Chapter 548: Into the inner ring
Vlad, Jormugandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir walked alongside the caravan, taking in the sights. Despite the frantic, often brutal nature of the Land of the Three Calamities, there was a sense of vibrant order here. It felt as though the fortress’s magic and architecture worked in tandem to protect and nourish its inhabitants, warding off the chaos outside.
Thousands upon thousands of men and women thronged the fortress streets, ranging from those in the prime of youth to the gray-haired and battle-scarred. Despite their varied appearances, they all shared the same cold, sharp light in their eyes—a glimmer that betrayed a feral resolve, as though each one were a lone wolf poised to tear apart anyone foolish enough to cross them.
The nature of the people inside the Golden Sky Fortress came as no surprise to Vlad. In a Doomsday World, there was little room for the weak or naïve; they would inevitably perish, and their remains would be devoured by the monstrous hordes roaming the land.
Even with their caravan traveling at nearly a thousand kilometers per hour, it took close to five hours before they reached another colossal wall. This barrier was far more imposing than the outer walls they had passed earlier, rising a staggering five hundred meters into the air. The runes and magical matrices etched into it radiated an essence of extreme antiquity—suggesting they had stood for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
Observing the new fortification, Vlad surmised that the Golden Sky Fortress was divided into concentric rings: the outermost ring housed the general populace. At the same time, the deeper circles were likely reserved for the strong and influential. Agamenon confirmed Vlad’s speculation by simply raising the golden sigil on his forearm. In response, the towering gates swung open, granting entry to the caravan.
When Vlad first caught sight of the interior of the fortress’s middle ring, he found himself momentarily stunned. Massive buildings sprawled across the district, each one radiating energy as if constantly absorbing power from the sky.
The materials used in their construction were anything but ordinary. Vlad doubted he could damage one of these edifices significantly, even by unleashing his full power over an extended period. Farther off, various statues—depicting valiant warriors or heroic figures—stood so immaculate that not a single crack marred their surfaces despite looking as though they had endured countless ages.
The people inhabiting this middle ring were markedly different from those populating the outer city. Their robes or armor were exquisite and formidable; it was clear these individuals possessed considerable wealth and influence. Yet their opulence did not diminish their lethality.
Vlad sensed the aura of killers in their midst—each one potentially armed with powerful treasures or trump cards capable of inflicting devastating harm. Such was the nature of this Doomsday World: even the wealthy and refined bore the scent of blood on their hands.
After traveling another few hundred meters into the middle ring, ensuring the entire caravan had followed, Zalasar raised his hand in a commanding gesture. His voice carried easily over the bustle of wagon wheels and warhorses.