Chapter 98: Into the Lion’s Den

  The road to Nireen stretched before them, a path paved in wealth and power. Every step closer to the heart of the elven empire revealed a land bathed in opulence, where even the dirt beneath their mounts seemed to shimmer under the afternoon sun.

  Marcus had been to many places since awakening in this world—battlefields drenched in blood, cities teeming with life, and ruins swallowed by time—but nothing quite prepared him for the sheer excess that was Nireen.

  The roads, once cracked and dusty at the edges of elven lands, had transformed into pristine stonework, polished to an unnatural sheen. It was as if nature itself had been coerced into submission, bent to the will of the empire. Marble columns lined the highways, engraved with flowing elven script that pulsed faintly with embedded mana. Trees, unnaturally symmetrical, stood in perfect alignment, their leaves glimmering under the soft enchantments that prevented decay.

  The world here was crafted, not grown.

  “This place doesn’t feel real,” Marcus muttered.

  “It’s not,” Thalron replied from beneath his hood. “Nireen is built on the illusion of perfection. A facade maintained at any cost.”

  Arixa scoffed, resting her warhammer against her shoulder. “Looks fragile to me.”

  Vira smirked, her golden eyes darting between the noble processions that passed them by. “That’s the thing about glass palaces. They shatter beautifully.”

  Ahead of them, Nireen’s capital loomed, its towering spires stretching into the heavens, wrapped in strands of silver and gold that reflected the sunlight in cascading rays. The city was enormous, a masterpiece of elven architecture that defied nature itself, suspended bridges arcing across the skyline, crystalline rivers weaving through the streets, their waters impossibly clear.

  The city’s gates, however, were not so welcoming.

  The moment they arrived at the outer gates of Nireen, Imperial Sentinels stepped forward. Unlike the common city guards Marcus had seen in Xenor or New York, these enforcers of elven law were clad in seamless silver plate, their helms adorned with elongated crests that made them look more like statues than men. Their weapons—thin, elegant blades pulsing with embedded mana—remained sheathed but their presence alone carried an unspoken warning.

  "Halt."

  The command came from their captain, Valtheris, a high-ranking officer with cold silver eyes that mirrored the armor he wore. His gaze flicked over the group, lingering on Marcus and Arixa with mild curiosity before narrowing at Thalron.

  Marcus noticed it instantly—the subtle tightening of the jaw, the faint curl of the lip.

  Valtheris knew exactly what Thalron was.

  “A group of foreign adventurers seeking entry,” the captain remarked, his voice laced with barely concealed disdain. “State your business.”

  Thalron dismounted with practiced grace, lowering his hood just enough to reveal his features. “We seek audience with those involved in the shifting power of Nireen.”

  Valtheris’s expression barely shifted, but the air grew heavier. The Sentinels behind him tensed, their hands twitching toward their weapons. Marcus knew that kind of body language—this wasn’t a simple checkpoint, it was a test.

  “You overestimate your station, mixtum,” Valtheris said smoothly, as if commenting on the weather.

  Marcus’s fists clenched at the word.

  Mixtum. He’d heard it before, whispered by the elven nobles in New York, coated in scorn. A slur for half-bloods, for those who didn’t fit the rigid mold of elven superiority.

  Thalron didn’t react. He simply exhaled, his posture unshaken. “We are not here to cause trouble.”

  “Unfortunate,” Valtheris mused, tilting his head slightly. “Because your mere presence is trouble.”

  Vira cleared her throat loudly, stepping forward with a radiant smile. “Oh, come on now. Surely even the great city of Nireen allows travelers, no? Or does your illustrious capital fear the sight of foreigners?”

  Valtheris’ eyes flicked to her, unamused.

  Arixa snorted. “I think they’re just scared one of us outsiders might break something.”

  That did it.

  The Sentinels shifted, stepping closer, their polished armor ringing softly with movement. Marcus prepared himself for violence, but Thalron raised a hand.

  “We have no intention of disrupting Nireen’s peace,” he said, voice steady. “We carry no banners, claim no allegiances.”

  Valtheris studied him for a long moment before finally gesturing toward the gate. “See that you don’t.”

  The gates opened, and as they passed through, Marcus caught the captain’s final words, barely above a whisper.

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  “You should have stayed gone, half-breed.”

  Marcus took a breath. It was going to be a long stay.

  As they walked the streets of Nireen, the weight of its rigid structure became more apparent. Unlike New York, where adventurers, traders, and warriors from all walks of life roamed freely, Nireen was organized to perfection.

  The streets were immaculate, untouched by dirt or common foot traffic. Elven nobility walked in carefully measured steps, their silk robes trailing behind them as if the wind itself bent to their presence. Floating platforms carried the most prestigious bloodlines above the common roads, ensuring they never walked among those beneath them.

  And despite all the beauty, Marcus had never felt more out of place.

  “Not exactly welcoming, is it?” he muttered.

  “It’s not meant to be,” Thalron replied. “Nireen wasn’t built for outsiders. Even its own people are divided.”

  As if to prove his point, a noble procession passed by, their carriages flanked by mercenary guards. The banners they bore were unfamiliar to Marcus, but Thalron recognized them instantly.

  “House Veylan.”

  Marcus met his gaze. “That’s them?”

  Thalron nodded. “They aren’t just making a claim. They’re preparing for war.”

  Whispers filled the air as they passed. Rumors of failed assassinations, alliances forming in secret, and noble houses ready to crush House Veylan before they could solidify power.

