Free City of Miragos, New Council Headquarters

  Elder Cassandra Ward heard the news of the destruction of the Sky-breakers immediately. She sat, astounded at the news as did all of the elders in the new councils office.

  She understood the principle, that beyond mountains, there are mountains; beyond heavens there are heavens. But witnessing was still a shock.

  It was quiet in the room. The messenger who had delivered the message didn’t even dare to breathe.

  Six [A-Class] battle-beasts, the fleet of Sky-breakers and three [A-Class] cultivators. The culprit, a mysterious shadow beast and its owner.

  This could only mean one thing. An [S-Class] cultivator.

  The reason why dynasties could dominate a region wasn’t because of the mass of [A-Class], [B-Class] even [C-Class] cultivators, but because they had at least one [S-Class] cultivator.

  Who would have thought that there was an [S-Class] cultivator in Vallenport of all places?

  Elder Cassandra’s face was still shocked: ‘There must be a mistake somewhere’

  An all powerful legendary level expert was hidden in Vallenport.

  Even the other Elders were dumbfounded.

  Most of the [S-Class] experts were normally well known, even the ones who wandered around.

  It was people like the founder of the Adventurers Guild, Founders of the two Western Continent Empires, the leader of the Jade Court and the Celestial Dynasty of the Eastern Continent, Chief Priest of the Imperial Solara in the Northern Continent and the Caliph’s of the Southern Continent.

  Elder Cassandra spoke again: ‘What are we gonna do? That [S-Class] is on his way here?’

  ***

  The Sky-breakers were [A-Class] level offensive flying artifacts. Their flew almost at commercial airliner speed, so instead a several week ocean journey it took at most half a day before they would arrive at Miragos.

  Aside from the time he had flown from the Dragon Sanctuary, Tavalor had never left Vallenport. And the times he had, it had been on foot.

  Little Shadow was even more excited. He flew around. On and off the ship constantly. Exploring it from head to foot. Appearing and disappearing randomly.

  Tavalor relaxed. Perched on the bow of the ship, he finally had a moment to take in the passing vistas, his eyes drinking in the scenery unfolding before him.

  He basked in the sun.

  After a while he got bored. Then lay down to take a nap.

  [Intimidation] was still in effect, so all the crew could see was a black shadow.

  The Captain of the ship, stood at the wheel, sweat beading on his brow despite the high altitude and the cold winds.

  The shadowy figure hadn’t moved for hours, seemingly asleep, but the Captain new better than to trust appearances.

  Whoever or whatever had commandeered his vessel was powerful enough to control the crew with nothing but a word.

  But as they approached Miragos, maybe there was a chance?

  He caught the eye of his first mate and made a sign on his thigh. Three fingers. Two fingers. One finger.

  Their plan was simple and desperate. Six of his best crew members had positioned themselves strategically around the deck, each armed with enchanted weapons, capable of harming even [A-Class] entities.

  When he made a fist. They attacked.

  The all sprung from their hiding places. Two archers loosed enchanted arrows from the cannons. The quartermaster hurled a [Spear of Binding], its tip glowing with runes of imprisonment.

  The Captain himself attacked with his pride and joy. A sword that had been in his family for generations. A legendary [Dragon Slaying Sword].

  The shadow didn’t even open its eyes.

  The arrows struck first, hitting their target dead-center – only to bounce off harmlessly, clattering to the deck. The binding spear similarly deflected, its magic fizzling uselessly against what seemed like an invisible barrier surrounding the shadow.

  Merrill's sword made contact next, the enchanted edge meeting the figure's shoulder with a sound like metal striking stone. The blade shattered, sending fragments across the deck. The captain stumbled backward, staring in horror at the broken hilt in his hand.

  Only then did the shadow sit up, stretching lazily as if waking from a pleasant nap.

  'Really?' it said, sounding more annoyed than threatened. 'I was having such a nice dream.'

  Merrill found his voice, though it cracked with fear. 'What manner of creature are you?'

  'The kind that doesn't appreciate being attacked while napping,' the shadow replied, standing to its full height.

