The carriage glides smoothly through the wide streets of Sona, its wheels whispering against the stone road. The city hums softly with midday life—merchants shouting, guards patrolling, the faint scent of roasted grain and smoke drifting from the markets.

Alix sits silently inside, one leg crossed over the other. Zevran rests on the seat beside him, looking out the window, his eyes reflecting the passing scenery. Mero floats lazily near the ceiling of the carriage, occasionally phasing through the wood just to get a better look outside.

None of them speak.

The soldiers driving the carriage glance back now and then, their ears twitching nervously. Every time they meet Alix's calm gaze through the small window, they immediately look away. The aura he carries is quiet—but the kind of quiet that makes even air feel heavy.

After a while, the carriage slows to a stop.

Zevran's eyes flick toward the window. "We're here."

The door opens, and warm sunlight spills in.

They step out into a grand courtyard paved with white stone and lined with carefully trimmed hedges. Statues of various beastkin heroes stand on either side of a long staircase that leads to the mansion ahead—a towering structure of polished dark marble and golden trims.

Dozens of armored guards line both sides of the path, standing at attention. Their gazes remain forward, not daring to look directly at the approaching guest.

At the top of the staircase stands an old beastman, broad-shouldered and tall even for his age. His fur—once deep brown—is streaked with silver, and his eyes are sharp, glowing faintly with the power of his bloodline. Despite his calm smile, the aura he carries hums with restrained might—dense and mature, like a storm long tamed.

When Alix steps forward, the old beastman bows slightly, one hand across his chest.

"Welcome, Lord Alix," he says, his voice deep and measured. "I am Vordon—City Lord of Sona."

Alix studies him for a moment. The old man's presence isn't weak—his mana signature flares briefly like a steady flame a peak tier 6.

He simply nods in acknowledgment. "City Lord."

Vordon's smile doesn't waver at Alix's curt response. He straightens, his golden eyes studying the young man before him—not with arrogance, but with the quiet awareness of someone who's lived long enough to recognize a force far beyond himself.

"Please," Vordon gestures toward the open doors of the mansion, "this way, Lord Alix. You honor my city with your presence."

Alix steps forward, his boots clicking softly against the polished stone. Zevran perches on his shoulder, tail swaying lazily, while Mero glides silently behind him like a drifting shadow.

Vordon walks beside him, his pace unhurried. "It is rare for one such as yourself to pass through Sona," he says conversationally, his tone respectful.

Alix walks beside Vordon in silence for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the lavish interior—the tall ceilings, the faint shimmer of mana-infused lanterns, and the quiet movements of servants who bow their heads as they pass.

Finally, he says, almost idly, "In this continent… monsters don't really have much of a place to go."

Vordon glances at him, one brow lifting slightly. "You're right."

The city lord's tone is calm, but there's a weight behind his words. He folds his hands behind his back as they continue walking down the long hallway lined with paintings of past city lords.

In this continent where humans reign supreme, Vordon thinks silently, even a strong Tier 7 monster is not safe. No matter how high you climb, you'll always be looking over your shoulder.

They stop in front of a set of ornate double doors made of dark wood, carved with intricate patterns of coiling serpents and blooming lilies. Two maids bow deeply and push the doors open.

Inside is a luxurious dining hall—high windows draped with silk curtains, crystal chandeliers glowing with soft mana light. A long table dominates the center, already set with steaming dishes: roasted game beast, fresh fruit, glazed roots, and crystal decanters filled with amber wine.

Several maids stand silently by the walls, ready to serve.

Vordon gestures toward the table with an open hand. "Please, Lord Alix. Sit. The food is ready. It would be an insult to my hospitality if you left hungry."

Alix takes in the sight quietly before nodding once. "You've gone to great effort."

Vordon smiles faintly as he takes the opposite seat. "For someone of your caliber, effort is the least I can offer."

The maids begin to pour wine, their movements precise and silent.

Alix sets his cup down gently, the faint clink echoing through the grand dining hall. His silver eyes lift to meet Vordon's steady gaze.

"So," Alix says quietly, his tone calm but sharp, "what do you want from me?"

Vordon blinks, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness. Then he lets out a low, dry chuckle. "Your lordship is a straightforward one…"

Alix doesn't smile. He simply waits, expression unreadable.

Vordon exhales through his nose, the weight of his words already pressing against him. "Then I'll be the same," he says finally. He lowers his head slightly, his voice dropping to a grave tone. "My lord… please help me and my city in the coming disaster."

Alix tilts his head slightly. "You're talking about the Tier 7 beast that's been destroying the neighboring cities."

Vordon's eyes widen slightly. "So it's true…" he murmurs. His hands tighten against the table's edge. "It really is… a Tier 7 Beast Emperor."

Alix leans back slightly in his chair, gaze cool and unwavering. "It is." His voice turns colder. "But why would I help you?"

The words cut through the air like a blade.

He continues, tone steady but with a faint, dangerous edge. "Fighting a Tier 7 beast, is not something any sane tier 7 being would do. The risk is too high."

The silence that follows is heavy. The maids stand frozen, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Above, unseen and unheard by anyone, Mero floats lazily with a smirk. "Risk my ass," he mutters, voice dripping with amusement. "That beast already got beaten half to death by you. If it sees you again, it'll run for its life."

Alix's expression doesn't change, though a flicker of amusement passes through his eyes before fading.

Across the table, Vordon lowers his gaze, guilt shadowing his features. "Forgive me, my lord," he says quietly. "I overstepped… and made a ridiculous request of you."

He bows his head deeply, his voice low and sincere. "It was selfish of me. But I had to try—my people, my city… they're all I have left to protect."

Alix studies him for a moment in silence—the old beastman's shoulders trembling slightly beneath the weight of his own desperation.

Finally, Alix says, his tone softer but still measured, "Raise your head."

Vordon hesitates, then obeys.

Alix's gaze is calm again, unreadable. "I didn't say no," he says slowly.

Vordon straightens a little, surprise flickering in his golden eyes. "You… didn't?"

Alix leans back slightly, resting one arm on the chair. "Not yet," he says quietly. Then, after a pause, his gaze sharpens. "Tell me, what's the current status between you and the human kingdom near you?"

Vordon blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. "The human kingdom…?" He exhales slowly and lowers his head. "To tell you the truth, Lord Alix—the kingdom doesn't care about me or Sona. Only Nam City, the one closest to the border, keeps in contact."

He clenches his hands together, his voice steady but bitter. "The lord of Nam City negotiated with me—he promised not to wage war as long as I supply him with herbs and beast materials every month."

Alix narrows his eyes. "Are you happy with that?"

Vordon lets out a dry, humorless laugh. "Of course not, my lord." His tone softens, heavy with resignation. "But I don't have much of a choice. If I stop, our two cities will go to war, and that'll draw the kingdom's attention to this place."

The hall falls silent again. The flicker of mana lamps casts a faint golden sheen across the table, glinting off the untouched food between them.

Then Alix speaks, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "Then bow down to me," he says evenly, "and become my subordinate."

The words hit like a thunderclap.

Vordon freezes, his breath catching in his throat. The maids by the wall instinctively lower their heads further, afraid even to breathe.