Chapter 71: The Lotus Citadel's quick justice
The air above the industrial district of the city was sharp and cold. A thin, magical haze clung to the rooftops, shimmering faintly in the light of the full moon.
On the precipice of a dusty warehouse roof, Zaryter and Stacian stood like silent, opposing forces. Zaryter, cloaked in charcoal-gray fabric, was coiled tension. Stacian, in her crisp military uniform, was the picture of detached efficiency.
"Don't worry, Zaryter," she said, her voice smooth and devoid of any unnecessary emotion. "I leave them to you."
She closed her eyes. The magical energy of the city seemed to gather around her, concentrating between her elegant brows. The moment she opened them, her pupils were replaced by swirling patterns of silver light—her unique [Divine Eye of Shalba] skill. She scanned the structure below, analyzing life signs, mana signatures, and power levels.
Smugglers. Six of them. Low-level fire mages and two bulky front-liners. Low-threat, but messy. Good. Lord Leornars will be pleased they've confirmed the slave trade, not just the Pollium drug, she thought, her internal assessment already complete.
Zaryter didn't wait. He moved, not with a jump, but a powerful, controlled descent. He flung himself onto the warehouse roof, the impact a dull, heavy thud that shook the structure and announced his presence with aggressive finality.
"Chains of Detriment!" he roared.
From his scaled right arm, three lengths of brilliant emerald chain materialized from swirling, solidified mana. They shot out, hissing as they wrapped instantly around three of the closest smugglers.
Three others reacted in panic, their hands blazing with crude, volatile flames. "Burn the beast!" one yelled.
The fire spells—gusts of superheated air and sputtering fireballs—slammed into Zaryter. He stood his ground, a pillar of immovable muscle. His cloak instantly turned to ash, falling away to reveal the green scales on his elbow and hands, the twin black dragon horns curving back from his temples, and the magnificent, tightly-furled black wings that strained against his back.
The flames were searing, but Zaryter didn't even grunt. His Dragonian heritage made fire a mere irritation.
"We can't fight that," a bulky man named Grall whimpered, terror replacing all bravado. They scrambled for the exit, only to hit an invisible wall of shimmering azure energy.
They looked up. On the roof peak, illuminated by the city's magical lamps, stood Stacian, her hand raised. She had erected the magic barrier in a single, fluid motion.
Zaryter, ignoring the rising smoke from his singed armor, casually flung his captured targets to the reinforced wall. CRASH! The sound of bone meeting magically enhanced brick was sickeningly loud.
Chains of Detriment? At first it was [Eternal Chains of Abstract], then [Chains of Absurdity], then [Chains of Salvation]... how many does he have? Stacian pondered, watching Zaryter's unique, unpredictable magic. His lack of formal training made his abilities chaotic, yet powerfully effective.
The smugglers, slammed against the magically reinforced wall, were stunned and groaning. Their initial arrogance had dissolved instantly. Zaryter's chains tightened, the emerald links biting into their cheap leather armor.
"Gah! My ribs!" Grall spat out blood, wincing. He watched with a sickly fascination as the green-scaled Dragonian casually brushed the smoke from his arm.
"Give me names of the other locations Pollium drug is being smuggled in," Zaryter asked. His voice was naturally deep, and while the tone was initially calm, it held a dangerous edge that promised unimaginable pain if crossed.
"What Pollium drug? We are slave traders as you can see behind us!" another smuggler, a wiry man named Roric, blurted out, pointing frantically to a sealed side room.
Stacian's silver eyes flickered, analyzing Roric's soul-state. No lie detected. He speaks the truth. Why are they here? A strange, cold satisfaction touched her thoughts. Lord Leornars will be pleased.
Zaryter's eyes narrowed, his focus shifting entirely. The drug was a crime. Slavery was an unforgivable offense.
"Slave traders, then," Zaryter hissed, his tone now a low snarl that caused the Dragon-Kins' scales to prickle. "Tell me, how did you acquire those inside? Be precise. I want details of the hunt."
Stacian glided into the annex. The air was thick and sour, a mixture of unwashed bodies, fear, and the metallic tang of old blood. She found different races—Lizardmen, High Elves, Beast-Kins, and Dragon-Kins—all seated in solid cages, their limbs secured with magic-suppressing cuffs.
The sight was a punch of pure, raw horror that briefly drained the silver light from her eyes. For a fraction of a second, her control slipped, and she was ready to execute the smugglers right then and there. Disgusting filth. She took a deep breath, reasserting her absolute control. No. Bellian will do it.
Grall, witnessing the swift disappearance of their life expectancy, tumbled over himself to talk. "It was mostly the Dragon-Kins, sir. The others… they were easier. We got the High Elves from a caravan near the Whispering Peaks—their escort was too weak. The Lizardmen were simple: a raid on a small village with no magic defense, a clean sweep, no real fight."
