The Great City of Dalin

As the carriage approached the city, Reinhard once again surveyed the majestic walls stretching before him. They towered over the land like unyielding cliffs, embodying the strength and power of House Deira. Standing no less than thirty meters tall and thick enough to house entire barracks within, these stone bastions safeguarded the duchy's capital from any threats.

The walls had a dark gray hue with a faint reddish tint—legends claimed they were built from stone soaked in the blood of House Deira's enemies. A smirk flickered on Reinhard's lips at the thought. "How poetic… and at the same time, how symbolic."

As they neared the gates, he observed numerous guards diligently standing watch. Their armor gleamed under the rays of the setting sun, and their long halberds, as sharp as a predator's fangs, looked formidable. Despite Dalin being the duchy's capital, there was no excessive splendor here—everything about the guards, their weapons, and the fortress-like walls spoke of a city accustomed to war and bloodshed.

A crowd had gathered around the gates. A long queue of merchants, aristocrats, and commoners stretched for at least a hundred meters. All waited patiently for their turn as the guards inspected documents and checked the contents of the wagons.

Reinhard cast a glance over their faces. Among them were peasants, traders draped in expensive cloaks, and even a few nobles, judging by their attire and the coats of arms on their carriages.

But as his carriage drew closer, all eyes turned toward him. He noticed whispers spreading hurriedly, some lowering their heads, while others gazed into the carriage windows with a mix of curiosity and concealed fear, as if hoping to catch a glimpse inside.

One of the guards stepped forward, clearly intending to inspect the documents, but the moment Reinhard extended his hand and revealed a ring with the Bloodstone, the man's expression changed instantly.

— "Open the gates! Immediately!" — he commanded loudly.

The other guards instantly straightened to attention, and the heavy gates slowly began to part. The people in the queue watched the scene with curiosity—some whispered enviously, while others sighed in relief, realizing they wouldn't be delayed by the inspection of a noble's carriage.

As the carriage rolled into the city, the grand panorama of the capital of the Duchy of Deira unfolded before Reinhard's eyes...

The carriage rolled smoothly along the cobbled streets of Dalin, passing through the bustling districts. The city, brimming with life, showed no signs of quieting down even as dusk approached. Merchants bustled about, townspeople hurried along, riders in expensive cloaks trotted past, and guards in full plate armor stood watch. The noise of the markets blended with the roar of forges, the cries of hawkers, and the joyful laughter of children.

Reinhardt observed this vivid scene, taking in the different layers of society. Commoners rushed home after a long day's work, young nobles strode proudly through the streets accompanied by servants, and beggars lurked in the shadows of alleys.

But among all these people, warriors interested him the most. He saw them everywhere—knights patrolled the streets, guild fighters moved in groups, and street mercenaries trained right in the town squares. Dalin was a city where strength meant more than words.

"The grand capital of the duchy, where only the strong rule." He thought with a faint smirk.

Gradually, the roads widened, and the buildings grew more luxurious. They passed through several aristocratic districts, where the houses stood tall and lavishly decorated, with elegant gardens and personal guards stationed at their gates.

Yet even among these grand estates, the Blood Palace loomed like a giant.

Reinhardt had spotted it from afar, but now, as they approached, its true scale became daunting.

Standing nearly eighty meters tall, with massive walls adorned with intricate carvings and enormous crimson banners, it was the very embodiment of House Deira's power. The space around it was heavily secured—patrolling guards moved along the streets, and the colossal gates were guarded by elite warriors clad in black armor.

The carriage slowed as it neared the main entrance.

— "My lord, we have arrived." The coachman's voice rang out.

Reinhardt exhaled slowly, casting one last glance at the surroundings.

"One day… all of this will be mine."

At that moment, the carriage came to a full stop, and one of the guards promptly stepped forward, opening the door.

— "Welcome to the Blood Palace, Lord Reinhardt."

With a faint smile, the young man stepped out. His boots met the polished stone pavement, the cold, smooth surface firm beneath his feet.

Before him stood the massive gates of black iron, engraved with depictions of ancient battles. They were slightly ajar, as if inviting him inside.

Everything here screamed of House Deira's power.

Wasting no time, Reinhardt strode toward the palace. The guards stepped aside in deference, granting him passage, while the servants greeting the guests hurriedly bowed their heads in respect.

He could feel the eyes on him. Some watched with reverence, others with envy, and a few… with a hint of fear.

He took his first step inside.

Welcome home.