CHAPTER 54: LYRIA CITY

One Year Later

The steady creak of carriage wheels filled the quiet road as Fenric sat back against the cushioned seat, gazing out at the mist-veiled mountains in the distance. The city ahead—ancient, crumbling, yet steeped in power—waited like a slumbering beast.

It had been a full year since the day Mavis began forging him in fire and blood. Now, Fenric had climbed to the third stage of Low Master rank, his aura sharper, heavier—enough to make lesser knights step aside without a word.

Across from him sat Aria. Her presence had changed as well; she radiated a quiet, contained pressure that spoke of her own strength. She had reached first stage High Master rank, two levels above him.

Not because she was naturally stronger—though she was gifted—but because she didn’t have an enormous mana sea like his.

Fenric’s mana sea was both a curse and a blessing. It granted him immense reserves of power, but also made his progress painfully slow compared to others. Even with talent far superior to Aria’s, he remained two full ranks behind her—yet in terms of raw combat ability, he was still the stronger of the two.

Over the past year, Fenric had also formed a bond with Lunaris Avernus, the Silver Moon King Spirit, a being he had summoned and bargained with. Lunaris had given him half a year to uncover information she did not know—a task that had seemed almost too easy for him. Fenric knowledge of this wolrd was unmatched as he instantly completer her task.

When he delivered the knowledge—secrets hidden behind lies, pushed to their final edge—Lunaris rewarded him with a weapon of staggering power. For the first time in over ten thousand years, she bestowed the Spirit Arsenal Mooncrest Magic upon a mortal.

His manifested spirit armament took the form of a silver-blue scythe, its blade glistening like moonlit ice. It was deadly enough to cleave through steel as though it were paper, and it burned with Silver Moon Flames—a fire that could make even seawater boil and was the bane of all demonic beings.

It was a spirit gift unmatched, something that could only be obtained through trust and proof of worth. And now, after a year of forging himself through grueling trials, Fenric faced his first royal duty.

Royal duty—an honor and a trial in equal measure. For princes, it was both a rite of passage and a test of their true worth.

Normally, a prince was required to take on their first Royal Duty Trial at the age of sixteen. But because of Fenric’s unusual condition, the court had delayed his trial until he is recovered and now that he was healed thay gave him a year, allowing him more time to grow stronger. Now, at last, the summons had come—he would face his first true test as a royal.

His destination was the ancient border city of Lyra. Once a thriving settlement, it had been abandoned decades ago after a series of mysterious assaults. The records claimed there weren’t enough people or resources to reclaim it, so it was left in ruins—an ideal proving ground for the trial of a young prince.

’If I remember correctly,’ Fenric murmured, ’this city was actually being run by a mercenary squad called the Mortal Fangs

. They overthrew the previous City Lord just last month... though the official report labeled it as suicide.’

He leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing in thought. Lyra... famous in the the original book for the arc rise of king..

When the royal aide had handed him the list of possible trial sites, Fenric had chosen Lyra without hesitation. Not because it seemed easy—in fact, it was far from it—but because of what was hidden there. Somewhere within the ruins, there was said to be a "cheat" item, something so rare and powerful it could alter the course of a ruler’s fate. In the original story he know, it was meant to fall into the hands of another... the so-called "main character."

But now? It would be his.

There was, however, one catch—one steep condition that couldn’t be bypassed.

’Hm... even if I do find it,’ he thought quietly, ’recovering it won’t be simple. That item only reveals itself to the true ruler of this city—not just a lord in name, but one beloved and accepted by the spirit of Lyra itself. Only then will the seal break... and the artifact awaken.’

Fenric’s gaze drifted out the carriage window, his expression unreadable as thoughts churned behind his eyes.

The Mortal Fangs... their leader wasn’t just a brute who happened to seize power. He knew about the artifact as well—that was why he staged the coup in the first place. According to the memories Fenric carried, the man was already working toward the trial’s conditions, subtly twisting events so that the city’s spirit would acknowledge him as its ruler.

The problem was... even if the man succeeded, he would never truly rule in spirit. The Mortal Fangs had been bleeding the residents dry, extorting their wealth, and breaking those who resisted. No matter what schemes he had, the city’s heart could never accept him.

But in the original history, before the man’s failure became complete, the "main character" had arrived. He killed the mercenary leader, uncovered the artifact’s hiding place beneath the city, and claimed it for himself—its power becoming one of his greatest assets.

Now, Fenric’s lips curved faintly.This time... that ending will change.

"What do you think the city will be like?" Sue Aria asked, glancing at him.

Fenric tilted his head toward her. "Hmm... lawless, I imagine. After all, the city lord was killed last month, and now I’m being sent there under the pretense of ’restoring order.’"

She rested her chin in her palm. "I wonder... was the lord’s death cruel enough that the people took it upon themselves to spiral into chaos? Or was it simply that criminals moved in to fill the gap?"

He met her eyes for a moment, then looked ahead again. "We’ll have to find that out for ourselves."

****

The carriage wheels clattered against uneven cobblestones as they passed beneath the half-broken gate of Lyra. Once, the iron portcullis might have gleamed with polish; now it hung rusted and bent, like the jaw of some old beast missing its teeth.

Inside the walls, the city’s pulse was... uneven. On one street, a row of market stalls bustled—voices shouting prices, the scent of grilled meat thick in the air. But just a turn away, the alleys lay in shadow, watched over by men leaning against walls with too-sharp eyes and hands far too close to their blades.

Aria’s gaze drifted over a trio of children darting past, their clothes ragged but their laughter bright. Then, almost in the same breath, her eyes caught a man being dragged into a side street by two others, his cries muffled by a meaty fist.

Fenric leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. "Split in two," he murmured. "Half pretending life is normal... half living in fear."

"That’s not surprising," Aria replied softly. "When a city loses its heart, the rest of the body rots unevenly."

The carriage turned toward the central district, and there it was—the lord’s manor, looming on its hill. Once a seat of dignity, its outer walls now bore scorch marks, and banners of the old crest hung tattered. The guards at the gate wore mismatched armor and tired faces.

Fenric smiled faintly, not warmly. "Home sweet home—for now."

The carriage rolled to a halt before the manor gates. The guards exchanged a look before one trudged forward. His armor was dented, his tunic stained with what might have been wine... or blood.

"You’re the new lord?" he asked, voice flat, like he was already bored of the answer.

Fenric stepped down from the carriage, his boots clicking against the stone. "Prince Fenric of Vaeldis," he said evenly. "Here to assume stewardship of Lyra."

The guard gave a lazy salute, then muttered something under his breath as he waved them through.

Inside the manor courtyard, the air smelled faintly of smoke and steel polish. Waiting for them was a man who seemed carved from sinew and scar tissue—his head shaved, a jagged scar running from temple to jaw. His eyes were cold, assessing.

"Welcome, Your Highness," the man said, bowing just deep enough to be technically polite. "I am Vorn Krel. I served as Vice City Lord, and after Lord Harvek’s... unfortunate death, I was appointed as City Lord, temporarily."

Fenric’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then you can start by getting me all reports on the city—taxes, patrol schedules, trade manifests, incident logs—everything. I’ll review them in the lord’s office."

Vorn’s brow furrowed slightly, though he gestured toward the manor steps. "Shouldn’t you get some rest after such a long journey, Your Highness?"

Fenric shook his head, his tone calm but final. "I have rested enough in my carriage. Show me the lord’s office and the current state of the city."