A/N:🎉 Chapter 100 🎉
Thanks everyone for all the support, comments, and feedback. I never thought I'd make it to 100 chapters.
Also, sorry for not being very active lately. I've been working a part-time job to save up for a laptop, and I finally got one! Hopefully, I'll be able to write and update more consistently now.
Since we've reached Chapter 100, I'd like to hear your thoughts:
1. What's your favorite part of the story so far?
2. What's one thing I could improve?
3. Who's your favorite character?
4. What would you like to see in future chapters?
5. Any questions, feedback, or suggestions?
Thanks again for reading and supporting the story. Here's to the next 100 chapters!
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"Ahem…! Ravel, your turn."
I cleared my throat, the sound feeling jarringly loud against the sudden, suffocating silence of the arena.
With a movement that was equal parts strategic retreat and blatant cowardice, I stepped behind her.
I made sure to use her slight, elegant frame as a human shield against the thousands of eyes currently boring into my soul from the spectator stands.
I had absolutely no intention of taking the lead in this conversation.
None. Zero.
In the hierarchy of social survival, I was currently demoting myself to "inconspicuous accessory."
Ravel turned her head just enough to catch my eye.
The look she gave me was a masterclass in non-verbal evisceration.
It was the kind of stare a high-society queen might reserve for a particularly disappointing dung beetle she had just discovered marring the surface of an imperial silk carpet.
It was cold, judgmental, and radiated a level of disappointment so profound it made me feel like the most pathetic lifeform in the multiverse.
I felt smaller than a grain of sand beneath her golden gaze.
But then again, I couldn't really blame her.
I had just shunted the responsibility of a potential first-contact war onto her shoulders because I was too socially stunted to say "hello" to a man holding a weapon.
Without a word, Ravel turned away, dismissing my entire existence with a flick of her hair.
To her, in this moment, I was nothing more than background scenery—a piece of scenery that happened to be hyperventilating and sweating through his shirt, but scenery nonetheless.
In my defense, this was a specialized field.
We were dealing with a knight who radiated "Main Character Energy" so hard it was practically a physical heat.
He had been in the middle of a formal, high-stakes duel before we had quite literally fallen from the heavens and turned his workplace into a geological disaster zone.
If anyone was suited to handle the fallout of an orbital drop into a foreign monarchy, it was Ravel Phenex.
As a daughter of some noble of the Underworld and a scion of the Phenex Clan, politics, lethal etiquette, and the silver-tongued dance of diplomacy should be woven into her very marrow.
I would be a literal idiot not to let the professional handle it.
Ravel took a single, elegant step forward.
The dust from our landing still swirled around her ankles like a dying violet mist.
The knight—a man with violet hair that caught the sunlight like polished amethyst—did not lower his wooden training sword.
His posture was a coiled spring, tense and lethally professional.
Despite the lethal tension, Ravel didn't flinch.
With the practiced grace of a prima ballerina, she lifted the sides of her skirt and performed a ceremonial bow.
It was so perfect, so impossibly refined, that it felt like a silent insult to the entire concept of gravity.
"Sir Knight," Ravel began.
Her voice had undergone a complete transformation.
It wasn't the spoiled, sharp-edged tone she used to berate me.
It was honeyed, calm, and carried a melodic authority that seemed to physically soothe the agitated air in the arena.
"Please forgive our group's unwarranted intrusion upon your sacred duel, Sir Knight. We are acutely aware that our arrival must have been… disruptive to the day's proceedings."
The word 'disruptive' was a massive understatement, considering we were standing in a some-foot crater, but she said it with such poise that it sounded like a minor social faux pas, like using the wrong fork at a royal gala.
"If it is not too much trouble," she continued, a gentle, disarming smile touching her lips, "we would be profoundly grateful if you could find it in your heart to overlook this unfortunate disturbance. Our appearance here was entirely accidental—a cruel quirk of fate, rather than a gesture of malice toward your house or your person."
I watched from the safety of her wake, mesmerized.
She wasn't just talking; she was conducting an orchestra.
