For a few monts, both Michael and Gaya froze, their bodies tense, their minds racing. Not only them, but everyone in the tavern seed to hold their breath, the silence deafening after the chaos of the preceding monts. Even the music had stopped, the musicians staring, wide-eyed, at the scene unfolding before them.
Young elven n, their gazes envious, whispered amongst themselves. "Did you see that? She just offered herself to him."
"And him? He just accepted? Just like that?"
"By the light, that human is one lucky bastard."
"And she is drooling over him. Look at her…"
Sensing an opportunity to de-escalate the situation, Michael subtly nudged Gaya, his foot connecting with hers under the table—a silent warning. He turned towards Alyndra, his expression shifting, morphing into a charming smile, the kind that had disard countless foes and won over even the most skeptical allies. It was a mask, of course, a facade, but it was one he had perfected over the years.
Alyndra's gaze faltered for a mont, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the full force of his smile. She had bedded many, sure—n and won, elves and others—but there was sothing about this human, sothing different. A coldness in his eyes, a hint of danger, that intrigued her and made her crave him even more. It was thrilling, exciting, and dangerous.
"I apologize for my wife's temper," Michael said, his voice smooth and seductive, his smile widening.
"She gets a little overprotective sotis. We do not want any trouble, and if a beautiful, powerful young lady like yourself requests our company, well, it would be foolish to refuse."
The orc bartender, his eyes still fixed on Michael, let out a low whistle. "Smart man," he murmured to himself.
The elven patrons, however, were not so impressed. They scoffed, their eyes narrowing in disgust, jealousy, and resentnt. They would kill for a night with Alyndra, give up their fortunes, their titles, their very souls, and this human, this outsider, he had just snatched the opportunity from under their noses.
Alyndra, for her part, simply smiled, her white teeth gleaming in the dim light. She clapped her hands together, a childlike gesture that contrasted sharply with the cold, calculating glint in her eyes. "Good," she said, her voice sweet and sugary, like honeyed poison.
But the guard who had helped his injured comrade to his feet spoke up.
"But, Young Mistress," he protested, his voice hesitant and respectful, "this human attacked…" He said, pointing at Gaya. It was obvious the guards were burning with rage; they were humiliated by not just a human but a human female. It was too much.
But Alyndra raised her brows and scoffed. "He cannot even handle an Initiate Realm cultivator like her," she said, pointing at the injured guard who was bleeding.
"Which is the first step in the cultivation stage, and if anything, he deserves it. Now get him out of my sight." Her scowl disappeared as she turned to look at Michael and Gaya, a seductive smile spreading across her face.
"As for you two, follow . Let us take this to sowhere private."
Finally, Michael and Gaya followed Alyndra, leaving the relative chaos of the Richn Club behind. One of the guards escorted the injured, bleeding elf away, while the rest surrounded them, their movents purposeful, their gazes fixed on Michael and Gaya.
"Where are we going, Young Miss?" Michael asked, his voice polite and respectful, but with a hint of steel beneath the surface.
"My apartnt," Alyndra replied, her voice smooth and seductive. "It is in the Silver Citadel. Since you were hoping to honeymoon there, well, consider yourselves lucky."
Both Michael and Gaya were surprised and smiled internally, thanking their luck. They had been looking for a way to get into the Silver Citadel, and now fate itself was handing them an opportunity. They did not show it on their faces, however.
As they walked, the opulence of the city seed to intensify. They were moving towards the center, towards the heart of Luxor, and the change was palpable. The buildings grew taller and more imposing, crafted from gleaming white stone and polished marble. The streets, once crowded with rchants and commoners, were now wider, cleaner, and less congested. Carriages, their fras gilded with gold and their wheels inlaid with precious stones, rolled past, pulled by teams of magnificent pegasi, their wings shimring in the artificial sunlight. Even the air seed different here—cleaner, fresher, lighter.
