Chapter 117: Banquet Born Beneath Golden FlameElias Holloway was a walking treasury, a golden miracle wrapped in boyish charm and inexhaustible wealth. With every step, he pulled from his seemingly bottomless satchels pouch after pouch bursting with gold, a lavish stream of coin that could drown a kingdom's debt. As his hands moved, so too did the stalls of Falcon Ridge's bustling market come alive with renewed vigor. The air grew thick with the scent of charred spices and sizzling oils, as meat skewers danced over coal-fired grills, dripping juices that hissed upon contact.The stall owners, many of whom had never handled so much gold in one day—let alone their entire lives—readily pledged their entire inventories to the feast. Their merchandise, once meant to last a week, was gone in hours. But it didn’t matter. What Elias gave them was worth more than months of sales, and the joy that spread across the crowd made them forget their ledgers.Though the s

Chapter 119 – The Ashen Blood and the Scaled ExilesBeyond the craggy ridge lines where the Falcon Region’s territory faded into the blurred edges of the ancient wilds, jagged peaks cut across the sky like the teeth of a slumbering beast. These unyielding mountains marked more than just a geographic divide—they were the threshold to a forgotten world.At the base of these cliffs stood a band of demi-humans whose presence seemed like a whisper from an age long buried beneath sand and shame. Their flesh was covered in scaled armor—tough, mottled hide patterned like the skin of serpents and dulled emerald stones. Bipedal like men, they bore elongated jaws, flared nostrils, and sleek, hairless craniums that gleamed under the afternoon sun like polished carapace.These were the Komodos—the offspring of a once-majestic lineage now reduced to menial laborers, barely scraping by in the lower tiers of civilization. Not slaves, but barely more than ghosts in the bur

Chapter 121 – Bubbles, Whisper of the Shadow Veil In the soaring heights of the Falcon region, veiled by the wind and cloaked by towering trees whose crowns scratched the heavens, there existed a guardian unlike any other—a peculiar, violet-hued slime by the name of Bubbles. Self-appointed and self-glorified, Bubbles believed himself not merely a watcher, but a silent sentinel, a shadowy sentinel of the Falcon Ridge, which he reverently referred to as his Master Elias’ sovereign dominion. Perched atop a gnarled cedar whose roots coiled through ancient stone like the fingers of time itself, Bubbles struck a dramatic pose. His gelatinous form shimmered in the sunlight, rippling with a strange vibrance that bordered on the magical. "No creature of malice shall evade my gaze," he intoned with grave theatricality, his faux-ninja mask flapping with the mountain wind. "I flow as the wind, vanish like the mist, and travel swifter than light. I am

Chapter 123: The Spark Beneath the Mountain—Ignition of a Slumbering WorldIf anyone from the distant territories of the Queens region were to lay eyes on what was now unfolding in the Falcon region, their very souls might shudder from disbelief. It would feel like they were gazing through a rift in time, where an entirely different civilization had surged far ahead into the future—one built by the enigmatic, rapidly rising force known as the Lyta Company.Even the mere plumbing infrastructure of Falcon Ridge had become the source of gossip and heated envy among the wealthiest aristocrats in Queens. Where once nobles prided themselves on hiring high-tier water mages or relied on old-fashioned well systems, the villages under Lyta’s umbrella now boasted something almost magical in its simplicity and convenience: the twist of a lever summoned water instantly, clean and pressurized, as if nature herself had been tamed into submission.This wasn't some elite c

Chapter 125: The Whispering Shadows of the Michael CovenantThe early morning sun filtered through the high branches of Maplewood’s ancient grove, casting lazy golden rays across the cobbled road as if bidding a quiet farewell. In the center of the slowly waking village, the Reborn fleet of carriages, painted in the iconic crimson-black colors of Kingsbridge’s elite transport corps, began their roll-out. Glistening wheels cut shallow grooves into the damp earth, guided by well-trained drakes. Mounted guards wearing sigils of the Royal Kings region flanked the caravan with silent precision.From beneath the shade of a crooked bakery awning, a small, gelatinous figure bounced solemnly on the wooden fence post like an overlooked ornament. That was Bubbles, the slippery agent of secrecy, cloaked not in cloth, but in illusion and purpose. As Yuna Montgomery and her highborn entourage boarded the lead carriage bound first for Kingsbridge’s capital and eventually the dist