Chapter 71 ‒ The Road to Virelia
Chapter 71 ‒ The Road to Virelia
The southern roads stretched wide under a gentle morning sun as Tyler led the liberated captives south. Each step felt lighter than the last, not because the journey was easy — far from it — but because each face he passed carried a fragile new hope. The once-dull eyes of these former prisoners now glimmered with the possibility of seeing loved ones again, of reclaiming lives stolen by the Arena’s cruelty.
Children skipped ahead, laughing and kicking stones. Old men and women leaned on each other for support, their backs hunched but spirits slowly straightening. A few mothers sang lullabies to keep their little ones calm, their voices weaving warmth into the cool morning air. Tyler watched them with a quiet ache, their smiles stirring the ghosts of old memories. Milo’s gentle face flickered across his mind, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine him walking among them, safe and free.
Yet beneath his calm exterior, shadows churned. He recalled the moments in the Arena when his body was no longer his own — when something dark had hijacked his movements, each swing more monstrous than the last. He had lost control three times, each incident blurring the line between himself and something else lurking inside. Was it Shindeon’s curse? The aftereffect of the [Berserk] skill? Or something even deeper, more insidious? He didn’t know.
But today, he decided not to think too deeply about it. Perhaps it was cowardly, perhaps just escapism. But as he watched the freed captives laugh and chatter, he wanted — needed — to believe in the light, at least for this moment. Letting the smiles around him wash over his battered soul, he pushed the shadows to the far corners of his mind.
After days of travel, the towering gates of Virelia finally rose in the distance. Pale blue banners fluttered in the breeze, emblazoned with the kingdom’s sigil of a sea serpent coiled around a cresting wave. The streets beyond the gates bustled with merchants hawking bright fruits, children weaving between flower stalls, and guards in polished armour patrolling with careful eyes.
As they entered, the group began to break apart. Families reuniting, friends recognizing each other across the crowd, tearful embraces exchanged under the soft morning light. Tyler stood near the entrance, silently watching each reunion, his heart warming with every tearful embrace and relieved laughter.
Kelmo and his father stayed close. The elder man, wiry and sun-tanned, watched Tyler with glistening eyes. “You saved us all. You brought my boy back,” he choked out, gripping Tyler’s hands tightly. “Stay with us tonight. Please. Let me repay you at least with bread and a roof.”
Tyler hesitated, unused to such kindness. But when he looked down at Kelmo, who clutched his sleeve with wide, hopeful eyes, he found himself nodding. “Thank you,” he said softly.
They made their way to the father’s bakery — a small, warm building with the scent of yeast and sweet honey drifting from its windows. Inside, rustic wooden shelves were lined with golden loaves and soft, glistening pastries. Kelmo ran to help his father, his laughter ringing like a tiny bell as he tried (and failed) to copy his father’s strong kneading motions. Tyler sat nearby, a quiet observer to the domestic warmth he had almost forgotten existed.
That night, as the moon rose over Virelia, they shared freshly baked bread and warm soup. Tyler watched the flickering lanterns, his gaze soft. The image of Milo again floated before him — a vision of what could have been, of simpler days. He closed his eyes and listened to Kelmo’s sleepy chatter, his father’s gentle humming. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed his shoulders to relax.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
When dawn arrived, Tyler was already up, gazing out over the sleepy town rooftops. Kelmo’s father pressed a bundle of bread and dried fruit into his hands, smiling with quiet pride. “For the road,” he said.
A sharp knock at the door announced a royal messenger, clad in blue and silver, bearing a summons to the palace. Kelmo’s father looked at Tyler with a mixture of awe and worry. “Will you come back?” Kelmo asked, his voice small.
Tyler placed a hand on the boy’s head, ruffling his hair. “I will,” he promised.
The palace loomed grand and solemn in the bright morning sun. High marble pillars framed wide steps, and stained glass windows depicted ocean waves and sea serpents. Inside, the halls glimmered with golden accents and sapphire-lined tapestries. The royal crest — the serpent and wave — repeated like a quiet heartbeat on every surface.
In the throne room, King Orlan, an old dragon hybrid, sat upright but welcoming, his presence both commanding and gentle. Queen Mireille sat beside him, regal and sharp-eyed, her cold gaze occasionally flitting over Tyler. The younger prince, Prince Lucien, lounged carelessly nearby, his smirk playing at the edges of his mouth as he toyed with a small gemstone.
The minister, Lord Sylas, an owl hybrid, stood to the side, bowing repeatedly, his words a steady stream of praise and politeness. Near him stood the captain of the imperial guard, a pug hybrid — Sir Baldwin — his stern face unreadable, eyes flickering between Tyler and the royal family.
The king rose slightly, his voice resonant. “[Player], we have heard of your deeds — your courage and the lives you saved. You have our gratitude, and the gratitude of every family reunited because of you.”
An attendant stepped forward, offering Tyler a chest of gleaming gold and a blue cloak embroidered with silver waves. Tyler bowed deeply, trying to refuse, but King Orlan shook his head. “This is not charity, nor mere reward. It is respect.”
Queen Mireille leaned forward, her expression cold. “Enough pleasantries. My son — the crown prince — has been abducted. This is a disgrace to the kingdom.”
Prince Lucien scoffed. “Abducted? More like he ran away crying somewhere, avoiding all responsibility.”
The queen’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade, but Lucien merely rolled his eyes and kept toying with his gemstone. Lord Sylas coughed nervously and stepped forward. “Majesty, perhaps we should consider stricter security measures to prevent further… embarrassments.”
King Orlan raised a hand, silencing them. “Enough. Our first priority is to bring him back safely.”
The king turned to Tyler, his eyes clear and steady. “[Player], I ask this as both a king and a father — will you help find my son and bring him back to us?”
[Quest Assigned: Rescue the Prince]
[Objective: The Prince of Virelia has been abducted. Locate him and safely escort him back to the Imperial Palace of Virelia.]
[Reward: ???]
[Will you accept the quest?] [Yes] | [No]
Tyler hesitated, his mind racing. “I… I don’t think I’m suited—”
Sir Caldus Wolfglade, a senior knight, stepped up. He cleared his throat and said, “Majesty, if I may suggest, I should assist [Player] in this search. His skills are beyond question. But someone who knows the terrain and forests intimately would be immensely helpful.”
Sir Baldwin scoffed, folding his arms. “For someone so ‘well-versed’ in our lands, you’ve been remarkably unsuccessful so far. Perhaps you haven’t been trying hard enough?”
Sir Caldus lowered his gaze and sighed. “I have been doing my best, but perhaps because I am not as skilled as the Captain. That’s why I have failed so far. Or perhaps the abductors have already left the territory of Virelia.”
Sir Baldwin’s eyes narrowed, his voice sharp. “That’s not possible. If they had left the territory, my network planted near the border regions would have found them and informed me. They are definitely still within Virelia.”
Sir Caldus flushed, lowering his gaze further. “Ah… That is why you are the Captain, Sir Baldwin. But I assure you, now, with the assistance of [Player], I will bring in results soon.”
King Orlan nodded, seemingly satisfied. Queen Mireille glared but said nothing more.
After a tense pause, Tyler bowed. “I will do my best.”
“Failure is not tolerated in this court,” the queen snapped, her cold gaze sweeping over the hall. “Those who disappoint the crown will find no mercy.”