CHAPTER 330: CHAPTER 329: INVITED BY THE CITY LORD

When dawn comes, the city stirs once more. Sunlight filters through the curtains, scattering golden rays across the floor.

Alix sits cross-legged in the center of the suite, eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady. The air hums faintly around him as wisps of mana swirl like mist. His presence feels calm, yet heavy—like the calm before a storm.

He focuses inward, deep in meditation—tracing the patterns of the laws.

Each one hums with its own rhythm. Each one, a piece of the whole he continues to refine.

Outside, the city wakes—voices rising, footsteps echoing faintly from the streets below. But Alix hears none of it. His mind drifts deeper into the subtle harmony of mana, until.

The warmth of the morning sun, which had been brushing against his skin just moments ago, vanishes.

His eyes open slowly. The golden light in the room dims, replaced by a faint, cool shadow spreading across the floor.

A quiet stillness settles over everything. Even the sound of the city below seems to fade away.

Alix tilts his head slightly, his calm gaze shifting toward the balcony. "So," he murmurs, voice even. "They’re here."

He doesn’t move from his seated position. Three strong presences, approaching from the direction of the inn’s entrance. Their steps are controlled, precise.

---

Outside the Serpent’s Rest, three figures stand before the topmost suite.

The hallway is quiet—too quiet. Even the enchanted lamps seem to dim under the weight of the unseen pressure leaking faintly from behind the closed door.

Varun glances back at his two companions, both dressed in plain, dark uniforms instead of the usual city guard armor. One—a feline-type beastkin with curved daggers at her waist—looks uneasy. The other, a thick-scaled brute of the reptilian race, keeps his breathing steady, though his tail twitches every few seconds.

"Remember," Varun says quietly, his tone measured but firm. "No sudden movements. No rude gestures. And for the love of the ancestors—don’t release a hint of killing intent. Understood?"

Both nod immediately.

The feline beastkin whispers, "Captain, are we sure this is the one who cleared the dungeon?"

He exhales slowly, eyes narrowing toward the ornate door before them. "Someone like that doesn’t need to hide. He wants us to find him."

And then—

A voice echoes inside their heads. Calm. Cold. Absolute.

"What are you doing outside of my room?"

The three freeze instantly. Even the faintest ripple of sound vanishes from the hallway. The voice carries no hostility—but its sheer weight presses down on their minds like an ocean.

Varun’s throat tightens. He bows instinctively, lowering his head. "S-senior, we are people of the city lord. Forgive us if we’ve disturbed you."

For a moment, there’s silence. Then the voice returns, quiet but commanding.

"Come in."

The door creaks open on its own. No wind, no visible magic circle—just a silent, fluid movement, as if the room itself obeyed the will of whoever was inside.

Varun steps in first, motioning for the others to follow. The air inside feels thick, like breathing through mana itself.

And then they see him.

Inside the suite, the atmosphere is serene yet suffocating. The mana in the air is so dense it hums faintly, like the room itself is alive.

Alix sits near the center, still cross-legged on the floor, bathed in dim light from the half-drawn curtains. His eyes are half open, calm and steady, yet his very presence presses on the soul, like a mountain resting atop their chests. His aura isn’t unleashed, but the faint pressure that leaks from him makes even breathing feel like a conscious effort.

Behind him, a faint red glow pulses in the corner where Zevran sits—currently in his small, dragonling form, his wings tucked neatly against his back. His golden eyes track the three newcomers with the silent intensity of a predator sizing up prey.

The three kneel almost instantly the moment they cross the threshold. The air itself seems to command them.

Varun swallows hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. "S-senior... my name is Varun. I serve under the City Lord of Sona. My lord sends his respects—and his gratitude. He wishes to congratulate you for clearing the Wailing Catacombs."

Alix doesn’t look at them. His eyes remain half-lidded, his expression calm but unreadable. "Clearing that dungeon..." he says quietly, his tone devoid of pride. "...is not something worth celebrating for me."

