CHAPTER 47: 47

The capital of Velmora—Caerywn—was a city that defied silence.

Ten million lives pulsed within its colossal boundaries, wrapped in spires of stone veined with enchantment, and streets cobbled with mana-bound wards that never slept.

Light poured from floating crystals strung between towers like festival garlands, illuminating everything from marble balconies to crooked merchant tents.

It was a living monolith.

Majestic.

Eternal.

And utterly ruthless.

Caerywn was built in rings—six great sectors spiraling outward from the palace heart. Each ring reflected a different layer of power: the gilded nobility, the arcane academies, the merchant dynasties, the artisan guilds, the common masses, and beyond them, the shadowed fringe of the outer slums.

Alaric and the girls had been staying in the mid-tier Crydias Estate, located on the edge of Goldbar District, a relatively quiet zone bordering both noble traffic and merchant routes.

Though the estate was modest by noble standards, it offered privacy and convenience—a practical base, for a time.

But that time had passed.

The restaurant they’d been preparing was not meant to serve nobles—not yet. It was being built in Stonewake Quarter, a dense and energetic commoner sector on the city’s southern tier.

Stonewake was known for its sprawling bazaars, open-sky spell duels, and mouth-watering street food prepared over enchanted braziers. It was loud. Alive. Imperfect.

But more importantly—it was watched.

Word had already begun to ripple through the district: whispers of a man with divine bearing, shadowed by three bound beauties with powers that didn’t fit their station. And behind them, the gold moved like water. Silent. Untraceable.

That was enough to draw attention.

And in Caerywn, attention could get you killed.

So when the Lord of House Crydias extended a formal invitation for them to stay at his estate, Alaric accepted. Not from trust. From strategy.

The Crydias Estate was carved into the noble ring’s western flank, behind heavy walls carved with draconic glyphs and ivy woven with subtle illusion charms.

Its halls glowed with soft lumenstones, and its courtyard garden was vast enough to house three full-grown mounts. It was a seat of power, yes—but more than that, it was protection.

Within the estate’s magical wards, assassins would falter. Spies would suffocate. And should any noble attempt to move against him, they would first have to consider what it meant to strike a guest under Crydias protection.

It was a shield. One Alaric had no intention of hiding behind—but would wield for now.

Virellen arrived to escort them personally.

She swept into the courtyard on a black-scaled rokhorn beast, its claws scratching softly against the enchanted stone.

Dressed in a silver-trimmed travel cloak that matched her eyes, she looked every bit the daughter of a high noble house—except for the smirk playing at her lips.

"Master,"

She called, with an exaggerated bow.

"Your humble servant arrives, burdened by duty and decorum. The estate is ready. Even the mirrors were polished to reflect your divine arrogance."

Cellione rolled her eyes.

"She rehearsed that."

"I did not,"

Virelaine sniffed.

"I wrote it."

Aurevia adjusted her scabbard, eyes cool but amused. Serineth stood behind her, shyly tucking a curl behind her ear, but she smiled softly. The bags had been packed since dawn.

Crates bound in mana-thread awaited loading by the estate’s staff—an offer politely refused. The girls insisted on doing it themselves.

Two hornback carriages, pulled by sturdy dread elk, waited by the gate. No arcane engines. No floating relics. Only beast and will.

Alaric stood at the edge of the garden, his gaze sweeping the skyline—taking in the domes, the towers, the streets where commoners flowed like rivers.

They were not leaving the city.

Only changing how they stood within it.

With House Crydias’ banner behind him, the game would shift. Not in pace—but in gravity. Though, now only a remnant of what it used to be.

He turned to the girls.

"Let’s move."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Alaric had been here twice before—both times brief, both times as a visitor.

This third visit, though still new in the body, carried the weight of permanence. For the first time, he would stay.

Not as a guest. Not as a shadow. But as something fixed, woven into the fabric of the estate’s quiet decay.

The Crydias estate hadn’t changed in the few days since he last saw it. Time had not moved fast enough to mend the hairline fractures in its stone walls, nor clear the half-hearted weeds from the garden path.

The place was stubborn—clinging to dignity through silence, through old bones and hollow halls.

At the gate, Virellen waited, her arms folded, posture loose and familiar. Grey eyes met his, sharp and playful as ever.

"Back again,"

She said.

"That makes three."

"This time’s different,"

Alaric replied, stepping past the gate.

"Yes. You’re staying."

Behind him, the girls followed—Aurevia’s pale hair catching the light like snow in morning sun, her stride regal.

