Unholy Player

Just as Orven had promised, thirty minutes later, he returned atop his steed, several unfamiliar riders flanking him. Their posture, attire, and the quiet authority they carried left little room for doubt—these were Lords from the noble households of the Velari Kingdom.

Even the king had come. He rode not like a ruler on parade but like a veteran on the march—shoulders squared, gaze sharp, every movement deliberate. There was no crown, no velvet cape, only a practical cloak over armor and the worn grip of reins in his gauntleted hands.

This kingdom’s structure differed from what Adyr had known in his previous life. The king was little more than a ceremonial figure. Real authority rested with the practitioners, while the household Lords functioned more like trusted advisors than traditional vassals. So when a practitioner made a request, especially someone like Adyr, a guest of the kingdom yet willing to help, they didn’t hesitate.

’’Lord Adyr, thank you for standing with us in a time like this.’’

King Vale Von Velaris dismounted his red-plumed warhorse with fluid ease. His voice carried the warmth of diplomacy, but his eyes were watchful.

’’Hello, King Vale. Isn’t it exactly times like these that make staying necessary?’’

Adyr offered a faint smile, delivering the line with effortless charm. He wore the mask well—the calm, brave young man with a righteous heart.

The Lords exchanged glances.

’’No wonder you’re the one chosen by God Astrael, Lord Adyr.’’

Adyr didn’t comment. His expression remained neutral as he turned toward the horizon.

’’Are the workers ready? The sooner we begin, the better for them,’’ he said, nodding toward the massive figure of Colossith still crouched just beyond the city walls.