Chapter 251 253: Phiving City

Words : 1720 Updated : Oct 5th, 2025

The streets below the towering wall still hum with life, though different than before. The colors are muted, voices hushed. Most of the nobles have long fled, but the humans that remain? Traders. Cooks. Blacksmiths. The people who kept the city running. Now they serve under new masters—monsters wearing Alix's banner. Alix's forces—organized, quiet, efficient—don't rampage or steal. But that doesn't mean humans feel safe. Inside a narrow eatery nestled beside an old alley, the scent of fried tuber and smoked fish wafts in the air. It's lunch hour, and despite the tension, three beastkin soldiers lounge inside, weapons stacked near the door. The owner, a stout woman in her fifties named Mirsa, watches them carefully as she wipes down the counter. Her hands tremble slightly, but she forces her voice to stay level. "You sir's want anything else?" she asks. "Still got soup from this morning." One of the beastkin, a lean jackal-headed scout, raises a clawed hand without looking. "More stew. That soft meat one." She nods, then turns—but winces as another soldier reaches for a coin pouch. Mirsa blinks, surprised. "You... you're actually paying?" The jackal looks up at her, his muzzle twitching. "His Majesty ordered it. No stealing. No threats. Anyone caught breaking the rule loses a hand or gets reassigned to the border mines." He says it plainly, like it's just a fact. The other two soldiers nod, unfazed. Mirsa hesitates for a heartbeat. "I... see." The jackal snorts, tearing a piece of bread with sharp teeth. "Don't get the wrong idea. Some of us still hate humans. Plenty, actually. If his majesty didn't order it, you'd see a lot more blood on these streets." His companion, a stocky lizardkin with pale green scales, grunts in agreement. "Especially the old. They don't forget the way humans used to burn our dens and villages. You walk past them wrong, they'll still look at you like prey." "But they don't touch us," Mirsa says quietly, voice steadier now. "Why?" The jackal's yellow eyes flicker, unreadable. "Because his majesty made it law. And in his kingdom, the law means something." He leans back, arms crossed. "Killing innocents? Stealing from citizens? Executing unarmed prisoners? That's not war anymore—that's weakness. Cowardice. You do that, you're not just punished." The lizardkin finishes for him, voice flat. "You die." Mirsa grips the cloth in her hands tighter. "Why? Why would he care about us humans?" The jackal shrugs. "You think we know? Maybe he wants to rule properly. Maybe he just doesn't like chaos. Maybe he sees humans as tools. Doesn't matter. His majesty's orders are clear. And nobody wants to test what happens if they break them." ---- In the VIP room of Velvet Hall Restaurant, located in the Central Ring. A golden glow filters through sheer drapes as sunlight reflects off crystal chandeliers. The private VIP room of Velvet Hall Restaurant is lined with silk curtains, polished stone walls, and a long table set with silver dishes. A gentle string quartet plays softly from a nearby balcony. Princess Ruva pokes at a slice of glazed venison with her fork, then sighs, voice laced with mild complaint. "This isn't bad... but it's still not as good as the palace food." Across the table, Sorin chuckles softly. "You're right, Princess Ruva. The food back at the palace is heavenly compared to this. Those chefs practically use magic." Ruva nods, straightening her back like she's making an official declaration. "They do use magic. One of them has a heat rune carved into his cutting board. I saw it once." Sorin raises a brow. "That explains a lot." Ruva takes another bite, then suddenly looks up with a hopeful sparkle in her golden eyes. "Big sister... you should visit me at the palace sometimes." Sorin blinks, surprised—but then her expression softens. She sets down her fork and leans forward slightly, resting her chin in one hand. "You really want me to?" Ruva nods eagerly, her voice shy but sincere. "Mm-hmm. I like you." Sorin smiles, something gentle flickering across her usually calm face. Unable to help herself, she reaches over and lightly pinches Ruva's cheek. Ruva squeaks and swats at her hand. "H-Hey!" Sorin laughs quietly, then sits back with a warm, amused look in her eyes. "All right, I'll visit," she says. "And I'll bring my little sister, Naira. She's about your age." Ruva's eyes widen with delight. "Oh, I know Naira! Big brother talks about her! He said you did everything just to rescue her from the humans." Sorin blinks, caught off guard. "His Majesty... talks about me?" Ruva nods quickly, spoon halfway to her mouth. "Of course! He said you're strong, and brave, and that you're... beautiful." Sorin freezes. Her ears twitch slightly, and a light pink dusts her cheeks. "He said that?" she asks, voice a little too quiet. Ruva gives a sweet, innocent smile. "Mm-hmm." Sorin looks away for a