Chapter 61: Visitors

Keiran, satisfied with the new skill he had acquired, nodded.

Keiran looked at his 72 available stat points and allocated them.

Keiran put 12 points each into Constitution, Dexterity, and Agility, and 18 points each into Intelligence and Strength.

•••••

NAME: Keiran Graywood

CLASS: Hero

SUBCLASS: Skillmancer

LEVEL: 138

HP: 4,432

MP: 6,640

SP: 6,640

[STATS]

CONSTITUTION: 277

INTELLIGENCE: 415

STRENGTH: 415

DEXTERITY: 277

AGILITY: 277

AVAILABLE STAT POINTS: 0

[SKILLS]

DIVINE BLESSINGS: Divine Inheritance, Sacred Elevation, Arcane Creation, Blessing of Bequeathal.

COMMON: (10).

UNCOMMON: Eternal Blaze, King of the Wilds, Divine Grace, Spectral Shroud, (8).

RARE: Colossal Frenzy, Windborne Regeneration, Crown of the Dawn, Arcane Nexus, Pyroclastic Roar, Sovereign's Edict, Void Passage, Abyssal Seal.

SUPER RARE: Cataclysmic Eruption, Volcanic Soul, Hellfire Genesis.

•••••

The alliance between Casimiro and Harheim had already been in effect for a few weeks, and both sides were working tirelessly to solidify their newfound partnership.

With cooperation at the forefront, the Harengons and the citizens of Casimiro joined forces in a massive undertaking—clearing a vast section of the dense forest to create a direct and secure passage between their lands.

The sound of axes striking wood, saws cutting through thick trunks, and the rhythmic pounding of hammers echoed throughout the worksite as laborers toiled from dawn to dusk.

Progress was evident. Towering trees that once stood unchallenged had been felled, their trunks hauled away to be repurposed as building materials, while thick undergrowth was systematically cleared to make way for the planned roads.

The cleared land, once a tangled mess of roots and foliage, now stretched wide and open, a clear path where wagons and travelers could pass unimpeded.

At the heart of the effort, skilled craftsmen and laborers laid the foundation for sturdy concrete roads that would serve as the backbone of the connection between Harheim and Casimiro.

Every stone was carefully set, every layer of cement meticulously smoothed to ensure durability. Despite the challenges of working in unpredictable terrain and varying weather conditions, determination drove them forward.

The cobblestone road, an integral part of the project, was progressing steadily. Each stone was painstakingly placed and secured, ensuring a road that would withstand the test of time.

Although the construction process was labor-intensive and required patience, the benefits were already clear.

With the forest now cleared, passage between the two territories had become significantly easier. Travelers no longer had to weave through dense foliage or navigate uncertain trails. Wagons laden with goods could move without hindrance, and the first signs of trade and exchange were already visible.

The grand carriage from Harheim, drawn by pristine white horses with well-groomed manes, arrived in a stately manner.

The intricate golden embellishments on the carriage glinted in the sunlight. The wheels rolled smoothly over the ground, making barely a sound, as if even the weight of its presence was refined.

Keiran emerged from the fortress, his boots making firm yet measured steps against the earth.

His expression remained unreadable, his gaze steady as he approached the carriage. There was no warmth in his demeanor, but neither was there hostility—just a composed indifference that was characteristic of him.

The carriage door opened with a faint creak, and three figures stepped out gracefully.

Ismael, Felicia, and Cecily, their refined attire carefully chosen, carried themselves with an air of quiet confidence.

The moment they set foot on the ground, their rabbit ears perked up, twitching slightly as they scanned the surroundings.

Their sharp eyes took in the layout of Keiran's territory—the imposing fortress, the disciplined order of its people, and the clear signs of strong governance.

Felicia's gaze lingered on the distant training grounds where soldiers moved with precision, while Cecily subtly observed the fine craftsmanship of the buildings.

A faint nod passed between them. Their expressions revealed no criticism, only approval, a silent acknowledgment that what they saw met their expectations.

Ismael stepped forward, his movements fluid and respectful. He inclined his head slightly, his voice carrying a composed yet polite tone. "Lord Keiran, we are here to pay a visit. I hope you don't mind."

