CHAPTER 172: CHAPTER 172 | I PREFER IT HERE

The deep rumble of engines slowly whirring down filled the entire courtyard, the sound bouncing off the towering palace walls as the armored vehicles came to a full halt. They formed a wide circular formation that wrapped neatly around the entrance gates of the Royal Palace, their metal frames still ticking softly with leftover heat from the long march.

Just ahead, Royal Guards stood in a rigid line near the massive main doors of the palace—unmoving, disciplined, and radiating an aura of silent threat.

Meanwhile, noble warriors of high ranking began stepping forward one by one, climbing the palace steps with heavy, confident strides. Their names were called out in a formal order by heralds stationed at the doors, each announcement echoing across the courtyard like a ceremonial drumbeat.

Those without noble ties, soldiers born of lower lineage or common birth, remained outside in the courtyard. Yet even they were not neglected.

Before them stretched a sprawling banquet, laid out across the open space in rows upon rows of long, ornate tables carved with intricate patterns. Each table overflowed with steaming plates, rare meats, exotic fruits, breads, soups, and dishes that most soldiers never saw in their entire lives.

Maids and butlers—easily more than a hundred—moved gracefully across the courtyard, weaving between the tables with a speed and precision that showed long years of training. They offered drinks on silver trays, refilled plates before anyone could even think of asking, and brought anything the soldiers might need.

"Enjoy the feast, my soldiers!"

General Gaius’s voice thundered from the steps of the palace, powerful enough that some of the plates on the tables rattled. He stood tall, already halfway up the staircase, his fist raised high into the air with pride blazing across his face.

A wave of cheers erupted from the courtyard, roaring and loud and full of raw energy. Soldiers rushed toward the seats, slamming themselves onto the benches with eager grins. Many grabbed food with their bare hands the moment they sat down, not caring about utensils at all—some didn’t even bother waiting for their plates to be refilled.

Within moments, the entire courtyard transformed into a sea of noise:

lively chatter, loud laughs, the clinking of mugs smashing together, and the wild yet warm sound of celebration rising like heat into the thick winter air.

Snowflakes still drifted from above, melting the moment they reached the warmth of the feast below, adding a strange but comforting contrast to the festive chaos that now filled the Royal Palace courtyard.

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.

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*Within the Royal Palace main hallway

"Evistron Rein of House Hirra!" shouted a herald, his voice echoing with power across the massive main hallway where nobles of high status and high-ranking officers stood gathered, mingling with one another beneath hanging banners and crystalline chandeliers.

The one whose name had been called stepped forward with a calm and practiced stride. Evistron Rein—one of House Hirra’s proud prodigies. The House itself was known throughout the entire empire for its unparalleled marksmanship, their bloodline producing some of Zerafhon’s most terrifying assassin-snipers in recorded history. And Evistron, young as he was, had already carved a place among them, earning medals and mentions from campaigns far from the front that General Gaius had assigned him to.

He descended a modest flight of marble stairs, the applause from the gathered nobles rising around him like a tide. Jewels glimmered, ornate robes shifted, and the air filled with faint murmurs of approval as Evistron passed through the decorated archway deeper inside.

Almost every noble invited to the assembly had already entered by now... all except Jinn and a handful of others who still stood waiting by the grand doors.

Jinn leaned back against the cold stone wall near the entrance, his single eye drifting outward toward the courtyard. From there, he could still see the soldiers—their laughter carrying up from below, their movements wild and unrestrained as they devoured the feast laid before them. Some of them looked like this was the first real meal they’d ever had, and honestly, for a lot of them, it probably was.

Jinn exhaled quietly, a thin puff of cold air leaving his lips as he crossed his arms and glanced up at the sky. The day was already beginning to shift toward dusk, painting the horizon in muted blues and faint dying gold.

"And finally, Hiran ein Kreill of House Siva!" the herald announced, voice booming once more.

An older woman—sharp-eyed, stiff-backed—stepped forward as the final noble called inside.

Jinn waited.

A few seconds passed.

.

.

.

Then a minute.

Then five.

His eye slid sideways toward the door at the exact moment the great palace doors slammed shut. The sound echoed sharply.

Two royal guards moved at once, shifting into position before the sealed entrance. Their mechanical armor hummed, cold and heavy, the plates shifting and locking in place with a warning growl that needed no words.

The message was very clear.

No one enters.

Not you.

Jinn’s eye narrowed in silent understanding. And then, just as quickly, he scoffed—a soft exhale more than anything, as if he had already expected something like this to happen sooner or later.

"I see," he muttered, his tone calm, almost indifferent. There was no anger in him, no surprise. The nobles inside could play whatever games they wanted.

He wasn’t about to beg for a place at their table.

He pushed off the wall, stepped down the short set of steps leading away from the palace doors, and without another glance back at the sealed entrance, began walking toward the massive banquet where the soldiers feasted in the courtyard.

"Wine, lavish chandeliers, gleaming dresses..." Jinn muttered in a low, almost tired voice as he kept walking forward, his boots crunching lightly against the frost-coated stone of the courtyard. A handful of soldiers sitting nearest to him turned their heads, whispering amongst themselves as they clearly noticed that the Scion—someone who was supposed to be inside the royal palace—was instead out here among them. Their eyes widened slightly, some in confusion, some in disbelief, and others in quiet admiration.

Jinn didn’t pay much attention to any of it. His gaze was fixed ahead, drifting from one long banquet table to another, watching how the soldiers shoveled food into their mouths as if they had been starving for days. Their laughter echoed across the courtyard, raw and unfiltered, the kind of laughs only common men and women could make when they weren’t trapped behind the suffocating veil of etiquette and status.

"A sickening world of fake smiles... I prefer it here," Jinn continued, his tone carrying both a quiet scoff and a strange sense of relief. He reached out without hesitation, snatching a mug of ale from the hands of a passing maid.

The maid gasped softly, almost stumbling backward as the drink was taken from her tray. Her eyes flicked up at him—wide, startled, and trembling. She didn’t dare speak. The mark of a Scion was unmistakable, and to her, Jinn was not just a warrior... he was practically a walking weapon wrapped in flesh.

For a brief moment, Jinn looked at her, noticing how her hands shook slightly around the tray. He didn’t apologize—he wasn’t the type, and even if he did, it would probably frighten her more. Instead, he simply lifted the mug and took a slow sip, letting the strong bitterness settle across his tongue.

"Mhm, not bad," he muttered, subtle sarcasm slipping from him as he watched the maid quickly bow her head and hurry away to tend to other soldiers.

Around him, the feast continued with roaring energy. Soldiers clanged their cups together, shouted old battle chants, teased each other for losing limbs or almost dying in stupid ways during their campaigns. Others pulled chairs closer, beckoning comrades to join them, relishing in the temporary peace.