Cellione carried her usual ease, a hand casually resting on her hip as she took in the view with amused detachment. Serineth, quieter, let her steps match Alaric’s pace, green hair fluttering faintly behind her.

They moved through the outer court, boots brushing stone.

Virellen led the way without a word until they crossed the threshold into the main hall.

The doors creaked open. The air inside was cool, dry, and still. Chandeliers overhead flickered with magic-light, but only just.

Dust clung to the upper beams. The Crydias crest above the mantle was a faded reminder of former glory—a lion’s head worn to a blur, crowned with rust.

"The estate doesn’t clean itself,"

Virellen said without looking back.

"We’ve lost two more staff this week. One ran off. The other fell asleep and never woke."

Alaric said nothing.

She turned slightly, one eyebrow raised.

"Still want to stay?"

"I do,"

He said simply.

Virellen smirked.

"Then let me show you your cell."

She led them down the east wing—a quieter hall warmed with recent enchantments. At least someone had tried to make it liveable. Brass fixtures, straight carpets, the faint hum of mana-imbued insulation.

Virellen paused at the first door.

"This is yours. Sheets are clean. Spells are set. If anything explodes, don’t blame me."

Alaric stepped inside and let his gaze pass across the room. No luxury, but no neglect either. A sturdy bed. A large desk.

Heavy curtains drawn open to a view of the inner courtyard. A fresh ward pulse whispered faintly from the doorframe—protection, not surveillance.

"It’ll suffice,"

He said.

"I wasn’t trying to impress you."

"I know."

She moved down the hall and gestured lazily.

"Ladies’ quarters are the same as the hotel room. Mistress Aurevia, you’ve got the one nearest him—try not to kill anyone in your sleep."

Aurevia gave her a withering look but entered without a word.

"Cellione, yours still has the sunlamp window. You’re welcome."

"I feel loved,"

Cellione replied, tossing her hair as she stepped past.

Virellen turned to Serineth. Her tone softened.

"I made sure yours is the quietest."

Serineth gave a small bow.

"Thank you, Lady Virellen."

Virellen winced.

"Wow, that stung somehow. More than it should have."

They regrouped in the shared sitting room, just down the hall. A fire crackled low in the hearth. Simple couches formed a crescent around a wooden table bearing a tea set—untouched, still steaming.

Virellen poured herself a cup, then offered it to Alaric with a half-bow more theatrical than respectful.

"To your first real stay,"

She said.

"May the roof not collapse."

He accepted the cup but didn’t drink.

"How many rooms in this wing?"

"Seven. Enough for you, the girls, and whatever pets or problems follow."

"We’ll need them all."

"Of course you will."

She set the teapot down with a soft clink and leaned against the fireplace, watching the flames.

"My father’s not here, by the way. Out schmoozing some court faction. If you’re lucky, he’ll stay gone until next week."

Alaric nodded.

"I’m not here for him."

"No,"

Virellen said, glancing at each of the girls in turn.

"You’re here to build something. Or burn something. I haven’t decided which."

Neither had he.

"And as for my mother, we’ll she went to oil some noblewoman."

Virellen said with a thoughtful expression.

"Woah, that sounds brutal. I can’t imagine a noble woman like her laughing and oiling up others."

Cellione said, surprised.

"Situation is not always favor us. Just because we got lucky with Master doesn’t mean others are lucky as well. Never make fun of others. You could have been in even worse situation if not for Master. Be grateful."

Aurevia who was quite until now chimed in and said.

"I didn’t mean it like that.."

Cellione said in her defence.

"But your tone said otherwise."

Aurevia said narrowing her eyes. Cellione lowered her head. Likely getting her mistake.

"Please spare my poor friend Mistress Aurevia. She didn’t mean it like that. I know it."

Virellen said with a pleading expression. Seeing this Aurevia sighed.

"Alright, you guys. Enough chatting. Familiar your self with this place if you want."

Alaric said with a small smile seeing there interaction.

"What about you Master?"

Cellione asked.

"I already know everything about this place. The last few time I didn’t use my senses because it felt intrusive. But since I’m staying here from now on and also need to look out for trouble, I checked everywhere and know evey place here."

Alaric said plainly.

The girls nodded. Almost forgot what kind of monster he is. But that was for a second. After that they started chatting among themselves and stared a tour around the estate. Virellen as the guide.

Aurevia’s senses were string enough to fo what Alaric had done. But she felt it was good Idea to spend more time with the others.

Alaric watched them with a smile. He then walked into the room in which he will be staying from now on to take bath. He didn’t need to but still did as a habit.

-To Be Continued