"Blocking the road?"
Luthier blinked in surprise. He left the Godskin Peeler lying across the carriage seat and instead fastened his Dragonscale Blade to his waist. He pushed open the door and stepped out, only for the magnificent, terrifying vista of Dectus to hit him with the force of a physical blow.
Here, the edge of the Altus Plateau rose like a gargantuan curtain of stone, claiming half the sky and stretching endlessly to the horizon. In the center of this titanic cliffside, a complex of buildings stood that seemed to push the limits of architectural imagination.
Massive foundation stones, each weighing dozens of tons, formed the base. Stone pillars so thick it would take ten men to encircle them supported the soaring, majestic porticos. The mountain rock on either side had been smoothed by master masons and carved into vast reliefs depicting the Unification Wars. The scenes were so vivid, the carved figures so lifelike, that one could almost hear the roar of the epic battles that had shaped the current age.
Beyond the main hall housing the Grand Lift itself, there were secondary towers, auxiliary lifts, and a defensive wall system that integrated perfectly with the natural terrain. It was a miracle of construction that stood alongside the Sky Castle, the Forge of the Giants, and Leyndell as one of the four wonders of the world: a testament to the absolute authority of the Golden Order.
Luthier let out a slow breath, trying to dispel the crushing pressure of awe that threatened to overwhelm him. He turned his gaze toward the "uninvited guests" Greyoll had mentioned.
There were hundreds of them: fully armed Leyndell Knights. They wore golden helms embossed with the crest of the Erdtree and heavy, ornate plate armor. They were arrayed in a solid battle formation, their shield-wall standing like a golden fortress, their spears a forest of steel that barred the long stairs leading to the main hall.
In the vanguard, six Tree Sentinels sat atop their heavy, barded chargers. Their massive gold shields and halberds caught the light of the Erdtree, which shone from behind them, casting a brilliant, blinding radiance over the entire blockade.
"Hah! Quite the reception," Greyoll sneered. "Is this how the Golden Order treats its guests?"
It was clear they were not here to welcome a demigod of the Ancient Dragons. One did not greet a guest with a drawn sword-wall, nor did they remain silent while two armies stared each other down.
They had one goal: a show of force.
Luthier narrowed his eyes, his palm resting on the hilt of his blade. Dectus was a vital strategic chokepoint, but Leyndell Knights were not so common that they could be used as window dressing. To mobilize such a force for a mere insult required the authority of someone at the very top. Was it the Queen? The King Consort? Or perhaps the "perfect" Golden Prince himself?
The Leyndell Knights remained as silent as iron statues. Behind Luthier, the Dragon warriors and Storm Knights were already seething with rage.
"Highness, what are your orders?" Agheel asked, his voice thick with suppressed fury.
Further back, Elders Morel and Atok hurried toward the carriage. The looks on their faces told Luthier everything: these ancient, powerful dragons were on the verge of a violent eruption.
Atok had been the one to support the invitation; Morel had been the vocal dissenter. But in this moment, their past disagreements were irrelevant. For the Golden Order to ignore their own invitation and subject an Ancient Dragon demigod to such disrespect was more than a slight: it was a signal for war.
"Highness—" Elder Atok reached Luthier and dropped to one knee before the boy could speak. He ground his teeth in shame. "This old servant regrets encouraging you to accept this invitation. I have led you into humiliation. Give the word, and we shall slaughter these insolent pretenders where they stand!"
Luthier noticed the bandages still wrapped around the elder's shoulder: the wounds from the Godskin Apostle's assassination attempt. Bits of medicinal scent wafted from him, and the faint ripple of dragon scales beneath his skin betrayed his murderous intent.
Luthier reached down to pull the old man up. "The decision to come was mine, Elder. It is not your burden to bear. Please, stand."
After helping Atok up and offering a few words of calm, Luthier walked toward the front of the delegation, his elders and captains close at his heels.
He mentally cycled through every possible motive the Golden Order could have, but none made sense. Even as a show of force, this was low-class. It humiliated the host as much as the guest. Did they really want to force him into a corner? Did they expect him to flee in shame, declare a hopeless war, or sit in the dirt and wait for permission to enter?
As he thought, his hand tightened on the hilt of the Dragonscale Blade. Though he possessed the calm rationality of a past life, he was also a creature of the highest bloodline. A serpentine streak of draconic violence bit at his heart, tempting him to draw his steel and lead his knights into a frenzy of golden gore.
He stood silent at the front of the line, his knuckles white from the pressure he exerted on his sword. They were only a few hundred paces apart. In the silence, he could almost hear the heavy breathing of the Tree Sentinels behind their masks.
Luthier understood that the blade at his waist did not just command the lives of the knights on these stairs; it commanded the fate of millions of souls across two civilizations. The moment he drew blood, the resulting slaughter would dwarf the carnage of Sunset Pass a thousand times over.
If he were back on Earth, playing this on a screen, he would have saved his progress and charged. But he wasn't alone. Behind him stood a decaying Sky Castle that could not afford a total war.
"We..." He loosened his grip, preparing to speak, when a roar that shattered the heavens erupted from the horizon.
A titanic shadow tore across the sky from the direction of the Altus Plateau. It moved with such velocity that it shredded the clouds in its path, leaving a long, white wake that lingered in the air. As it reached the airspace above Dectus, its true form was revealed.
It was a magnificent white dragon, its body as vast as a mountain range. Unlike the four-winged lesser drakes, its wings unfurled with a terrifying, divine elegance. Faint glints of gold shimmered deep within its stone-like scales: the mark of the blessing of the ancient Elden Ring. It blotted out the light of the Erdtree, casting a cold, devouring shadow over the golden knights below.
The Leyndell Knights could no longer maintain their stoic silence. They scrambled to bow, clearing a wide space in the courtyard for the ancient creature to land.
With a powerful beat of its wings, the dragon descended in a localized hurricane. It arched its long, graceful neck, its cold gaze sweeping over the golden ranks. Every knight who met that gaze felt as if they had been plunged into a lake of ice; not a single man dared to move.
A flash of brilliant light followed, and the dragon's form shrunk rapidly. Within seconds, a tall woman in white priestess robes stood in the center of the clearing. She arched a brow and spoke, her voice clear and elegant, yet carrying a weight that brooked no argument.
"Which of you is the Knight-Commander? Step forward."
A Tree Sentinel immediately trotted forward, bowing so low his armor creaked. "It is I, Priestess Lansseax."
Lansseax looked at him with chilling indifference. Suddenly, the Sentinel was struck by an invisible force. His golden breastplate caved inward with a sickening crunch. A spray of blood erupted from behind his faceplate, and he collapsed into the dirt, trembling.
"Tell your superiors: this happens once. There will not be a second time," she said coldly.
"Yes... My Lady," the Sentinel rasped. He struggled to his feet with the help of his comrades and retreated into the ranks.
Lansseax turned toward the Sky Castle delegation. Luthier was still standing there, slightly dazed, while his followers erupted in cheers. Greyoll looked like he was about to jump for joy.
She moved, and the hundreds of paces between them seemed to vanish. In a single step, she was standing directly in front of Luthier. Without a word, she reached out and ruffled his hair, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"What is this? We have been apart for less than three months," she teased. "Is the Prince of the Sky Castle already losing his wits at such a young age?"