Roric interrupted, trying to buy favor with details. "But the Dragon-Kins… they're hard to find, they don't leave their enclaves. We had to use an inside man, a low-ranking mage in the Copper Claw mercenary guild. He gave us the route of a small pilgrimage—a family group—heading to the old shrine in the Stonefang Wastes."
"We used Sleeping Powder, special stuff from the south, odorless," Grall rushed to add. "We didn't hurt them! Just knocked them out! We had a shaman, a Bone-Binder, to help with the magic-suppressing cuffs. The cuffs stop them from channeling mana or letting out a roar, makes them docile."
"Where were you taking them?" Zaryter demanded, his chains beginning to tremble.
"To the Free Ports of Kael, on the western coast," Roric mumbled, his defiance utterly extinguished. "There's a buyer there—a rich merchant from the Onyx Isles. He pays triple for Dragon-Kins for... well, for his private guard, and some for sport, we think. This was our largest haul in a year. The rest were just… inventory fillers."
Zaryter turned around. The Dragon-Kins were staring at him through the bars, their eyes wide and illuminated by a desperate spark. The sight of a full-blooded Dragonian, a near-mythical figure of power and divinity in their lesser reptilian folklore, had silenced their terror.
Zaryter's own eyes flared with raw, unbridled mana.
"You think selling slaves is common? You think it's nothing?" he asked, his voice shaking with suppressed fury. The emerald chains binding the smugglers began to heat, glowing with an internal, furious light.
Freedom and the Gap
"Stacian, should we take these smugglers to the Lord?" Zaryter managed to ask, channeling his rage into procedure.
Stacian, who had returned, nodded. "Yes. It's the obvious thing to do."
She did not touch the cages. Instead, she instantly channeled her divine mana. The metal didn't rust or bend; it simply decomposed into fine dust, a strange, abstract magic dissolving the cages as if they were never there.
"Follow us," Stacian said, gesturing toward the opening they'd made in the warehouse roof.
The Dragon-Kins and the Lizardmen flocked instantly behind Zaryter, their awe palpable.
I guess the books were not wrong, Stacian thought, her mind a fortress of logic. Dragonians are extremely regarded to be divine beings to the other reptilian races. She pulled the rope connecting the smugglers, forcing them forward.
The Disciplined Lord
Zaryter glanced at Stacian—her speed, her decisiveness, the cold assurance of her magic. The distance between them and the true might of Avangard's lord was undeniable.
I remember well that I'm far behind the Lord and Stacian, Zaryter mused, a bitter taste rising in his throat. I only train twice or thrice a week. I can't forget that night.
He recalled waking up one night, months ago, to see a pillar of large, controlled flame shot to the sky. He had instantly rushed outside, cloaked and hidden, to witness Leornars in his solo training hours.
For two hours, Leornars performed feats of elemental and abstract magic that defied Zaryter's understanding. When the magic practice ceased, the Lord began physical training. Zaryter had watched, horrified and awed, as Leornars completed 300 press-ups, 400 sit-ups, and 300 squats. He then took off, running an 80-mile journey around the kingdom's perimeter, only to return to an hour of intensive sword practice.
He repeats the training daily since coming to Avangard—that's three months ago. No wonder the Lord is strong, it's not luck, it's pure training.
That night, Leornars had noticed Zaryter watching, yet he hadn't stopped. Zaryter realized then that the Lord had already mastered his [Threads of Abstract], controlling shimmering, almost invisible lines of magical energy in a 360-degree range. The sheer discipline was terrifying.
They arrived at the Lotus Castle. Its spires seemed to float, and the walls appeared to shift color under the concentrated magical lighting, reflecting the sheer power now ruling it.
In the throne room, Leornars sat on his obsidian seat, his presence a heavy, quiet weight. The slaves stood before him, looking up with a mixture of hope and paralyzing fear.
Leornars's eyes—deep, shadowed pools of intensity—turned to the bound smugglers, then to Stacian.
"Who are they?" he asked.
"They are slave traders. They are from the kingdom of—"
"Why did you bring such filth before me?" Leornars cut her off, his voice absolute, like a sharp blade slicing through the silence. "Execute them and have their remains thrown to the goblins in the forest, I don't tolerate filth that dares to take the hope of kids away."
The smugglers' pleas were instantly smothered as Bellian appeared, his dark, quiet form beside them, his longsword already cold steel in the magical light. They were led outside, and the single, fading echo of their screams confirmed the justice. It took less than a minute.
The slaves were shaking, their new terror surpassing their old one.
Leornars then turned to Zhyelena, who had just entered. The menacing aura surrounding him softened, replaced by a calm, focused efficiency—the shift was instant, absolute.