second, clearly flustered, trying and failing to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. Ruva giggles into her teacup. In truth, Alix never said beautiful—just that Sorin was reliable and saved her sister. But Ruva doesn't plan to mention that. She just likes seeing Sorin's usual calm crack a little. Sorin finally recovers, clearing her throat and muttering, "Well... His Majesty tends to exaggerate." Ruva leans forward with a sly grin. "I don't think so. I think he meant it." Sorin tries to glare playfully, but the pink on her cheeks gives her away. "Keep teasing and I won't bring Naira." Ruva gasps. "No! Ok I will stop." Sorin smirks but says nothing more, returning to her meal with a calm grace that doesn't quite hide the flicker of emotion in her eyes. She listens to Ruva hum softly as she picks at her dessert, the chatter of silverware and distant music filling the silences. Yet her mind drifts. To him. Alix. She's liked him for a long time—since that day he rescued her sister. It was the first time she saw power wielded with purpose... and mercy. And after that? Well, everyone knows. Even if she doesn't say it. It's in the way she looks at him. The way she volunteers for every mission to get stronger faster. The way her hand always clenches when he walks past without a glance. But he's her king. She's just a subordinate. A loyal sword in his empire. Still... she hasn't given up. Every day, she trains. Pushes herself to the edge. Tries to grow stronger, faster, better. Because maybe, just maybe, one day she'll stand beside him—not behind him. But no matter how fast she climbs, he climbs faster. Every time she reaches a new Tier, he's already moved on. Always ahead. Always farther. And lately... there are more of them. New faces. Powerful ones. Subordinates who come out of nowhere. Beings who make the earth tremble when they walk. Sorin wonders if he still remembers her at all. She doesn't say anything to Ruva. Doesn't show it. But behind her calm smile is a quiet ache. Still... she thinks back to the way he looked at her during her last report. Months have passed since she last saw him alone—just the two of them. For a moment, he listened, nodded, and said, "Good work, Sorin. As always." Maybe it's not much. But she clings to it. Sorin glances out the window, the golden light catching her eyes. I guess he still does remember me, she thinks. And just like that, she smiles again—soft, distant, but real. ---- The Next Morning The war orders arrive like clockwork, transmitted through the silver bracers worn by each general and unit commander. The devices emit a soft chime, and then a cold-blue projection of the battlefield map blooms above each wrist—detailing targets, objectives, and troop assignments. Sorin stands beneath the shade of a jagged ruin near the southern marsh staging camp, her squad arrayed behind her. Wind stirs her coat. The mist smells of damp earth and steel. Her eyes scan the projected orders with practiced calm. "We're assigned to sweep through the Phiving City. Expect high-level Tier 5 resistance. We move by noon." "Understood, General," replies her second, a silent birdkin scout named rav. The troops begin prepping in silence—checking gear, sharpening blades, and adjusting armor straps. It's a seasoned unit. No cheering. No bravado. Just readiness. Then— Tap tap tap. Boots crunch on gravel behind her. "Big sis!" a familiar voice calls. Sorin turns—and raises an eyebrow. "Princess?" Ruva jogs up, wearing travel leathers dyed in Alix's black and silver. Her cape flutters, and a slender sabre hangs from her hip. She's even tied her snowy hair in a high braid. "Can I join your unit for this one?" Ruva asks, a hopeful smile playing on her lips. Sorin blinks once, then huffs a soft laugh. "You're asking me?" "I already checked the orders," Ruva says quickly. "My name's on your roster. Sir Gander approved it." "...He did?" Sorin asks, narrowing her eyes slightly. "And he's really okay with you going back to the front again?" "Yes," Ruva replies firmly, folding her arms. "If he doesn't, I'll just call big brother again." Sorin eyebrows twitched. "I see..." Ruva pouts, cheeks puffed slightly. "And besides—I already helped conquer one town, you know." Sorin smirks. "Oh, I know. Word travels fast when it's about our legendary Princess's debut." Sorin steps closer and rests one hand lightly on Ruva's shoulder, her voice softening—but not losing that edge of command. "I know you're strong enough to fight a Tier 5. But I want you always near me. Understand?" Ruva snaps to attention, giving a cheeky salute. "Ay-ay, General!" Sorin's lips twitch into a smile despite herself. She watches Ruva bounce lightly on her feet, that usual spark of energy glowing in her eyes—fearless, reckless, and somehow still... pure. There's a warmth to her that the battlefield hasn't dulled.

Chapter 251 253: Phiving City

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