Keiran's eyes met Ismael's without hesitation. His posture remained relaxed, his arms at his sides, but there was an unmistakable authority in his stance.

Without any change in his expression, he gave a small shrug. "I don't mind."

The simplicity of his words carried weight. It wasn't an invitation, nor was it a rejection—it was merely an acknowledgment, as if their presence neither disturbed nor particularly interested him.

Yet, beneath that nonchalant exterior, there was an undeniable awareness. Keiran knew that their arrival was not without purpose.

Felicia observed the lively scene before her, her eyes calmly scanning the streets filled with people going about their daily lives.

The warm light cast a soft glow over the town, highlighting the interactions between different races.

She watched as a lionkin merchant haggled playfully with a cervitaur customer over the price of fresh fruits, their voices carrying an air of familiarity and friendship.

A group of cervitaur children ran past her, their tiny hooves clattering against the stone pavement as they laughed, while a lionkin guard ruffled the mane of a younger cub who clung to his leg.

Felicia's lips curled into a small smile. "Lionkin and cervitaurs really are living here in harmony," she murmured, almost to herself.

Unlike her usual battle-worn armor and the massive sword that had become a part of her identity, today she had taken on an entirely different appearance.

Her crimson dress, embroidered with delicate golden patterns, clung to her frame with elegance, and her long black hair, usually free-flowing or tied messily for combat, was neatly styled. She was hardly recognizable as the fierce warrior feared on the battlefield.

Not far away, Cecily approached Keiran with a sweet, practiced smile, her eyes shimmering with amusement. "It's been a while, Lord Keiran," she said, her voice smooth like silk.

For a brief moment, a fleeting glow of seduction flickered in her gaze—just enough to test the waters. She was a woman who understood the power of allure, one who wielded charm as naturally as a swordsman wielded a blade.

The slight tilt of her head, the subtle shift in her posture—it was all calculated, an artful dance designed to unravel a man's composure.

Yet Keiran remained still, his expression unchanged, his piercing eyes studying her without a hint of reaction. "I hope you enjoy your stay here," he replied, his voice as steady as ever.

Cecily's smile deepened, her amusement growing. "I will."

She was bold, unafraid of making the first move, confident in the effect she had on others. But behind that confidence lurked something more—an edge, a sharpness that few could see.

Keiran, however, was not blind to it. Though his face remained unreadable, a thought ran through his mind. 'This woman…'

A warrior like him had faced countless enemies, from monstrous beasts to powerful demons. And yet, standing before Cecily, there was a different kind of unease settling in his chest. She was dangerous—not in the way a creature of brute force was, but in a way that was far more unpredictable.

Keiran's gaze lingered on Ismael for a moment before he asked, "What brought you here?"

Ismael exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Cecily insisted on coming here… something about building a political bond between our nations. Strengthening ties, that sort of thing." His tone was neutral, but the slight roll of his shoulders suggested he wasn't particularly invested in the reason himself.

Cecily, standing beside him, nodded with a composed smile. "Such matters are crucial for newly allied nations. We want to express our goodwill and ensure a warm cooperation between our people." Her voice carried the smooth confidence of someone accustomed to political dealings.

Felicia, however, scoffed lightly and crossed her arms. "Not me," she said, her sharp gaze landing directly on Keiran. "I came here for a different reason. I heard you're accepting people who want to join your ranks as subordinates. That's why I'm here." Unlike Cecily's measured poise, Felicia's stance was direct—challenging, even.

Keiran studied her for a moment before nodding. "We can talk about that later."

Felicia smirked, clearly pleased. "I'd like that."

Just then, Leina approached, her keen eyes flickering between the visitors and Keiran.

Noticing the opportunity, Keiran took it without hesitation. "Leina, show them around," he said, stepping slightly aside as if already detaching himself from the gathering.

Leina's lips curled into a polite smile. "Of course. I'd be happy to."

Keiran wasted no time slipping away. He could feel Cecily's gaze burning into his back, sharp and calculating, like a predator assessing its prey.

Initially, he had assumed she was being forced into this political marriage, but it was now painfully clear that wasn't the case. Cecily wasn't just willing—she was eager. Too eager.

Too bad for her. Keiran didn't feel the same way.