"Zhyelena, take the slaves to the hospital, have them examined for any disease and treated," Leornars ordered, his voice clear and resonant. "There's a few houses in the south districts that are empty, let them stay there, give them clothes and food. Look for some work they can do, something normal, like receptionists or merchants, something they are good in. Avangard does not tolerate slavery—that's the rule, nothing else."
Zaryter recalled Leornars's inaugural speech, the promise of the kingdom now fulfilled with cold, terrifying precision.
Leornars stood on the balcony of the castle his crimson throne in his head looking at the citizens.
> "Citizens of Avangard! Look upon your neighbors. Look upon your families. Look upon the very stones of this castle and know that a new era has begun! I am Leornars, and I stand before you not as a distant ruler, but as your fellow citizen, committed to the prosperity and honor of this great kingdom!"
> "For too long, the shadows of the past have clung to us—shadows of fear, division, and injustice. But today, the sun breaks through! Today, we commit ourselves to a future built on four cornerstones: Equality, Peace, Loyalty, and Respect!"
> A Pledge Against Division and Conflict
> "I detest war. I abhor the sight of unnecessary death. No child should ever see death; no child should know what pain is; no child should lose a parent in a conflict created by the foolish pride and ambition of leaders and the nobility! In Avangard, we will choose a different path. I stand for justice, I stand for clarity, not wars and deceit!"
> "Remember this truth: We are all equals. No one is superior to the other, for we all have the same colour of blood, and we all share this same world. This false idiocy of someone believing they are superior—based on gold, title, or birth—does not apply in Avangard! Any who attempt to enforce this antiquated lie will be dealt with severely!"
> The Rules of Avangard: A Covenant of Freedom
> "Hear now the sacred laws that shall govern us all, the Rules of Avangard, a covenant between the crown and the people, written in the spirit of fairness and absolute justice:"
> * No Killing Amongst Citizens: The life of a citizen is inviolable. Anyone who takes another's life, except in sanctioned military defense of the kingdom, shall face the swiftest and harshest judgment. We are a people of peace, and bloodshed is an offense against us all.
> * The Nobility Do Not Control the People: Let this be known across every town and field: The days of absolute aristocratic dominion are over. Titles grant responsibility, not the right to command the lives of free citizens. The nobility will serve the kingdom and its people, not rule over them.
> * No Racism in Avangard Kingdom: We are a tapestry woven from different threads, and our strength lies in our diversity. Any act, word, or deed intended to diminish another based on their heritage, skin, or origin is an act of treason against Avangard. We stand as one people, under one banner!
> The End of a Stain: Slavery Abolished
> "And now, for the most critical decree, the one that shall wash the stain of dishonor from our history forever: Slavery is absolutely and irrevocably abolished in the Kingdom of Avangard!"
> "No man, woman, or child shall ever again be treated as property. Their bodies, their labor, and their lives belong only to themselves and to Avangard!"
> "Hear this clearly: Any person caught participating in, profiting from, or concealing the practice of slavery will be immediately executed. There will be no warnings, no second chances, and no pardons. This crime is an assault on the very soul of our kingdom, and we will not tolerate it for a single moment. Freedom is the birthright of every citizen!"
> "This is a Call to Loyalty and Respect. This new dawn requires more than just laws; it requires a new spirit. I call for your Loyalty—not blind obedience to me, but loyalty to the ideals of Avangard: to justice, freedom, and the shared good. And I call for Respect—respect for the laws, respect for the land, and most importantly, respect for every single person standing beside you."
> "Let us build a future where every child, no matter their parentage, can aspire to greatness. A future where our strength is found not in the size of our armies, but in the unity of our hearts. Go forth, Avangard! Live in peace, live with honor, and let the world see the true glory of a free people!"
"Slavery is absolutely and irrevocably abolished in the Kingdom of Avangard! Any person caught participating in, profiting from, or concealing the practice of slavery will be immediately executed. There will be no warnings, no second chances, and no pardons. Freedom is the birthright of every citizen! FOR AVANGARD ".
>
Those smugglers should have listened to the rules of Avangard, Zaryter thought. The Lord's justice was a cold, precise machine of moral clarity.
Meanwhile, Sahara and Sasha arrived at the town of Liverta, a bustling trade hub 700 miles south of the castle.
The town wasn't a grand citadel, but a vibrant canvas of commerce. The cobbled streets were pristine, constantly swept by automated dust sprites. Human merchants haggled with tall, green-skinned Orc blacksmiths. Gnome engineers loudly discussed a blueprint. Winged Avariel delivered messages overhead.
This was the Avangard Leornars had forged: a place where race and origin didn't matter, only use and adherence to the law. The energy was clean, focused, and non-judgmental.
Sahara sighed, a long, weary exhalation that carried the dust of their long journey. She looked ahead at the towering grain silos.