  Marcus exhaled. This wasn’t just a city of luxury—it was a battlefield waiting to erupt.

  By the time they reached their destination, the weight of Nireen’s watchful gaze pressed against them. Every step deeper into the city felt like walking across an unseen battlefield, where words were sharper than blades, and glances carried the weight of centuries-old grudges.

  The estate of Lord Darion Kelcrest lay within one of the oldest districts of Nireen, an area where the grandeur of noble lineage was preserved in the towering spires and pristine marble halls. However, while the neighboring estates gleamed with immaculate perfection, House Kelcrest’s once-proud manor stood in eerie silence.

  The sprawling estate bore the signs of neglect—not decay, for elves did not allow things to rot, but abandonment. The once-pristine banners of House Kelcrest had long been removed, their sigil erased from public memory. The gardens, though still maintained, lacked the vibrancy of the surrounding noble estates. Even the cobblestone paths leading to the grand entrance felt less walked, as if those in power wished to pretend the house had never existed.

  Arixa snorted as she looked around. “Not exactly the homecoming I expected.”

  Vira hummed, tapping a gloved finger against her chin. “They didn’t just cast you out, Thalron. They made sure no one would even remember you.”

  Marcus shot a look at Thalron, but his friend’s expression remained unreadable. “How’s it feel being back?”

  Thalron took a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over the estate. “Like stepping into a past I never belonged to.”

  The massive wooden doors creaked open, revealing a tall elven man with silver-streaked hair and piercing emerald eyes. His robes, though elegant, lacked the excess of many nobles they had passed. He held himself not as a man who wielded power, but one who understood its cost.

  Lord Darion Kelcrest.

  He studied Thalron for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the unmistakable mix of elven grace and dwarven resilience in his features. Then, with a sigh, he stepped aside. “You are brave to return here, boy.”

  Thalron’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  Darion motioned for them to follow, leading them through the great halls of House Kelcrest, where faded portraits of elven ancestors watched in solemn judgment. The hall should have been filled with history, with stories of past victories and noble feats. Instead, it felt like a museum of forgotten ghosts.

  Finally, Darion led them to a sunlit chamber, where a long table was prepared with wine and food. He took his seat at the head, steepling his fingers.

  “You should not have come.” His tone wasn’t cruel, merely resigned.

  Thalron sat across from him. “And yet, here I am.”

  Darion exhaled, shaking his head. “The nobility of Nireen have long memories, Thalron. They will not welcome you back. Your presence disrupts the order they have spent centuries crafting.”

  Marcus leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “That’s kind of the point.”

  Darion smirked at that, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “Even if you seek to carve a place here, you must understand what you’re up against.”

  Thalron met his gaze. “House Veylan has thrown the noble hierarchy into disarray. That means alliances must be made. I intend to reclaim my mother’s house and forge something new.”

  Darion studied him for a long moment before leaning back. “Do you believe it will be that simple?”

  Thalron shook his head. “No. But I don’t need it to be simple. I just need the opportunity.”

  Darion tapped his fingers against the wooden surface. “Opportunity comes at a price.”

  Marcus frowned. “There’s always a damn price.”

  Darion finally stood, walking toward the large stained-glass windows that overlooked the courtyard. His voice was softer now. “Your mother was beloved, Thalron. She was strong-willed, intelligent, and kind. Many admired her. But when she defied tradition, she was cast aside without hesitation. That is how this city operates. The nobles do not fear strength, nor cunning. They fear change.”

  Thalron’s hands clenched into fists. “Then it’s time for change.”

  Darion turned, his gaze unreadable. “Very well. If you truly wish to claim a place in this city, then you must prove it—not just with words, but with action.”

  A tense silence stretched between them.

  Marcus leaned back. “Let me guess. You’ve got some kind of ancient noble test we have to pass?”

  Darion’s lips curled into a faint smile. “A duel.”

  Vira groaned. “Of course.”

  Darion continued, his voice firm. “Nireen’s noble duels are not mere displays of combat prowess. They are rituals of status, trials of legitimacy. If you want to be seen as more than an outsider, you must enter the Rite of Proving—a public duel where your skill, your heritage, and your right to be here will be judged.”

  Thalron nodded. “Who do I face?”

  Darion’s expression darkened. “The White Blade.”

  The room fell into stunned silence.

  Marcus narrowed his eyes. “That name doesn’t sound encouraging.”

  Darion exhaled. “Vaelis Il’Theron. A noble prodigy, undefeated in all formal duels. His combat ability is beyond reproach, and he is a staunch believer in Nireen’s traditions. If you want to get the attention of the powerful, then you must be at him... publicly.

  Arixa grinned, cracking her knuckles. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  Thalron exhaled. “Fine. I’ll face him.”

  Darion’s gaze hardened. “This is not a simple test of strength. The Rite of Proving is a stage for nobles to determine your worth. It will not be fair. They will not fight with honor.”

  Marcus smirked. “Then neither will we.”

  Darion sighed. “I can have the duel set three days from now. If you win, the Nobility will have to hear you out...” He trailed off, letting the weight of those words settle in the air.

  Thalron met his gaze, unflinching. “Then I won’t lose.”

  Darion studied him once more before nodding. “Then prepare yourselves. The moment you step into that arena, you are not just fighting for yourself—you are fighting against the very foundation of this city.”

  Marcus exhaled slowly, glancing at his companions. This was bigger than just a duel. This was their first strike against the rigid world of Nireen’s nobility.

  "Alright", Darion said with a sigh, "pick the two that will joining you, there is a lot for you to learn before the duel."