  The captain backed away, signalling frantically for his remaining crew to retreat. 'We meant no—'

  He never finished the sentence. The shadow raised a hand almost casually, and a fireball burst forth – not the standard spell that any decent mage might cast, but a concentrated inferno that roared across the deck with the fury of a small sun.

  Merrill had just enough time to register the heat before it consumed him completely, leaving nothing but ash drifting in the wind.

  The shadow sighed, looking at the terrified remaining crew members who had thrown themselves flat on the deck.

  'Now,' it said calmly, 'does anyone else want to try something clever, or can I get back to my nap?'

  As the towers of Miragos appeared on the horizon, not a soul on board dared to move.

  Tavalor lay back down to sleep. The crew were all [B-Class] at most. Ants to him. As time went on Tavalor grew more and more confident in his [Ancient Scales]. He assumed he was almost immortal and indestructible now thanks to that ability.

  Time passed. The half a day that it would take to arrive at Miragos had gone by.

  Tavalor woke up and stretched. ‘Are we there yet?’ he asked. Turning to the still frightened crew.

  ‘It’s right ahead,’ replied the quartermaster. He now stood where the former Captain had stood at the helm.

  Tavalor raised his eyes and looked down.

  Unlike canal-laced Vallenport, Miragos erupted from a rocky peninsula in defiant towers of white stone and gleaming metal.

  Spires reached skyward like crystalline fingers, their surfaces reflecting the afternoon sun in blinding patterns.

  The city was a monument to ambition—terraced gardens spilled down its eastern face while western districts clung to cliff edges, connected by impossible bridges that seemed to float unsupported. Intricate domes topped with gold and silver caught the light, creating the illusion of flames dancing atop the highest towers.

  Tavalor's lips curled into a slight smile. ‘Finally.’

  The Sky-breaker descended towards Miragos gracefully. It’s enchanted engines humming quietly and melodically. Little Shadow, standing on his shoulder, hummed along in tune with it.

  Citizens paused in streets and marketplaces, shading their eyes against the afternoon sun to watch the ship's approach. Some pointed, their expressions shifting from curiosity to concern when they realized this wasn't a triumphant return—this was a single vessel from the armada that had departed with such fanfare that morning.

  Tavalor stood at the bow, [Intimidation] still cloaking him in shadow. The city spread below him like an architectural boast—a testament to human ambition and magical engineering.

  The ship drifted toward the central district where a massive domed building dominated the skyline—the New Council Headquarters, hastily established after the Dorian Spire's destruction.

  Skyports flanked the headquarters, but Tavalor had no interest in proper docking procedures. He directed the terrified helmsman to hover directly above the building's central courtyard.

  ‘Lower,’ Tavalor commanded, his voice resonating with [Intimidation]. It brooked no argument.

  The ship descended until it hovered just thirty feet above the courtyard's polished marble. Below, guards scrambled into defensive positions, their weapons trained on the unexpected vessel. Civilians evacuated in orderly panic, herded away by uniformed officials.

  Within minutes, a delegation had gathered in the courtyard—stern-faced men and women in formal robes, flanked by warriors whose auras betrayed their [A-Class] status.

  Tavalor leapt from the bow, landing with inhuman lightness despite the thirty-foot drop. His [Intimidation] wavered just enough to reveal a humanoid silhouette rather than a formless shadow.

  A woman stepped forward from the delegation, her weathered face a mask of diplomatic calm despite the fear evident in her eyes.

  ‘I am Elder Cassandra Ward,’ she announced, her voice carrying across the courtyard. ‘You stand uninvited on sovereign Miragos territory. Identify yourself.’

  Before Tavalor could respond, the Sky-breaker's quartermaster leaned over the railing, a desperate smile splitting his face.

  ‘It's a trap!’ he shouted, glee evident in his voice. ‘The suppression barrier is in place! He cannot—’

  Tavalor tilted his head upward, his shadowed form conveying annoyance without needing to show his face. The quartermaster's words died in his throat as a shimmering dome of energy suddenly became visible, encompassing the entire courtyard and beyond.

  ‘A barrier,’ Tavalor observed, his tone flat. ‘How original.’

