The afternoon sun poured golden warmth over the stone path as we walked through the main thoroughfare of the town. The king had asked for a private stroll—no guards, no daughter, just the two of us.
His cloak trailed lightly behind him, and though his steps were slower than they once were, there was a familiar grace in the way he observed everything. People bowed quietly as we passed, but no one screamed or grovelled like in the capital. Here, respect came without fear.
He inhaled deeply and exhaled like a man shedding old armour.
"Dirk," he said after a long silence, "this town... it's something else. Alive. Humble. Efficient. It breathes."
I chuckled. "It burps sometimes too, especially near the sewer vents."
That earned me a laugh. A real one.
The king glanced down one of the side roads, where rows of dwarves and beastkin merchants were selling barrels of sweet mana-honey and rainbow-dyed cloth. A group of children—human and beastkin alike—ran past him without a second thought, chasing a bouncing ball made of enchanted rubber.
"Even the children... they're not afraid," he murmured. "They play together. As if they were born here. No caste. No titles."
"That was the idea," I said. "No chains. No collars. No favouritism. Just hard work, safety, and room to grow."
We turned down another street, heading toward the new fountain square where a small group of nobles admired a gleaming sculpture shaped like the Divine Tree. Nearby, one of the food stalls gave off a spicy, peppered aroma.
"So tell me," the king asked, curiosity in his eyes, "how did you do it? In such a short time?"
I shrugged, but there was pride in my voice. "Started with water. Dug underground channels from the lake to bring in fresh water. Used a gravity-fed cistern system, then enchanted it to stay clean and distribute pressure evenly."
"Sewage?"
"Gravity and alchemy again. Waste routes lined with purification stones and rune traps—no smell, no filth. Even used a few earth spirits to quicken the foundation work."
He blinked, clearly impressed.
"Electric lights powered by mana batteries. Roads paved with mana bricks. Some are even enchanted to absorb shock so wheels last longer. And the walls? Dwarven-forged steel supports, laced with layered defensive wards. They're better than most forts I've seen."
I pointed toward the farms in the distance. "See that? All grown with enhanced soil and magical produce from my homeland. Everything from carrots that restore stamina to herbs that calm mana overflow. Even the chickens lay mana-infused eggs."
The king slowed and stared into the horizon, visibly overwhelmed.
"This... this is more than a town. This is a model for the future."
He turned to me, his eyes serious but hopeful. "Dirk, I must ask something bold."
I tilted my head, already sensing what was coming.
"Come to the mainland. I need someone like you—visionary, practical, unburdened by noble rot. Be my High Architect. Help me reform the old cities, the broken systems. Build a better kingdom."
I sighed. Genuinely touched, but unshaken.
"Your Majesty... I'm honoured. Really. But I left the mainland for a reason."
He waited silently.
"I wanted peace. Freedom. A chance to live without court whispers, backroom deals, or the weight of crowns. I came here to build something honest—with my hands, my people, and my own rules."
He looked down, then nodded slowly.
"I feared you'd say that."
"I'm not a noble born, Your Majesty," I said, offering a wry smile. "Just a guy with too many ideas."
The king laughed again—softer this time.
"But if you ever need me," I added, "for real help, for defence, for healing—I'll be there. I just won't sit on a velvet chair and draft permits for lords who don't care."
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"You remind me of what I used to be," he said quietly. "Before the throne. Before the chains of duty."
We stood like that for a moment, surrounded by the hum of town life—vendors haggling, children laughing, carts creaking over smooth roads.
"This town is your legacy, Dirk," he said. "A flame that even I must admit burns brighter than the old fires of the capital."
"Then let it burn freely, Your Majesty."
He nodded, took one last look at the streets, and whispered, "Thank you—for reminding me that a kingdom isn't just about power. It's about people."
And with that, we continued walking—one step at a time—through a future I had built and a past he had finally begun to let go of.
The king and his daughter left at sunset, their golden carriage rolling down the paved road flanked by fluttering banners and villagers waving respectfully. I stood on the upper terrace of the manor, hand resting on the railing, watching them vanish into the forest trail we'd opened just months ago.
