Unholy Player

Chapter 525: Approaching Enemies (Part 3)

"Respected Gatekeepers." Without stepping down from the carriage or removing the hood that hid his face, Sevrak inclined his head in a restrained bow as he addressed them. "I am Dragon Rider Sevrak, ruler of the Umbraen people. I have returned to my lands after a short absence."

He had not seen these 2 when he passed through the gates on his way out, but he did not doubt they had heard his name and would remember it, at least.

After all, four months meant little to people like them, beings who supposedly lived for thousands of years.

"Dragon Rider Sevrak..." one of the Gatekeepers murmured, drawing the name out as though he were searching through an old memory.

The other spoke next, filling in what that hesitation implied. "I thought the Umbraen kingdom no longer existed. Didn’t your people all perish?"

Sevrak understood the intent behind this question. This was a test, designed to understand his true purpose.

He kept his composure as he answered. "That is true. But my ties there belong to my lands. I wish to rebuild my race once again."

The 2 Gatekeepers went quiet, their slit pupils fixed on the carriage with a steady, unblinking focus. Then the reply came, flat and certain. "Your lands, just like your people, are gone. We do not think you have anything left to claim there anymore."

Sevrak’s body trembled slightly as a quiet fury rose inside him.

Scavengers... he thought, keeping the word locked behind his teeth.

It was not the refusal itself that angered him. It was what their words implied, that his territory had already been stripped bare.

He could already picture it in his mind. After he left, other races would have rushed in like vultures, taking whatever remained the moment his back was turned.

"Respected Gatekeepers." He steadied himself at once, pressing the anger down where it belonged. "There is always something to claim, as long as one’s strength is sufficient."

Sevrak was openly declaring war on those who had claimed his lands. He was making it clear, without ambiguity, that he would reclaim what he had lost through war and bloodshed.

The 2 Gatekeepers did not seem displeased by his answer.

In the world of Practitioners, a statement like that was simply how things worked. If you wanted something, you fought for it. So his words did not sound suspicious to them.

The Gatekeepers nodded in approval. "We are not here to meddle in the Outer Region’s affairs, nor to stop a native from entering his own lands," one of them spoke.

Then both of them said at the same time, "You are allowed to pass."

They stepped aside, clearing the way for the carriage to pass.

Sevrak and the other Blood Path followers saw the approval and felt relief ease the tightness in their chests, even if none of them let it show.

"Thank you, respected Gatekeepers. May the path you follow bring you eternity." Sevrak inclined his head once more in respect. Then he shifted the reins in his hand, urging the horse to pull the carriage onward.

The already worn-out carriage clattered as it kept its pace. The wheels tapped unevenly against stone, neither too slow nor too swiftly.

Behind them, the 2 Gatekeepers remained where they were, watching calmly, their vertical slit pupils never leaving the 3 Practitioners.

One of them spoke only after the carriage had passed through the gate and slipped out of sight.

"Seems like it is that time again. The Owner of the Crimson Sea descends once more." His voice was heavy, burdened with immense weight, the words carrying an old memory.

The other raised his head and stared at the enormous wall.

Its edge seemed to vanish into the high clouds, reaching toward the heavens. The surface looked dark and monolithic against the sky. Still, in his eyes, it did not look high enough. "I wonder if it will be enough to stop Him this time."

The answer came with the same uncertainty. "Whether it will be enough or not, we Reptillians are here to witness the end. Nothing more, nothing less."

—

Once the carriage passed through the gates, the contrast became immediately clear to the three Blood Path followers.

Pacthold on the Outer Region side was nothing like the Midlands side.

The first thing that greeted them was a massive city, dense with life and constant movement. From a distance, the streets already looked busy, as if the entire place ran on noise and momentum.

The carriage continued its slow advance along the well-maintained, carefully laid stone road. The stones were fitted tightly, as though repaired often, and the road guided them straight toward the city entrance.

No Gatekeepers waited here to stop or interrogate them, so the carriage rolled on without resistance.

Entering the Outer Region had been different. Everyone was questioned at the gates, regardless of Rank, and the rules were strict, especially for strangers.

But crossing toward the Midlands came down to a single requirement.

You either had to be a Rank 4 Practitioner, or you had to be traveling under one’s protection.

That was why the lower Ranks never tried to sneak through, even without any Gatekeepers guarding the passage. This route belonged to the strong. Lower Ranks stayed away, because provoking a Rank 4 was the fastest way to get erased.

"What a lively place. Should we stop for a bit and buy some souvenirs?" Arvyn asked, looking at the city drawing closer with every moment. Her gaze swept over the buildings ahead, taking in the shape of the streets and the crowd beyond.

Even before they crossed the city border, the scents of freshly baked bread and roasted meat reached their noses. The smell was thick enough to cut through the dust of the road.

It felt like a place built to attract tourists. Vendors and shops were clustered at the entrance and stretched beyond it. Well-built houses and structures gave it the look of a cultural district, their fronts dressed to catch the eye.