  Elder Cassandra's diplomatic mask slipped slightly. ‘You've committed acts of war against Miragos. Did you truly believe you could simply walk into our city without consequences?’

  Around the perimeter of the courtyard, warriors began to emerge—dozens, then scores of them, each radiating the unmistakable aura of [A-Class] power. They lined the balconies and rooftops, weapons at the ready, some already beginning to channel spells.

  Citizens who hadn't evacuated pressed against windows and clustered at distant vantage points, whispering frantically among themselves. What manner of being was this, to warrant such overwhelming force? Who would dare attack Miragos directly?

  ‘An army for one visitor,’ Tavalor remarked, seemingly unperturbed by the growing threat. ‘I'm flattered.’

  ‘Enough.’ The command cut through the tension like a blade.

  The crowd parted as a figure approached—an elderly man whose simple gray robes belied the power that radiated from him. His silver hair and beard were immaculately trimmed, his posture straight despite his apparent age. The warriors surrounding the courtyard bowed their heads in deference.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  ‘Lord Miragos,’ Elder Cassandra was surprised. Her expression was tinged with relief though. ‘We didn’t expect–’

  The other people in the audience were also surprised. Lord Miragos. Founder of the Free City of Miragos.

  An Ancient Legend come to life.

  ‘Clearly not,’ the old man interrupted, his eyes fixed on Tavalor’s shadowy form. ‘Or you wouldn’t be threatening our guest with this crude display.’

  The crowd murmured in confusion. Guest? The shadow that had destroyed Miragos elite forces?

  Lord Miragos stopped ten paces from Tavalor. His eyes seemingly able to pierce through the [Intimidation] effect.

  ‘You truly are [S-Class],’ he said, not a question but a statement of fact. ‘I felt your arrival from my chambers beneath the city. Few can disturb my meditation these days.’

  That’s a problem. Thought Tavalor. I need to be more lowkey. This amount of attention is too annoying.

  Tavalor's [Intimidation] effect faded slightly, allowing his basic form to become more visible—a tall, horned figure with glowing ruby eyes.

  ‘Lord Miragos,’ Tavalor replied with a polite bow, his voice also respectful. ‘The Founder himself. The rumors of your eternal sleep seem to have been exaggerated.’

  The old man chuckled, the sound resonating with power. ‘I prefer solitude, not slumber. The responsibilities of leadership are best left to younger generations... usually.’ His gaze hardened. ‘Though when those younger generations send war fleets against neighboring cities without consulting me, I occasionally must intervene.’

  Elder Cassandra looked stricken: ‘My lord, we acted in defense of–’

  ‘In defense of pride,’ Lord Miragos cut her off. ‘The Dorian family arrogance has cost us enough. I will not drag us into an unnecessary war.’

  What a surprise. Tavalor thought. This old man is quite reasonable. Not like the web novels at all.

  The old man turned back to Tavalor: ‘Though I must confess to curiosity. What brings an [S-Class] to Vallenport? The city has stood for centuries without such protection.’

  Liars. All of these old guy all lying. This guy is the sixth [S-Class] I’ve seen. They’re supposed to be rare. Tavalor thought. Even Crestfall is [S-Class].

  ‘Perhaps I just enjoy their pastries,’ Tavalor replied casually.

  Lord Miragos laughed, a sound that seemed to catch the councilors off guard. ‘Perhaps! But what a surprise that an upstart port city should harbor one of your caliber. There are few enough of us in this age—myself, the Founders of the Western Empires, the leaders of the Eastern Continent's courts, and a handful of others. Yet you are unknown to us.’

  ‘I value my privacy,’ Tavalor said simply.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the quartermaster, who had climbed down from the Sky-breaker and now prostrated himself before the council.

  ‘My Lords, you don't understand,’ he babbled, fear making his voice crack. ‘This creature—this monster—killed Captain Merrill with a mere gesture! Incinerated him to ash! He destroyed our battle-beasts, our elite warriors—’

  ‘Silence,’ Lord Miragos commanded, but it was too late.

  The revelation sent waves of shock through the gathered warriors. The quartermaster's words confirmed their worst fears—this shadow had indeed decimated their forces, killed their comrades. Faces contorted with rage and grief, and the disciplined restraint began to fracture.

