CHAPTER 435: EYES ABOVE THE CROWD

Eyes Above the Crowd

"All of you. Step lightly, and don’t forget— from here on forward capital rules apply on all of you."

He sprang from his chair with the fluid motion of one accustomed to power, his gaze ranging over the crowd with a quick, appraising look. There was gravity in his tone, a reminder that even in this moment of change, the city’s order held, insistent but unspoken.

Leon’s friends stood up slowly, stiffly flexing the muscles from the journey, their eyes scanning the throng with keen, wary attention. Zetch stepped down beside him, his cloak flowing over the wooden floor with a quiet command. He nodded once, subtly, before descending to the cobblestones, boots clicking with deliberate rhythm. The noise was small but unmistakable, a challenge breathed into the ear of the city.

Leon trailed behind, lingering a moment to take in the vast city before him. Giant gates enclosed the horizon, lion-crest banners fluttering in the gentle evening wind. The very magnitude was daunting, but there was a cultured beauty underlying the massive walls, an aura of greatness blended with peril.

"Sir Leon," a voice in his mind whispered softly but persistently. Nova. Observe. Take this city in.".

He leaned his head to one side, lowering his hood all the way so the final glint of sunlight touched his face. His eyes followed the streets, the gates, the throng pouring in waves across the open squares. Yes. It was ideal. A theater constructed for ambition, for mastery, for the authority he and his friends bore quietly beneath their hoods. This city would see their ascension, and it would bow to them in time.

His friends shifted their clothes reflexively, every motion measured, their eyes hard and watchful. Natasha’s gaze wandered the street like a predator scenting ground—level, measured, Leon’s eyes scanned the throng, hard and implacable, measuring each shadow and movement as if he could decipher the purpose concealed in their actions. "Lord," Natasha’s voice interjected softly, little more than a whisper over the noise and clatter around them, "what now?"

He didn’t blink. His eyes traveled slowly, purposefully, calm and measured, almost relaxed on the surface—but beneath the relaxation lay the burden of power, the sort that could make silence conform to his desires. "We dine first," he uttered, a tiny, aware smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Hunger and planning are never a good mix."

The straightforwardness of it elicited some lifted brows, faint surprise crossing faces. But the argument was compelling, and reluctance dissolved into assent. Natasha nodded a small, barely perceptible nod, the smallest gesture of trust, and started guiding them through the crowd. They threaded past vendors calling over one another, the wails of children curving above the drone of urban life, as the smells of broiling meat, fresh bread, and sun-baked stone blended, thick and earthy. And even as they walked, a tension followed them like a shadow that clung and would not lift, a silent pressure forcing down on each step.

Above, on a rooftop bathed in the fading light of the sun, a figure waited. Crimson hair shone in the fading light, strands of it blazing before disappearing into darkness. Zetch stood in silence, the tiles beneath him stretching out long into dark. His presence was nearly ghostly, a brief ripple upon the urban landscape, and then he disappeared—engulfed by the very air, leaving behind only the slightest suggestion of a smile, one that held amusement, calculation, and something withheld.

"Well, Mister Leon," he whispered, voice low, for his own ears alone, though the city below just seemed to take it in, dispersing the words into nothing, "a simple farmer in the capital. How funny.". But here you are. the first farmer I’ve met whose power competes with monarch-level growers, friends at your side like silent assassins, killing witnesses to your every step. Let’s observe. how will you proceed? Everyone will notice, everyone will ask what you’re doing, and maybe. some will question if they are really good. And who knows. perhaps destiny will run into us again. And by destiny. maybe you will assist me in searching for her...

A slight ripple of tension coursed through the atmosphere, the city none the wiser to the silent battle of glances and unspoken taunts that had just commenced.

Even as his words faded into the night, the burden behind them remained like a shadow, and Leon, not aware of the eyes watching from above, pressed on, steady and purposeful, into a city that would soon know both his name and his mission.

Leon’s eyes lingered on the receding form, a respectful nod his only sign. All reserve, he was exteriorly formal, composed, the embodiment of restraint—but a fire of curiosity—and something more cutting, calculation—glowed beneath. He didn’t need to say it; already, his thoughts were calculating possibilities, following every faintest motion, every implied design.

Behind him, his friends fell into step, their procession a steady backbeat to the mad rhythm of Vellore. The city engulfed them at once, a living brocade of sound and color. Lanterns creaked above jostled streets, their soft light glancing on gold-ornamented roofs. The air was heavy with the blending aromas of spice, smoke, and sweet bread, punctuated by the shouts of vendors selling their goods and the momentary outburst of laughter from hidden alleyways. Every step took them further into the city’s restless pulse, an intoxicating rhythm that held out both chance and peril.

And over it all, unseen but indomitable, eyes followed them from the far-off rooftops. Steadfast, calculating, waiting for a moment only they might predict.

Vellore stretched out around them, glorious in its green-and-gold splendor, the white etheric strands of the city sparkling in the sunlight like living veins of power. Every corner vibrated with possibility, every shadow could conceal an ally—or a foe. It was friendly, yes, but not innocent. The city’s beauty was a cover for the intrigue below. And Leon sensed it—the subtle tug of a game already afoot, a problem that needed to be unraveled. The city welcomed them with open arms, but the true tale had only just started.