Chapter 30: The Plan To Attack Misorn City

Alix watches him, his crimson eyes cold yet approving. "Very well," he says, gesturing for Groth to rise. "You will not regret this choice."

Groth stands slowly, his gnarled staff pulsing with faint embers. He casts a glance at Thurn and Veltha, both silent and subdued. The sight of them, once proud and mighty, now standing as mere followers, reinforces the gravity of his decision.

Then, Alix flicks his wrist, and a gleaming silver carriage appears before them.

The moment it manifests, the air shifts. The carriage is unlike anything they have ever seen—floating effortlessly, its sleek frame made of an unknown metal that hums with restrained power. Strange, intricate runes glow faintly along its surface, pulsating like a heartbeat.

Groth's eyes widen, his grip tightening on his staff. "This... this is not natural magic," he mutters, voice tinged with something rare—genuine disbelief. "No spell, no construct I know of can achieve such a thing."

Thurn crosses his arms, watching Groth's reaction with some amusement. "I was shocked too, old man," he says. "Took me a while to accept it. But His Majesty's power isn't something we can measure."

Alix steps forward, placing a hand on the side of the carriage. A soft hum resonates through the air as the runes flare slightly in response to his touch.

"Enough gawking," he says, his voice calm but firm. "Get in."

Groth hesitates. "I may be old, but I am not feeble-minded," he mutters, still processing the sheer impossibility of the construct. He steps forward nonetheless, his curiosity outweighing his apprehension.

The journey is swift, unnaturally so. It isn't long before the horizon shifts again—this time revealing something none of them are prepared for.

The city unfolds beneath them like something out of legend.

Veltha's breath catches in her throat. "This... this is not possible."

Thurn leans forward, mandibles clicking in stunned silence. He struggles to comprehend what he's seeing. "Wow... If someone told me this is a domain of a god, I will believe them."

Groth, for the first time in centuries, is completely speechless. His fingers tremble against his staff as he gazes down at the sprawling metropolis.

"How... how could something like this exist here in the forest, without us knowing?"

Alix, seated comfortably, watches their reactions with mild amusement. "It doesn't just exist," he says coolly. "It belongs to me."

As they descend toward the central plaza, the true weight of their reality sets in.

The city isn't just enormous—it's filled with power.

Below them, figures move with disciplined precision. The city's guards stand in formation, their armor gleaming under the strange, ambient glow of the metropolis. Each one radiates strength, without a doubt, just as strong as the three former lords, if not stronger.

Thurn stiffens. "This... this can't be right," he mutters. "They're... they're as strong as us."

Veltha's coils tighten, unease rippling through her massive frame. "No," she corrects, her voice low. "Some of them are stronger."

Thorn's expression darkens. "Impossible," he breathes, but deep down, he knows what he's seeing is real. These aren't ordinary soldiers.

Alix steps out first, descending gracefully onto the smooth, polished ground. The moment he does, the guards all kneel, a synchronized display of absolute obedience.

He turns back to the three.

"Welcome to my kingdom," Alix says, his crimson gaze gleaming with cold amusement. "And to the new order of this world."

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The meeting room is vast yet minimalistic, its dark stone walls lined with faintly glowing runes. A large circular table sits at the center, its polished surface reflecting the flickering light of arcane lamps. Alix sits at the head of the table, his fingers interlocked as he surveys the four figures before him—Nyssara, Thurn, Veltha, and Groth.

His voice is calm, yet carries an edge of authority. "I heard you had a plan," he says, his crimson gaze flicking between them. "What is it?"

Groth, the eldest among them, leans slightly on his gnarled staff, his ember-like eyes glinting with calculation. "Your Majesty," he begins, his voice rough like crackling fire, "the plan is to attack Misorn City."

Alix raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Whose plan?"

"It's Tolga's plan," Groth admits.

At the mention of the name, Alix tilts his head slightly. "Tolga…" he repeats, as if testing the name on his tongue. Then, his gaze sharpens. "Does any of you know where this Tolga is?"

The four exchange glances.

"No," Thurn mutters.

Before the silence drags, Nyssara speaks up. "But we do have a meeting scheduled next month, Your Highness," she says, her golden eyes steady. "Tolga will come."

Alix glances at her. "Next month?" he echoes.

She nods. "Yes."

A moment passes before Alix leans back slightly.

"That's four days," he muses. His fingers drum lightly against the table. "I suppose I can wait."

Alix lets the silence linger for a moment, then leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His crimson eyes flicker as he studies the four before him.

"So," he says evenly, "just like I asked Nyssara—do you want to live in the city?"

He gestures subtly toward Nyssara. "She's already brought all her Arachne subordinates here." His gaze sweeps over them, waiting.

Groth doesn't hesitate. He slams his staff against the floor with a loud thud and bows his head. "I will, Your Majesty. Without a doubt."

Thurn exhales sharply through his mandibles, glancing at Nyssara, then back at Alix. "It'd be foolish not to," he mutters. Then, more firmly, "I'll bring my people here."

Veltha coils slightly, her eyes narrowing as she processes the offer. After a moment, she flicks her tail against the ground, her voice steady. "I'll come as well."

Alix nods, as if he expected nothing less. "Good."

The four bow their heads in unison.

As the four leave the chamber, Alix leans back in his chair, exhaling softly.

Once the room falls silent, Alix lifts his hand and calls forth his status screen. A translucent panel materializes before him, glowing faintly with golden letters. His eyes scan the information displayed, his expression unreadable.