe zone—the banquet hall sturdier than the rest as it was reinforced with materials that could withstand high-intensity earthquakes.

The air was filled with confusion and fear, but everyone reached the safe zone before the second explosion.

The Chalet did not sustain much damage. The mattress and the bed protected the room from the impact of the explosives.

The tunnel also lacked strong support, so it caved in easily, burying the other explosives and preventing them from detonating.

When they thought that the explosions were over, the task force reconvened inside the room Amaya previously used.

Marx did not leave the room. He activated his protective shield and crouched by the section of the parquet that had revealed the hidden staircase. His expression was hard, calculating. The vibrations had told him something: the explosions were not random, but placed with precision along the tunnel’s length. Whoever designed the mechanism beneath the floor had also prepared its destruction.

"This was engineered," he said aloud, over his watch and directed toward the prince and other security leaders who were now in the safe zone. "Not just an escape route, but a failsafe. They meant for this tunnel to vanish the moment it was discovered."

Prince Raquim turned to him, fury and disbelief in his eyes. "You mean they anticipated we would find it?"

"Yes," Marx replied, his tone grim. "Which means we’re not just chasing the kidnappers. We’re dealing with people who are always one step ahead."

Another explosion struck then, more violent than the first. The chalet’s lamps flickered, and a fresh wave of shouting came from outside. For a moment, even Prince Raquim had to brace himself against the shaking wall.

When the tremors subsided, Marx rose and dusted his hands. "They want us to believe the trail ends here. The people behind Amaya’s abduction are not simple."

Prince Raquim’s jaw tightened. He looked toward the open doorway where his guards had gathered. "Then we wait for Vasquez’s report. And when we have it, no one rests until the princess is returned."

"There must be someone powerful behind this," Prince Sapiro muttered, his voice strained with both anger and disbelief. His gaze fell on Marx, almost pleading for an explanation. "To kidnap a princess so openly... it is nothing less than a direct insult to the sovereignty of Lireya and Albanya."

Marx’s reply was calm, almost detached, as though his mind were already three steps ahead. "Prince Sapiro, I hear Queen Zanzara is near her time of birth. Perhaps you should pay her a visit. I would like to come with you."

The room stilled. The remark sounded offhand, even unrelated—but the men and women gathered there were Lireya and Albanya’s finest, each trained to see beneath the surface of words. They caught the hidden thread instantly.

"You suspect Amaya is in Ra-Iya," Sapiro said slowly, his eyes narrowing.

Marx gave a single nod. "Her last known coordinates placed her in Ra-Iya before she disappeared." He turned, sweeping his gaze across the task force. "We’ve solved the riddle of how the princess was taken, but not why—and not where. Here, the trail ends. In Ra-Iya, it may begin again. Stay here, continue your analysis. Prince Sapiro and I will go personally."

A murmur rose among the team, unsettled yet charged with anticipation. One officer leaned forward. "If Ra-Iya is involved... the audacity is staggering. Surely it cannot be King Ralden himself?"

Another voice cut in, quieter, yet edged with steel. "Or perhaps remnants of the Dark Phoenix. Ralden has long been rumored to be a sympathizer."

The very name drew a shiver through the chamber.

As theories collided and suspicions grew, the command center itself seemed to echo their unease. The temperature dropped, a chill seeping into the ornate walls of the Royal Chalet. It wasn’t the cold of weather—it was the cold of realization.

How could the King of Ra-Iya risk such a brazen move? Unless... he believed no one could stop him.