His words hang in the air like a whisper of truth that cuts deeper than any insult.

The two companions behind Varun tremble faintly, keeping their eyes fixed on the floor.

Alix finally raises his gaze slightly, just enough for his sharp, silver eyes to meet Varun’s. "Is that all? The reason you came to me?"

Varun straightens slightly, bowing deeper. "N-no, senior. My lord also wishes to invite you to his estate. To speak with you personally—out of respect."

Before Alix can reply, a soft, sharp voice cuts through the air.

Zevran, perched on Alix’s shoulder now, his tiny claws resting lightly against the fabric of his robe, narrows his glowing eyes. "Your lord... wants my master to visit him personally?"

The tone is light, but the mana behind it surges like a storm about to break. "Is your lord even worthy?"

In an instant, Zevran’s aura explodes outward—not in a roar, but in a silent, crushing wave of pure draconic will.

The walls groan faintly under the pressure. The lamps flicker and dim, and the floor cracks beneath the three kneeling figures.

Varun’s eyes widen in horror as his body locks up. His breath catches in his throat. His instincts scream at him to flee, but his limbs refuse to move. Quasi–Tier 7... from that small creature?!

The other two behind him—the feline beastkin and the scaled brute—collapse fully, gasping for air, their bodies trembling violently as blood seeps from the corners of their mouths.

Varun can barely keep himself from collapsing completely. His thoughts race, panic clawing at his mind. Even a pet... even his pet could destroy this entire city!

Zevran’s aura continues to tighten for a moment more, the weight of a dragon’s bloodline pressing on their very souls. Then—

A quiet voice breaks through the tension.

"That’s enough."

Immediately, Zevran’s power vanishes, like it was never there. The air returns to normal, the oppressive weight fading into silence.

Zevran huffs, turning his head away with a flick of his tail. "Hmph. Mortals should know their place."

Alix’s eyes finally meet Varun’s again—calm, cold, yet not unkind. "Tell your lord," he says softly, "that I’ll accept his invitation."

Varun exhales shakily, every word a relief. "Y-yes, senior. I will deliver your message."

"Good," Alix murmurs, closing his eyes again.

Varun lowers his head even further, his voice trembling slightly but still respectful. "Senior, I will... send someone to pick you up, once my lord is ready to receive you."

Alix doesn’t look at him—his calm expression remains unchanged. He simply nods once. "That will do."

The three of them bow deeply again before slowly retreating, moving as if afraid even their footsteps might offend the silence of the room. The moment the door shuts behind them, the tension dissolves completely.

For a while, only the soft hum of mana fills the air.

Then Zevran flutters up from Alix’s shoulder and lands lightly in front of him, his tiny claws tapping the floor. His eyes gleam with childlike pride. "Master," he says, puffing out his chest. "Was my performance good?"

Alix opens his eyes fully and meets Zevran’s gaze. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Yeah," he says simply. "You did a good job."

Zevran’s tail swishes happily, and he lets out a satisfied chirp that sounds almost too cute for the power he just displayed.

From near the balcony, Mero’s translucent form drifts lazily through the air, his usual smirk returning. "Heh... you did good, lizard," he says, chuckling. "Those guys looked like they just pissed their pants. I thought one of them was about to faint."

Alix stands, straightening his robe as he looks out through the window. The city below is already busy again—the usual rhythm of life returning, though a faint tension still lingers in the air.

Minutes pass, until the sound of hooves echoes faintly from the street below. The distinct shimmer of mana-powered armor glints in the sunlight.

Zevran tilts his head. "They’re here already?"

Alix’s gaze drifts toward the street. A luxurious carriage made of blackwood and gold trim waits near the inn entrance, flanked by several armored soldiers. The carriage bears the crest of the City Lord—a serpent coiled around a burning sun.

A small smile flickers across Alix’s face. "I guess that’s our ride."