  ‘This changes nothing,’ Elder Cassandra hissed, trying to maintain order. ‘The barrier holds. We proceed as planned.’

  Internally Tavalor was pleased. As expected. There are always some arrogant dumb-asses wandering around. They gave Tavalor an excuse to kill them.

  A signal passed through the ranks. The warriors on the balconies and rooftops began to move in practiced unison, their positions forming a precise geometric pattern around the courtyard. Energy crackled between them as they initiated a combined technique.

  ‘[The Hundred Stars] Formation,’ Lord Miragos observed, stepping back with a frown. ‘Cassandra, this is unnecessary—’

  ‘With respect, Lord Founder,’ she replied, her voice hardening, ‘this entity represents an existential threat to Miragos. We must learn its secrets.’ She turned to Tavalor, ambition gleaming in her eyes. ‘How is one so young already [S-Class]? What power did you discover in the Dungeon under Vallenport? What secrets do you hold?’

  The formation activated—a hundred [A-Class] warriors channelling their power simultaneously into a suppression rune of unprecedented scale. The barrier above shimmered, reinforced by their combined effort. From the centre of the courtyard, ancient symbols etched in the marble began to glow with blinding intensity.

  ‘The Soul Suppression Seal,’ Lord Miragos said, his expression troubled. ‘You risk much, Elder.’

  ‘For Miragos' future,’ she replied, conviction burning in her eyes.

  The entire city began to vibrate with gathered power. Windows shattered in distant districts, water sloshed from fountains, and birds fled in panicked flocks. The crew of the Sky-breaker covered their heads, seeking shelter where none existed. Even Lord Miragos raised a personal barrier to shield himself from the backlash.

  In the centre of it all, Tavalor stood motionless, his shadowy form watching the spectacle with a detached curiosity.

  The Soul Suppression Seal activated with a thunderous crack. A pillar of light erupted from the courtyard's centre, engulfing Tavalor completely. The assembled warriors strained, channelling every ounce of their power into the ancient artifact. Elder Cassandra's face shone with sweat and expectation.

  ‘We have him,’ she whispered.

  From his elevated position the quartermaster let out a bark of laughter, relief making him giddy. ‘Yes! The monster falls!’

  Lord Miragos alone remained skeptical, his ancient eyes narrowed as he observed the column of light.

  The pillar began to contract, constricting around Tavalor's form—a legendary item doing what it was designed to do: capture and contain even the most powerful entities.

  Then came the sound—a single, clear note, like metal striking metal.

  Clang.

  The pillar of light shattered against Tavalor's form, its energy dispersing in a shockwave that rippled outward with catastrophic force.

  The impact reverberated through the entire city. Buildings swayed, foundations cracked, and distant districts collapsed as the shockwave tore through stone and steel alike. The warriors maintaining the formation were thrown backward, their carefully aligned positions destroyed in an instant. Those nearest to the epicentre simply disappeared, consumed by the backfire of their own technique.

  Elder Cassandra was hurled across the courtyard, her body crashing against a marble column with sickening force. The Sky-breaker crew, moments ago celebrating, were swept away like leaves in a hurricane.

  The earthquake-like tremors continued for nearly a minute, each aftershock bringing down more of the city. When the dust began to settle, half of Miragos lay in ruins. Those who survived stared in horror at the devastation, unable to process what had happened.

  In the courtyard's centre, Tavalor stood unmoved, his [Ancient Scales] having rendered him completely impervious to the legendary artifact's power. The suppression barrier had disintegrated, the formation destroyed, and most of the [A-Class] warriors lay broken or dead around the perimeter.

  Only Lord Miragos remained standing nearby, his personal barrier having protected him from the worst of the blast. He gazed at Tavalor with new understanding, perhaps even fear.

  Elder Cassandra dragged herself to her knees, blood trickling from her mouth, her eyes wide with incomprehension. The ancient Seal—a relic that had captured and contained beings of immense power throughout Miragos' history—had failed. Not just failed, but catastrophically backfired.

  ‘Impossible,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible over the continuing rumble of collapsing buildings in distant districts.

