Ethan crossed a low hill, and the outline of the Imperial City appeared on the horizon.
The city walls of the Imperial City rose at the edge of Ethan's vision.
As the core of the Thorn Empire, this city had stood upon the land for hundreds of years, weathering wars, plagues, and coups, yet it had never once fallen.
But now, looking at it, several massive cracks ran along the walls.
The widest one split from the very top of the wall all the way down to its base, gaping wide enough to fit a full-grown adult.
Several battlements had collapsed, leaving heaps of rubble piled at the foot of the wall, mingled with fragments of bricks that had crumbled from the cracks.
The walls were packed with soldiers clad in leather armor, every face painted with tension and fear.
The gates of the Imperial City were shut tight.
Outside, a dense, dark crowd had gathered—at least three or four thousand people.
Carrying bundles, cradling children, and leading the elderly, they packed the open ground before the gates.
Some sat on the ground, cradling infants who were skin and bones.
Others crouched at the base of the wall with their hands over their heads.
A few shouted hoarsely up at the battlements, but the heavy gates remained absolutely motionless.
A young soldier peered out from an embrasure, his lips trembling as if about to speak, only to be yanked back by an older veteran beside him.
Ethan shook his head at the sight.
Withdrawing his gaze, he bent his knees slightly and pushed off the ground.
The grayish-white debris beneath his feet exploded in a circular shockwave as his body soared over the moat, effortlessly crossing several hundred meters to land softly on the wall.
His feet made a soft thud against the stone flags.
The nearest young soldier, who had been leaning over an embrasure staring at the commoners outside, instinctively turned around at the sound of rushing air behind him.
He saw a young man standing less than two paces away, dressed in a dark blue noble robe with a crest of winding thorns embroidered on his chest.
Before the young soldier's mind could process this, his mouth moved first.
“Ah, ene—”
Before the word “enemy” could even clear his throat, a wrist-thick vine suddenly shot out from a crack in the stone flags beneath his feet.
Like a living thing, the vine slithered up his leg, binding him tightly from ankle to chest in the blink of an eye. A thinner vine even wrapped twice around his mouth, forcefully choking back his cry of “enemy attack.”
He was lifted a foot off the ground, and his spear clattered onto the stone flags.
A dozen nearby soldiers reacted instantly.
Some drew their short swords, some leveled their spears at Ethan's back, and others took two steps back, slamming into the battlements and nearly dropping their weapons in panic.
A few soldiers closest to him instinctively took half a step forward, only to freeze mid-stride, staring at the writhing vine. Their expressions shifted from shock to tense bewilderment.
The atmosphere instantly froze.
The clamor of the refugees outside the city seemed to fade away, leaving only the heavy breathing of the soldiers and the faint rustle of leather armor.
A soldier slightly further away gripped his spear so hard his knuckles turned white. His lips trembled as he tried to find some brave words, but looking at the slightly squirming vine, he swallowed them back down.
Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from the stone stairs, accompanied by the crisp clinking of plate armor.
A middle-aged Knight clad in half-plate armor strode over.
He wasn't wearing his helmet, his messy hair stood on end, and his face was etched with anxiety.
He waved his arms as he ran, roaring at the armed soldiers, “Put your weapons away, all of you! Are you blind? Stand down and guard your posts!”
The soldiers exchanged glances. They didn't lower their weapons, but they didn't dare step any closer either.
Dazed, some instinctively looked at their bound comrade, then back at the Knight.
“What are you looking at? Put them down!”
The Knight rushed over, slamming down the spear of the nearest soldier, before turning to slap the back of another soldier's head who was still holding a short sword.
“The Thorn Crest! Don't you recognize the Thorn Crest? It's the crest of House Leo! You idiots, did you feed your training to the dogs?”
At those words, the soldiers' faces instantly went pale.
The Thorn Crest.
In the entire Thorn Empire, aside from the royal family, only House Leo used the Thorn Crest. This was something even a three-year-old in the empire knew.
The young soldier bound by the vine stopped struggling.
Suspended in mid-air, his eyes went wide as saucers as his gaze locked onto the Thorn Crest on Ethan's chest, muffled whimpers escaping his throat.
The other soldiers lowered their weapons in unison.
Spears and short swords clattered onto the stone floor.
The soldier who had been slapped on the head retreated to the battlements, his tension turning to sheer terror as he deliberately held his breath.
The Knight turned to face Ethan, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.
As a veteran who had guarded the walls of the Imperial City for over a decade, he had witnessed the power of Great Knights and the occasional displays of power by the lords of the Imperial City Wizard Tower.
Yet the young man's move just now was so fast that the Knight hadn't even seen him act.
Green vines emerging silently from stone cracks, wrapping a grown man like a cocoon, and hoisting him into the air without letting him make a sound...
This kind of power was far beyond his comprehension.
He dropped to one knee, placing his right fist over his chest.
“Forgive us, my Lord. It is my lack of discipline. My men are ignorant and have offended your Lordship.”
Ethan looked down at the kneeling Knight, his expression unchanged. “Was the city heavily affected?”
The Knight kept his head low, his voice tense. “Replying to my Lord, that power only reached the city walls before stopping.”
Ethan nodded, saying no more.
With a light step, the stone flags beneath him erupted in another ring of compressed air, and he vanished from the wall.
Only a gold note fluttered down from mid-air, landing squarely in the Knight's open palm.
At the same time, the vine binding the young soldier silently dissolved, dispersing into the air as fine green motes of light.
The young soldier's feet hit the ground, but his legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the stone flags.
The Knight looked down at the gold note in his palm.
One hundred gold coins.
He took a deep breath and tucked the gold note into his tunic.
Several soldiers gathered around him, and one whispered, “Captain, who exactly was that lord?”
The Knight stood up, brushing the dust off his knees. “It doesn't matter who he is. Just remember to take this to your graves. If anyone breathes a word of this, I'll personally throw him off the wall.”
The soldiers nodded in unison.
As for arguing?
Or blabbing?
Come on!
They were just there for the military rations; they weren't crazy, and they certainly wanted to live.
Everyone had to make a living, right?
Rate on N.U.