And then they saw it: the Silver Citadel. It dominated the skyline, a towering structure of polished silver that glead under the day light. It was massive, its walls soaring towards the heavens, its spires piercing the clouds. Even from a distance, they could see the intricate carvings adorning its facade, each one a testant to elven artistry. The windows, seemingly endless in number, sparkled like a thousand distant stars, so narrow and arrow-slit-like, others vast and arched, reflecting the city around them. Its sheer size was overwhelming, a testant to the power and wealth of those who resided within. The structure exuded an aura of impregnable defense and refined elegance. It was breathtaking and intimidating.
As they continued their walk towards the Citadel, the security around them tightened. More guards, clad in heavy armor, patrolled the streets, their movents precise and disciplined. Michael noticed archers perched atop buildings, their crossbows trained on the streets below, and turrets, their chanisms whirring softly, scanning the crowds for any sign of trouble.
But despite the heavy presence of ard guards, the elves around them seed unfazed. They moved with a casual grace, a carefree confidence that spoke of privilege and security. Most of them, Michael noticed, had their own guards, heavily ard escorts who flanked them, their eyes scanning the crowd, their hands never far from their weapons. Even the carriages, pulled by those majestic pegasi, were surrounded by guards, their movents synchronized, their formations tight.
Several elves, their gazes lingering on Alyndra, inclined their heads in respect as they passed. But their eyes flickered towards Michael and Gaya, curiosity and sothing else—suspicion, perhaps disdain—twinkling in their depths.
"Have you visited Luxor before?" Alyndra inquired, her voice smooth and casual, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
"Only once or twice," Michael replied, his voice noncommittal, his gaze sweeping across the opulent surroundings.
"Hmm," Alyndra murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You said you are travelers. Which god do you worship?"
It was the crux of the matter, was it not? The defining question in the realm of the Gods. In the mortal realm, they asked about your kingdom, your sect, and your cultivation level, but here it was all about allegiance, worship, and faith. Who you worshipped said everything about you. For example, Agra's followers were chaotic, unpredictable, and violent. Seshat's followers were intellectual, reserved, and controlled. Fortuna's followers were risk-takers, gamblers, and daredevils. And Valorous' followers were honorable, courageous, and boring.
"We worship Fortuna," Michael answered, his voice smooth and convincing. A lie, of course, but a believable one.
When Michael said they worshipped Fortuna, Alyndra laughed, a light, airy sound that echoed through the street. "Indeed," she purred, her eyes gleaming with amusent.
"It makes sense. To spend a night with , that requires luck. Your goddess has smiled upon you."
As she spoke, they finally erged from the winding streets, stepping out onto a wide, circular plaza. Before them, a long, elegant bridge, crafted from polished white stone and adorned with intricate silver carvings, stretched out, connecting the plaza to the Silver Citadel itself.
Up close, the Citadel was even more imposing. It towered over the city, its silver walls gleaming under the light of the twin moons, its spires piercing the darkness like gleaming needles. Around the base of the structure, a vast garden blood, a riot of color and fragrance that contrasted sharply with the sterile, tallic beauty of the Citadel itself. Flowers of every hue imaginable—ruby red, sapphire blue, erald green, athyst purple—grew in wild profusion, their petals unfurling in the soft light. Fountains, crafted from polished marble, gurgled and splashed, their waters shimring like liquid silver. Elven guards, clad in gleaming armor, patrolled the periter, their movents precise, their gazes sharp. And above, on the battlents, archers, their crossbows trained on the surrounding city, stood vigilantly.
His gaze sweeping across the Citadel, Michael could feel the power emanating from it. It was not just physical; it was magical. He could sense the layers of wards, the intricate network of runes, woven into the very fabric of the structure. This was not just a fortress; it was a power nexus, a sanctuary, and, he suspected, a prison. Getting in would be difficult, and getting out perhaps even more so. It was obvious that this was a highly secure location, a place where secrets were kept and where information was gathered, analyzed, and protected. It was, in other words, the perfect place for Seraphene's data center. She likely had the most important and most valuable information stored here.
"Co on you two, let's go have a night…" She chuckled, "A day more precisely," she corrected herself and turned to look at Michael and Gaya without bothering to hide the lust in her eyes.
"You two won't forget,"
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