  Around the courtyard, the surviving members of the Hundred Stars Formation lay scattered like broken dolls. Some stirred, moaning in pain; others remained ominously still.

  The man who had activated the Seal—Archmage Dorvius, once renowned as Miragos' most promising magical talent—sat slumped against the base of a fractured column, his eyes vacant, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. The backlash had shattered his mind, leaving nothing but an empty shell.

  The remaining council members huddled together, their earlier confidence evaporated. One of them, a portly man with elaborate gold chains across his chest, fell to his knees.

  ‘Mercy,’ he whimpered. ‘We beg for mercy.’

  From his position near the Sky-breaker, the quartermaster's shock had turned to a panic. He laughed—a high, unhinged sound that cut through the moans of the injured.

  Tavalor turned slowly toward the man, his eyes glowing like embers.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, his voice eerily calm, ‘playtime’s over.’

  Without warning, a fireball erupted from his hand—not the standard magical construct that most mages would cast, but a concentrated inferno that roared across the courtyard with the force of a small sun. It struck the quartermaster directly, consuming him instantly. Nothing remained but a scorch mark on the marble.

  ‘I only kept him alive to gather you all here,’ Tavalor explained to the horrified onlookers. ‘His usefulness has ended.’

  Lord Miragos stood apart from the others, his ancient eyes fixed on Tavalor with dawning comprehension. Where there had been curiosity, now there was genuine fear—perhaps for the first time in centuries.

  ‘This isn't normal magic,’ the old man said, his voice steady despite his growing alarm. ‘This isn't structured. This isn't... bound. What are you? How can you wield such power without circles, without constraints?’

  Tavalor didn't answer. Instead, he stomped his foot once—a casual gesture that sent cracks racing across the courtyard. The elaborate formation etched into the marble shattered, fragments of stone spraying outward like shrapnel. Several of the fallen warriors cried out as the broken pieces tore through them.

  Before the council could react, Tavalor raised both hands. Multiple fireballs materialized simultaneously—each perfectly formed, each targeted at a different council member. They struck with precision, transforming the leadership of Miragos into pillars of flame that burned with unnatural intensity before collapsing into ash.

  Only Elder Cassandra was spared, her battered form shielded by a last-minute barrier cast by Lord Miragos himself. The ancient founder stepped forward, placing himself between Tavalor and what remained of his city's leadership.

  ‘Enough,’ Lord Miragos commanded, though the word carried less authority than before. ‘You've made your point. Miragos will trouble Vallenport no more.’

  Tavalor tilted his head, studying the old man. ‘Is that your promise to make? After you've spent centuries hiding, abandoning your city to the arrogance of families like the Dorians?’

  Lord Miragos bristled, drawing himself up to his full height. Despite his age, power radiated from him in palpable waves. ‘Do not presume to judge me, stranger. I have guided this city since its founding. I have fought wars you cannot imagine, faced enemies that would make you tremble.’

  ‘Show me,’ Tavalor replied bored of the whole thing. Time to end it.

  The challenge hung in the air between them. Lord Miragos hesitated only a moment before striking. His hand traced a complex pattern in the air—a spell formation of such intricacy that it seemed to fold in on itself, defying normal dimensions.

  Light burst from his fingertips, coalescing into a lance of pure energy that struck Tavalor directly in the chest.

  The lance shattered, its power dissipating harmlessly against [Ancient Scales].

  Lord Miragos didn't hesitate. He followed with a barrage of spells, each more powerful than the last—binding circles, elemental cascades, temporal distortions. The air itself began to warp with the density of magic being channelled, yet nothing penetrated Tavalor's defences.

  With each failed attempt, Lord Miragos' composure cracked further. Sweat beaded on his brow, his breathing grew ragged, and fear—an emotion he had likely not felt in centuries—began to show plainly on his face.

  Tavalor began walking toward him, each step measured and unhurried.

  Lord Miragos stumbled backward, his legendary composure abandoned. ‘Stay back,’ he warned, his voice cracking. ‘I am Lord Miragos, Founder of the Free City, Conqueror of the Elder Isles, Master of the Seven Winds!’

