South Gate of the Capital, Sol-Regis. Midday – Scorching Heat.
"Incredible..." Roland muttered, pressing his face against the carriage window, which felt warm to the touch. "It's exactly like rush hour back in the city, except the engines have been replaced by horsepower."
Before them lay Sol-Regis, the legendary capital of the Aethelgard Kingdom. The city was ringed by thirty-meter-high white walls that shimmered under the blazing sun, as if the entire fortress were carved from pure marble. Beyond the walls, palace spires soared into the sky, their golden roofs gleaming with an arrogant brilliance. It was majestic, beautiful, and utterly haughty.
Yet, beneath that grandeur, reality told a different story: a total gridlock.
Hundreds of merchant wagons, laborers carrying heavy loads, and noble retinues formed a grueling queue to enter through the main gate. The pungent stench of horse manure mingled with the swirling dust, creating an aroma that was enough to turn anyone's stomach.
"The heat is unbearable," Rhea complained, fanning her neck with a silk hand fan. She wiped away beads of sweat that had begun to form at her temples. "The comfort of this carriage means nothing if we're just sitting here like statues."
"Patience, sister," Rianor replied, focused on a map of the city. He adjusted his spectacles. "The population of Sol-Regis is roughly five hundred thousand. This is the continent's economic heart. Congestion is to be expected."
In the front carriage, Duke Lucian and Duchess Aurelia sat in silence. However, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Lucian's fingers against the hilt of his sword suggested his patience was fraying as the line refused to budge.
Eventually, their carriage reached the checkpoint. A stout Captain of the Gate, his uniform straining at the buttons around his belly, blocked their path with a sour expression.
"Halt!" he barked rudely. "This lane is for VIP guests and Capital Nobility only! Back-country carriages, clear off to the left lane! Queue up with the vegetable merchants!"
Captain Thorne, disguised as Lucian's coachman, struggled to keep his temper. "This is the carriage of Duke Sudrath of Northreach! We have an official royal summons!"
"Sudrath?" The guard spat on the ground, eyeing the wolf crest on the carriage door with disdain. "Never heard of them. Northreach? Oh, that frozen wasteland at the edge of the world? Show me the summons."
Thorne handed over the red velvet scroll. The guard yanked it open roughly, scanned it, and tossed it back at Thorne.
"The scroll is real. But..." The guard smirked, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together—the universal gesture for a bribe. "Gate administration is... having a few issues today. You'll have to wait for a deep security sweep. Maybe in five or six hours."
He cleared his throat loudly. "Unless you'd like to pay the 'Priority Processing Fee' of fifty gold coins."
Inside the Rear Carriage.
"Wow, he's not even trying to hide the extortion," Roland sneered. "Let me go down there. I'll bribe him with a soap discount."
"Don't," Rianor cut in. "If we pay with gold, we'll look weak—easy prey for them to squeeze the entire time we're here. Let Father handle... wait."
Rianor saw the door of the front carriage open. But it wasn't Duke Lucian descending with a drawn sword. It was Duchess Aurelia.
At the Gate.
Aurelia stepped out with effortless grace. Her Emerald Green gown, simple yet sharply tailored, immediately drew the eyes of everyone nearby. She opened her lace parasol to shield herself from the midday sun.
"It's a scorching one today, isn't it, Captain?" Aurelia greeted him softly. Her smile was warm—the kind of socialite charm that put people at ease while hiding a dagger behind every word.
The guard stammered, caught off guard. Aurelia's refined beauty and calm demeanor made him feel suddenly clumsy. "Erm... yes, Madam. But procedure is procedure."
"Of course, I completely understand. It must be exhausting working all day under this sun to keep the Capital secure," Aurelia said. She gave a subtle nod to her handmaiden.
The maid brought forward a small glass box tied with a gold ribbon. Inside, three bars of soap—purple, pink, and milk-white—were clearly visible. Instantly, the fresh scent of lavender and jasmine wafted through the air, overpowering the stench of manure around the gate.
"What's this?" the guard asked, his suspicion beginning to soften.
"Just a small souvenir from the North," Aurelia said sweetly. "This is Silk Soap. I'm sure your wife would be delighted if you brought this home. It will leave her skin as smooth as a princess's, and the fragrance lasts for two full days."
The guard's eyes widened. He knew that high-quality scented soap was a luxury in Sol-Regis, retailing for ten to twenty gold pieces a bar in high-end boutiques.
"You don't need to pay," Aurelia continued, leaning in slightly with a whisper. "Consider it a product sample. If your wife likes it, perhaps you can tell your colleagues that this soap comes from House Sudrath."
Aurelia placed the box into the guard's rough palm. "So... is the administration still having issues, Captain?"
The guard swallowed hard. He looked at the luxury box in his hand, then at the noisy, impatient queue behind them.
"Ahem! Administration is... cleared!" the guard shouted. "Open the gates! VIP lane for Duke Sudrath!"
He bowed to Aurelia—this time with genuine reverence. "Please, pass through, My Lady. Give my regards to the Duke."
Aurelia offered a triumphant smile. "Thank you. Have a productive shift."
Inside the Rear Carriage.
"Tch..." Roland clapped softly. "Mother is seriously overpowered. She just paid off a bribe with product placement. That's genius marketing."
"She knows the psychology of this place perfectly," Rianor analyzed, nodding with satisfaction. "If you give a man gold, he feels power over you. But if you give him a luxury item for his wife, he feels a debt of gratitude and a boost in social status."
Rhea could only shake her head. "Never mess with a socialite from Bandung."
Sol-Regis Noble District. Late Afternoon.
The carriages finally arrived at the address listed on the family's old land deed: Sudrath Manor. They stepped out, and for a moment, they were silenced by shock.
"Is this... a haunted house?" Rhea asked flatly.
The manor was large and strategically located on a corner lot. But its condition was appalling. The white paint was peeling, the front yard was choked with waist-high weeds, and the iron fence leaned precariously, eaten away by rust. Many windows were shattered and crudely boarded up with scrap wood.
It was clear the house had been abandoned for ten years, ever since House Sudrath went bankrupt.
"Well..." Roland's spirit broke instantly. "I thought I'd be sleeping on a plush mattress. We're going to have to do a massive deep-clean first."
"No time for complaints," Lucian said firmly as he stepped down. "Remember, we aren't here for a vacation. We are here for a political war."
Lucian surveyed the somber building with his eagle eyes. "Rianor, check the structural integrity immediately. Rhea, secure the perimeter. Roland, find a cleaning crew for hire. Aurelia, I'll leave the interior arrangements to you."
"Yes, Father!" they answered in unison.
As they were unloading their luggage, a lavish black carriage rolled slowly past the house. The window curtain was pulled back slightly. Rianor, who was lifting his suitcase, caught the gaze of someone inside.
It was a thin old man with a face resembling a vulture, wearing high-ranking official robes emblazoned with the Black Sun crest. Their eyes met for a fleeting second. The old man offered a thin smile—a smile that made Rianor's blood run cold.
Grand Chancellor Morvath.
The man had passed by simply to ensure his prey had truly walked into the trap. Rianor set his suitcase down slowly, his expression turning grave.
"He knows we're here," Rianor whispered to Rhea, who stood beside him.
Rhea gripped the hilt of the dagger hidden within her skirts. "Good. Let him know that we don't have a shred of fear."
That night, in the dusty and dark manor, the Sudrath family did not sleep soundly. Tomorrow was the day of the hearing, and Morvath had already sharpened the legal blades intended to slaughter them.