Chapter 21 – Entering the City
Everyone stared in shock at Einver's sudden movement, even the soldier who had been holding his hand showed clear signs of astonishment.
The young traveler's hand had slipped out of his iron grip as if it had never been restrained at all—vanishing effortlessly between his fingers without leaving the faintest trace.
The soldier stood frozen, staring first at his own hand, then back at Einver, struggling to find a logical explanation for what had just happened. He was certain his grip had been unbreakable, so firm that escape should have been impossible.
Even if Einver had tried to yank his hand away with brute force, the soldier should have felt some resistance—any sign of struggle. But the move had been so swift and direct that it left him completely unsettled.
What the soldier didn't know was that this young man had trained in every combat art his homeland had to offer. Einver had mastered advanced techniques of escape, methods that allowed him to slip from any grasp without relying on strength. One such technique was this:
Relax the hand calmly, then bend the thumb in a precise, swift motion, shrinking the palm just enough to slide out through even the tightest grip.
The entire maneuver required no more than a heartbeat, for the soldier had been tightening his hold with every passing second. Any hesitation, any delay, and his hand would have adapted, crushing down harder.
That was why Einver didn't falter. He bent his thumb with flawless precision, twisting his wrist in tandem with the leap of his body. The soldier's muscles slackened just enough—and the hand slipped free with astonishing ease.
Of course, the technique was far from simple. Anyone lacking long years of discipline would surely fail. Einver remembered the first time he practiced it under his father's guidance at the age of eight. The pain had been unbearable, so sharp it nearly knocked him unconscious. But repetition forged endurance, and endurance forged mastery. What began with his father's guidance became his own perfected skill as the years passed.
Now, he stood gracefully before Princess Sun Mi, who regarded him with keen curiosity. He gave her a light smile and asked in a calm tone:
"What does this noble lady wish of a humble wanderer like me?"
The princess smiled gently, her expression radiant as she replied:
"Would you like to be my personal guest, traveler?"
The place erupted in gasps of disbelief. Neither soldiers nor attendants could fathom what they had just heard. For a noblewoman of her status to extend such an invitation to a foreign wanderer was unthinkable.
Einver's gaze swept over the scene, and he knew at once he had no choice but to accept. Refusing her would not merely be an insult to etiquette—it would be seen as a slight against her very station. Such a move carried consequences far worse than he cared to face: banishment from the city at best, or a life of daily torment under the princess's influence at worst.
He understood this well, for he had lived through similar circumstances before.
In his homeland, hailed as a prodigy of martial arts from a young age, Einver had been a familiar face everywhere he went. He competed in tournaments both honorable and brutal, drawing the eyes of politicians and elites who fought for the chance to host him at their gatherings.
He had attended many such events. But it didn't take him long to learn that refusing even one invitation could ignite calamity. He still remembered the time he declined to attend the birthday of the Prime Minister's son. That small refusal spiraled into a chain of political discord that eventually sparked the Fifth World War—a conflict that plunged the entire world into ruin.
But that… was a story for another time.
So Einver smiled serenely and answered in a steady voice:
"It would be my honor to accept Her Highness's invitation."
Princess Sun Mi's face brightened, her tone now firm and commanding:
"Clear the way at once."
She returned to her carriage, leaving the door open. Einver stepped forward, closed it gently behind her, then mounted his horse once more.
"I will follow behind," he said.
And so he rode in line with her entourage, entering the great city of Taiyo no Hikari.
The first sight to seize his attention was the grand building that dominated the city's heart. A towering structure of four floors, each broader and higher than the last, its architecture was masterfully elegant, impossible to ignore.
As he followed the procession, his eyes moved across the cityscape. The place was tranquil and enchanting. Graceful wooden houses stood everywhere, some two stories, others three. The largest three-storied ones were clearly inns and lavish hotels.
The markets brimmed with life, their stalls neat and vibrant, the whole design reflecting refined taste and careful order.
Yet Einver remained calm, his sharp eyes observing every detail without the easy awe of a common tourist.
As the procession advanced, citizens lined the streets, bowing low the moment the carriage passed.
Einver noted the mixture of emotions etched on their faces: admiration in some, even lustful longing for the princess in a few. But more striking to him were the quivering looks filled with unease, fear, and tension, as though a heavy shadow weighed upon their hearts.
Were those eyes directed at the princess herself? Or her family?
He couldn't say yet—but he marked it carefully in his thoughts.
The convoy stopped at the grand building. A soldier hurried forward, set down a wooden step at the carriage door, and opened it with practiced care. The princess descended gracefully.
But at that precise moment, a dark blur streaked overhead—so fast it seemed like a massive bird exploding from the carriage roof. It carried something, though too swift for anyone else to see. The crowd, still bent low in reverence, noticed nothing. But Einver, who alone had refused to bow, caught it clearly with his eyes.
He had no idea what it was, but its speed left him silently impressed.
Masking his surprise with a faint smile, he shifted his gaze back to the princess. She approached him with a soft smile of her own and said:
"Come with me, traveler."
He drew nearer, though he noticed details others might have missed: a faint sheen of sweat dampening her brow, a few strands of her hair disheveled, and a strange, sharp scent lingering on her body and drifting from the carriage.
He kept his suspicions hidden, his expression untroubled, and followed her lead.
They entered the great building, its facade marked with a golden-etched wooden sign that read:
"City of Sunlight."
Inside, the princess commanded one of her retainers:
"Prepare a room, clothes, and beautiful attendants for our guest at once."
"Yes, my lady," the servant replied swiftly. Then he turned to Einver with a bow.
"This way, honored guest."
Einver gave the princess a brief smile before following.
The first floor was spacious, lined with rooms and adorned with two staircases—one at the front, another at the rear—both leading upward. They climbed to the second floor, where the décor grew more ornate and the furnishings more opulent. Still, the servant pressed on until they reached the fourth floor.
There, he opened a door and said respectfully:
"Please, sir. Your room."
Einver stepped inside. The chamber was wide and splendid, centered by a grand sleeping area framed by four silver pillars supporting a carved ceiling marked with the emblem of a great sun. Across the room lay a polished, elegant bath.
He sank into a chair to rest for a moment.
It wasn't long before a knock came at the door. When he opened it, four enchanting women entered, their presence perfumed with intoxicating fragrance. Their figures were graceful and flawless, each carrying something: one held new garments, another towels, the others bathing supplies.
The leading woman spoke in a soft, lilting voice:
"We are here to serve you, my lord."
Einver gave them a calm glance, then replied kindly:
"Please extend my gratitude to Princess Sun Mi for her generous thought. But I have no need of these services. Place the clothes and the rest upon the bed, then leave me be. I thank you."
The women exchanged startled looks. At last, the leading one hesitated, asking:
"Does my lord reject us as attendants… because we do not please him?"
With slow, deliberate steps, she moved closer, sinking to the floor at his feet. Her eyes shone with unveiled desire as she tried to draw nearer.
But when she dared lift her gaze, expecting to find delight or hunger in his expression—as she always did with men—what she saw instead froze her blood.
A face cold, sharp, and utterly terrifying.
An expression that halted her body at once, her breath seizing in her throat, overwhelmed by the chilling presence of this strange young wanderer.
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