  His desperation mounted as Tavalor continued his approach.

  When Tavalor stood in front of him. The cowering changed. The cowardice was a front for an ambush. The old [S-Class] channelled his most devastating technique—a golden light gathering around his fist, concentrated power that had felled titans and shattered mountains. The [Golden Fist of Miragos], a technique that had ended the lives of countless enemies.

  ‘Die!’ he shouted, driving the golden fist directly at Tavalor's heart.

  The impact should have obliterated any living thing. Instead, it met the immovable object of [Ancient Scales] with a dull thud.

  Lord Miragos stood frozen, his golden fist pressed uselessly against Tavalor's chest, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  ‘How?’ he whispered. ‘How is this possible?’

  Tavalor didn't answer. He simply watched as cracks began to appear on Lord Miragos' skin—fine lines that spread rapidly across his face and hands, glowing with golden light from within. The backlash of his own technique, reflected by [Ancient Scales], was consuming him from the inside.

  ‘No,’ Lord Miragos gasped, his voice already fading. ‘Not like this. Not after all these years...’

  His form began to crumble, golden light pouring from the widening cracks in his ancient body. Within seconds, there was nothing left but dust and a fading golden glow where the legendary founder had stood.

  Elder Cassandra watched in mute horror, the last witness to the fall of her city's greatest protector. Her survival now seemed less mercy and more cruel punishment—forced to bear witness to the end of everything she had known.

  Tavalor turned away from the remains of Lord Miragos, his gaze sweeping across the ruined courtyard and beyond, to the half-collapsed city.

  Survivors were trying to dig out loved ones from the rubble. Healers moved among the wounded, their magic flickering feebly against the scale of the disaster.

  A twinge of something—not quite remorse, but perhaps reluctance—crossed Tavalor's features.

  Am I the villain? He thought. He had not come to slaughter innocents. His quarrel had been with those who sent assassins, who threatened his peace.

  But he recognized the pattern that would inevitably follow. Survivors would rebuild. They would nurse their hatred. They would plan vengeance. The cycle would continue, and more would come to disturb the tranquillity he had sought in Vallenport.

  Pull out everything by the roots. Yada, yada, yada.

  Better to end it cleanly, he thought to himself. No matter how uneasy I feel about it.

  Tavalor rose into the air, his form shifting subtly as he ascended above the ruined city. He hovered high enough to see Miragos in its entirety—the collapsed eastern districts, the still-standing western quarter, the thousands of tiny figures moving through streets and over rubble.

  He took a deep breath, drawing on power that had not been unleashed since the Age of Dragons. [Dragon's Breath] manifested not as the controlled flame he had used before, but as its true form—a cataclysmic force of pure destruction.

  When he exhaled, the sky ignited.

  A column of white-hot flame wider than the broadest avenue poured down upon Miragos, so bright it turned night to day for thousands of kilometers in all directions. The roar was deafening, drowning out the screams that were silenced moments later. Stone melted like wax, steel vaporized instantly, and the very ground beneath the city began to glow with heat.

  The conflagration lasted less than a minute, but when it ended, Miragos existed only as a memory. Where a proud city had stood for centuries, there was now only a massive, perfectly circular,perfectly flat islandof glass, still glowing red at its edges.

  Tavalor ascended to the floating Sky-breaker, where only Little Shadow awaited him. The little shadow creature had grown during his absence, now the size of a small cat, its violet eyes watching him with something like admiration.

  ‘The ship is yours,’ Tavalor told it, patting its insubstantial form. ‘Consider it a toy.’

  Little Shadow chirped happily, flowing across the deck toward the helm. Despite its apparent simplicity, the shadow creature head learned the ship's controls while wandering around, and it manipulated the levers and wheels expertly with extensions of its dark form.

  Tavalor stepped back, watching as Little Shadow guided the massive vessel into a turn, orienting it back toward Vallenport.

  He could have stored the Sky-breakerin his [System Space] and flown back much faster—but for now, he was content to let Little Shadow have its fun.

  As they left behind the glowing crater that had been Miragos, Tavalor looked eastward, toward the rising stars.