Chapter 90: Whitestone City
Vi spun gracefully, the motion sending a loose silver strand brushing across her cheek. With casual deliberation, she tucked it behind her ear, masking the move with a practiced air of innocence. Her voice carried a feigned curiosity, as though she were trying to shift attention away from herself. "What did you find?"
Kaelor’s gaze lingered on her a fraction longer than necessary, steady and unreadable. "I could hear what you were saying from over there," he replied, his tone calm yet carrying the faintest trace of amusement.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the gathering of soldiers in the distance, their armor catching the sunlight in dull flashes, before returning to rest firmly on hers.
Vi crossed her arms, adopting a smug expression that tilted her chin upward. "I defeated two of your Guardsmen," she said, the boast rolling easily off her tongue.
"She almost broke her foot," Mildred interjected dryly, striding forward with a waterskin in hand. Her eyes glinted in playful accusation as she passed it to Kaelor. He accepted it, tilting his head back to drink. Vi caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, but the restrained ghost of one.
"My Lord!"
The collected, well-controlled voice came from behind. Kaelor turned, his focus settling on Damien, who approached with a thick, leather-bound ledger tucked firmly under one arm. In his other hand, a charcoal stick rested between calloused fingers, ready to mark the names of those working diligently and those shirking their duties.
Damien’s appearance bore the marks of relentless labor. Dust clung stubbornly to his leather boots and dark trousers. Beads of sweat lined his brow, cutting faint trails down a face carved with deep lines of focus. His tireless discipline, waking before dawn and sleeping well past midnight, had worn him thin, yet the sharp, almost hawk-like alertness in his eyes betrayed no hint of weakness.
Even Kaelor, who could push his body beyond mortal limits, quietly wondered how Damien managed such endurance without faltering.
His presence carried weight. Under his watch, the basin’s workforce operated like clockwork, each man and woman on edge, unwilling to slacken pace or invite his stern disapproval. Even those seething inwardly dared not protest, for Damien was never without his shadow, two Guardsmen who flanked him at all times like twin pillars of iron.
Today, those two stood just behind him, their figures as imposing as stone statues. They wore full sets of polished armor, the steel shaped for both protection and intimidation. At their sides hung newly forged cleavers, blades heavy enough to crush bone, each inscribed with a rune that increased its weight, making every strike devastating. The cleavers dangled from thick sword belts of toughened leather, worn low at their hips.
As the months had passed, their training had borne fruit. Nearly every Guardsman now stood at the peak of Novice Saber mastery and the peak of Adept-level physical strength. It placed them far beyond the reach of even an enhanced human fighter, just a single step shy of the impossible feats Kaelor himself could perform, feats such as training for five hours straight without collapsing, and ending with nothing more than a faint burn in his muscles.
Both Guardsmen bowed low in perfect unison, their discipline a silent testament to the progress Damien had overseen.
"Damien, how is it going?" Kaelor asked, handing the waterskin back to Mildred without taking his eyes off the steward. His gaze then drifted past Damien, sweeping across the bustling basin. Everywhere he looked, people labored under the unyielding sun, hauling and stacking chiselled stone, binding heavy loads with ropes, or sorting smelted iron constructs which had been hammered into precise shapes for construction. The air was thick with dust, sweat, and the steady rhythm of progress.
"We’re done, My Lord," Damien reported, his tone calm but carrying the weight of hours of relentless coordination. "Every material has been gathered in just a few hours. Everything is in place and ready for you to act."
Kaelor’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Good," he replied, his voice low and certain.
Moments later, Kaelor stood outside the Whitestone basin at the head of a staggering crowd, more than five thousand people stretched out behind him like a living tide. The numbers still impressed even him. He had taken over seven thousand displaced souls from Graystone and other towns back to Redwood, and now a large portion of them stood here, united under his banner, the rest already hard at work establishing their new lives.
Gratitude radiated from the crowd like warmth from a hearth. Where else could commoners, who once counted themselves lucky to gnaw on stale bread, now eat rice, and not just any rice, but Starlight Rice, with its luminous sheen and delicate, fragrant flavor? It was a grain fit for the tables of kings, now served to farmers and masons alike. And then there was Eonwheat, a golden grain that, when milled, produced bread so soft it almost melted on the tongue, and cakes so rich they could make the most jaded noble close their eyes in bliss.
Now the air buzzed with something else; anticipation. Word had spread like wildfire. Rumor claimed that Lord Kaelor was about to raise an entire city from the earth itself, using nothing but the gathered materials. It sounded impossible... but then again, so had the Willspring Well.
That miraculous structure answered to a mere thought, drawing crystal-clear water so sweet and pure that any other source tasted like grit and bitterness in comparison, like forcing gravel down one’s throat.
Kaelor stood at the forefront, framed by the vast open sky. The crowd behind him rippled with murmurs, their excitement tinged with awe. He let his eyes sweep over the basin below, a colossal hollow that stretched so far that even his keen gaze couldn’t fully grasp its borders.
Almost a kilometer away, the model of Whitestone City lay on the dusty ground, looking insignificant in size yet holding the promise of greatness. Around it towered the raw materials: stone blocks stacked so massively they resembled ancient monoliths, timber stacked high like fortress walls, spools of rope as tall as a man, and perfectly cut ivory-white slates from the quarry. The air was thick with the mingled scents of fresh-cut wood, quarried stone, and sun-warmed dust.
"System," Kaelor murmured, his gaze fixed on the model, "fuse everything to the model. I want an actual-sized small city."
His heart gave a tight, uneasy pull. He did a quick tally in his mind, he’d had around 30,000 FP left after previous fusions, and the spoils of the last war had granted him another 15,000 FP. A total of 45,000 FP pulsed in his reserves like a hoard of golden coin.
But the problem was... he had no idea how much this would cost. What kind of toll would it take to fuse thousands upon thousands of raw materials into a living, breathing city, with walls, doors, cobblestone streets, and all the intricacies of design?
For a heartbeat, he simply stared at the model, the enormity of the task settling over him like a shadow.
[Cost: 40,000 FP.]
Relief washed over him, loosening the tension that had been coiled in his chest like a drawn bowstring. "Proceed," he commanded, his voice cutting through the still air.
At once, blue flames burst forth, consuming the gathered materials in a storm of azure fire, a hellish blaze that roared high into the sky, twisting and curling like the claws of some ethereal beast.
Yet, despite the ferocity of its dance, not a single soul felt even a whisper of heat. It was as if the fire existed only half in their world, the other half flickering in some strange, untouchable realm.
The ground shuddered violently, a deep, resonant tremor that rolled through the basin like the footfalls of a thousand charging elephants. The sound was not merely heard, it was felt, in the bones, in the teeth, in the very air. People gasped sharply, the sound scattering like startled birds. Some instinctively clutched the nearest person, holding on as if the earth itself might give way, while others stood rigid, their eyes fixed on the inferno with a near-desperate intensity, unwilling to blink lest they miss a single moment.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. The flames snuffed out, leaving behind only the ghost of their light in dazzled eyes.
And what those eyes now saw made breath catch in a thousand throats.
A massive city, impossibly vast and gleaming, stood where moments ago there had been nothing but stacked stone, timber, and dust. Towering walls, thick and unyielding, embraced the rectangular expanse like the arms of a giant guardian. Upon them, broad round towers rose at regular intervals, their battlements already primed for archers to command every angle. The rooftops of the city within gleamed white beneath the sun, their tiles like polished marbles and...