Then, she saw Sasha.
Sasha was already gnawing on a loaf of bread, having barely finished paying. Her mischievous, almost feral quality stood in sharp contrast to the peaceful order of the town.
"You ate five minutes ago, you moron," Sahara said, her weariness evaporating into exasperation as she instantly chased her.
Sasha, her mouth full, held up a crumb-covered hand. "Five minutes is still long!" she said, pouting.
"You'll get obese," Sahara muttered, though she knew the statement was pointless.
"Never! I have a skill to kill anything harmful in me," Sasha said proudly, puffing out her chest, nearly knocking over a stack of baskets.
"Don't act high and mighty because you can't get fat, you dumbass," Sahara said, trying to remove the half-eaten loaf.
The baker, a kind-faced Human woman, just laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "It's alright, kiddos. You can have it. The bread's fresh today." She reached under her counter and gave them an extra one.
Sasha instantly grabbed it too. Sahara, however, took the second loaf, gave the baker a curt nod of thanks, and put it carefully in her bag, saving it for a later, more necessary meal.
"See, Sahara? The world is not all doom and gloom," Sasha chirped, tearing off a piece of crust.
"The world is what you make it, and you're making it a bread-crumb trail of trouble," Sahara muttered, pulling Sasha by the sleeve. "We need to find the Bazaar District. We need information, not carbs."
They passed a fountain where a Faun girl, a young Goblin boy, and a Human child were chasing magically animated butterflies.
"Look, the 'No Racism' rule seems to actually be working," Sasha observed, momentarily distracted from her bread.
Sahara surveyed the scene, her eyes narrowed with professional caution. "It's unsettling. This level of peace isn't natural. It's enforced. It means their leader, this Leornars, is terrifyingly powerful and organized. We need to be invisible here. No flashy magic, no 'skills to kill anything harmful in you,' no snatching food."
"Fine, fine," Sasha agreed with a dramatic sigh. "Just let me finish this crust. It's really good."
Sahara shook her head, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. "Later. Now, focus. Citadel is 700 miles north. We need a fast, quiet way to cover that distance. Look for a cargo route, not a traveler's coach."
They melted into the crowd, two powerful but disarmed figures navigating a kingdom built on absolute, unyielding order. A few miles west, a solitary figure emerged from the barren landscape known as the Western Blight. Kylie, his face a grim mask of dust and determination, stood on a jagged ridge overlooking the fertile valley. The shift in environment was stark: the Blight was monochromatic and cursed; the valley was a riot of green and silver light.
His eyes were focused solely on the Lotus Castle. It dominated the skyline, seemingly radiating a constant, subtle energy. His vengeance, a cold, hard stone in his chest, flared into a momentary, painful heat.
"Leornars," he whispered, the name a curse and a vow.
Kylie wore armor that was less plate and more a mesh of shadows and hardened leather, designed for unparalleled speed and silence. His weapon, a slender, dark Moon-Forged Rapier, was sheathed and thrumming faintly with captive power.
He moved off the ridge, descending into the greener foothills. He paused behind a massive, moss-covered boulder near a small military outpost.
He saw two soldiers patrolling. They were practical, sturdy fighters wearing dark-gray uniforms and carrying spears that crackled with minor anti-magic wards.
First Soldier (Rath): "Did you hear what happened to the slave traders in the south? Executed on the spot. No trial. Just poof."
Second Soldier (Jina): "Everyone heard, Rath. That's the third incident this month. It's a message. Lord Leornars doesn't mess around with the Rules of Avangard. You touch a free citizen, you're dead. Simple as that."
Rath: "Still, makes a man nervous. Kings of other nations would've fined them. This is… absolute."
Jina: "It's why the kingdom is so stable now! Look at the trade! The taxes come in steady because everyone knows the rules. I'd rather have a terrifyingly just king than a weak one who lets the nobles run wild. Besides, who feels bad for a slave trader?"
They continued their patrol, their footsteps regular and predictable. Kylie observed them with the detachment of a predator.
Absolute order. That was the key. Leornars has solidified his power by eliminating chaos and making his personal moral code the law. It is effective, but it also makes the target easier to isolate.
A king who stands on absolute law is predictable, Kylie thought, sheathing his rapier. Break his law, and he must react. He won't ignore a threat that targets his stability.
He began a wide arc around the outpost. He wouldn't rely on brute force. He needed to find the cracks in the Citadel's defenses, the abstract weaknesses that brute power couldn't address.
He picked up his pace, a silent, dark blur moving through the fringe of the forest, the Lotus Castle remaining his unwavering, magnetic north. His journey had just begun, and the peaceful, prosperous kingdom of Avangard was about to receive a visitor who cared nothing for its new covenant of freedom, only for the old, burning debt of vengeance.