But I wasn't done yet.
From inside my coat pocket, I pulled a small receiver—disguised as a simple coin, enchanted and tech-enhanced. It hummed softly as it activated, linking with the recording bead I had hidden discreetly inside a crystal lamp mounted within the royal guest room before they left.
I hadn't planted it out of malice. Just caution. After everything we'd seen—after the demon lord's agents and the surge of noble interest in my town—I couldn't afford to ignore potential threats. Even from those I'd helped.
The recording flickered to life in my ear. The king's voice—tired, but still sharp—echoed through the connection.
"My daughter," the king said softly. "What did you think of Lord Dirk's town?"
"I loved it," she replied. "It felt like a place where magic breathes naturally. The people weren't bowing or grovelling—they were living. Smiling. Even the children had a spark in their eyes."
There was a pause. Then a quiet sigh.
"I envy him," the king admitted. "He's built something real. While I sit on a throne being circled by wolves."
"You're talking about the nobles again, aren't you?" she asked gently.
"They want the throne. All of them. The moment I fall, they'll carve the kingdom like meat on a table. That's why they stirred the rebellion near the elven borders. It wasn't rogue knights—it was the council's doing. A test. To see if I still had a bite. After our warrior marched to the demon land, even after Baron Dirk's help, there were still among those demons who left the war, but I know they will come back."
"I know that, father."
A deep breath from him. Then a whisper: "And I failed. I can feel it. The throne resists me now... even my magic is fading."
The daughter's voice cracked. "Father..."
"They know. The nobles. They can smell the weakness. That's why they've sent envoys to Dirk. To sway him. Entice him. Or buy his loyalty."
"Do you trust him?" she asked.
"I don't know," the king replied after a long pause. "But I hope I can. Because if war comes to our lands again... we'll need a man like him."
*****
Back to Dirk — On the Terrace
I stood in silence, the last words ringing in my ears long after the recording faded.
So the nobles were indeed behind the land grabs. And the elven border conflict wasn't some minor spat—it was orchestrated treason.
My gut twisted. The king was walking a line stretched taut with betrayal, and he knew it. That sadness in his eyes, the frailty I noticed at dinner—it wasn't just age. It was the weight of a kingdom crumbling beneath him.
I exhaled slowly, shutting off the device and slipping it back into my coat. "Guess peace really doesn't last long in this realm," I muttered.
Behind me, Kael stepped onto the terrace. "Something troubling, my lord?"
I glanced at him, eyes shadowed.
"Prepare the council. We may have to decide soon if we stay in this growing haven... or step into the fire with the old world again."
In the Divine Garden, Divina's rare flowers began blooming in full.
The Moonshade Blossoms shimmered faintly at night, casting a soft, silver light that made the garden seem almost dreamlike.
The newly named Starweave flowers, meanwhile, had an unexpected effect:
They subtly increased mana concentration around them, strengthening nearby plants—and according to Divina, even soothing injured villagers faster.
Finn proudly led groups of visiting children on "garden tours," chattering nonstop about "his" flowers.
I even noticed some merchants eyeing the Starweave patch with too much interest.
I made a mental note:
The Divine Garden must be protected at all costs.
But not all visitors had pure intentions.
Late one evening, as Kael, Felix, and I met at the war table in the manor, Sylphy burst into the room.
"There's trouble," she said grimly. "I caught two merchants trying to bribe a guard at the market entrance."
Felix's eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
Sylphy tossed two crests onto the table—silver badges marked with the emblem of a snake curling around a dagger.
Kael swore under his breath.
"The Blackvine Syndicate."
I remembered hearing whispers: a rogue merchant network involved in smuggling, spying, and even assassinations.
"They're testing our defences," Kael said, grim-faced.
"They smell opportunity," Felix added. "And weakness."
"But they won't find it here," I said quietly, my voice cold.
I ordered immediate lockdowns for merchant quarters, tripled night patrols, and discreetly stationed two sharpshooters atop the gate towers—armed with Earth rifles.
The celebratory atmosphere would continue for the villagers—but behind the scenes, our defences would become razor-sharp.