I'm just an introvert who can barely order a coffee without rehearsing the transaction three times in my head; watching Ravel navigate a high-stakes interrogation was like watching a master assassin work with a silken thread.
The knight's guard didn't drop.
His gaze was like a scalpel, attempting to peel back the layers of our identities.
"Explain who you are," he demanded.
His voice was firm, the tone of a man who had spent his life giving orders and having them followed.
"And explain how four individuals fall from the atmosphere without a scratch, leaving a crater that would suggest the impact of a falling meteor."
Ravel's smile didn't falter.
If anything, it grew more refined—sharper, like a hidden blade.
"Of course, Sir Knight," she replied smoothly.
"Although in the lands we hail from, it is considered a matter of basic common courtesy to introduce oneself before demanding the lineage and business of a lady."
She paused, letting the silence hang just long enough to make it excruciatingly awkward for him.
"But please, do not misunderstand. I hold no intention of judging your manners under such… stressful circumstances. One can hardly expect perfect courtly etiquette from a man who has just had his duel interrupted by a meteor."
Holy crap.
She just called the Knight, who is holding a wooden sword against her neck, a rude peasant while sounding like a choir of angels.
I could see the vein in the Knight's temple throb.
"I am Ravel," she continued, ignoring the knight's tightening jaw. "Ravel Phenex."
She gestured to me with a dismissive wave. "The gentleman attempting to merge with the masonry is Zevion."
She motioned behind me. "The quiet girl is Mashiro."
Finally, she looked toward Giratina. "And our companion, Gira."
Ravel sighed softly, a touch of "exhausted traveler" entering her voice.
"My friend Gira was practicing a complex form of displacement magic. Unfortunately, due to a sudden mana disruption in the local ley lines—which we suspect are quite volatile in this region—we were pulled off course. We mean no harm to your kingdom, your king, or your people."
It was a beautiful lie.
A masterpiece of spontaneous fiction.
She had taken our chaotic reality and sanded it down into a "magic accident" that fit the logic of a fantasy world.
The knight remained silent for several long seconds.
The air in the arena felt heavy, saturated with the smell of scorched stone and the expectant, nervous breath of the thousands of spectators in the stands.
Then, slowly, with a deliberate motion, the knight lowered his training sword.
He returned it to its sheath with a crisp, metallic click.
"Of course, milady," he said, bowing his head in a display of formal respect that felt more like a tactical surrender.
"I must apologize for my lack of decorum. My name is Julius Juukulius, of the Royal Guard."
"I hope you can forgive my earlier suspicion," Julius continued, his voice regaining its practiced composure. "The circumstances were… unprecedented."
I blinked, trying to process the sheer absurdity of the situation.
This political dance was both fascinating and terrifying.
They were trading insults and apologies in the same breath, maintaining a veneer of civility that hid a dozen daggers.
If I had opened my mouth, I probably would have accidentally declared war on the entire kingdom's military within ten seconds.
Ravel nodded gracefully, accepting his apology as if it were her birthright.
"Sir Julius, would you be so kind as to inform us of our current coordinates? We would very much like to return to our homeland, and any information regarding our surroundings would be a kindness we would not soon forget."
"Stop, Julius. That young lady is lying."
The voice was like a calm breeze that somehow carried the weight of an incoming avalanche.
The atmosphere in the arena didn't just change; it shattered.
At the entrance to the arena floor stood a man who looked like he had been painted into reality by a god with a preference for the color red.
His hair was the color of a fresh sunset, brilliant and striking.
He didn't look like a warrior so much as a living monument to the concept of Justice.
At his waist sat a sword that felt alive, even while sheathed.
He didn't radiate bloodlust or intimidation; he radiated a terrifying, overwhelming sense of correctness.
It was as if the universe itself was nodding in agreement with his every movement.
"Forgive my intrusion," the man said.
His voice was gentle, yet it commanded the very molecules in the air to stay still. "I am Reinhard van Astrea."
He placed a hand over his heart, a gesture of humility that somehow felt more powerful than a King's decree.
"My lady," Reinhard said, his crystalline blue eyes locking onto Ravel's golden ones.
"Would you care to explain your situation with the truth this time?"
His expression softened, but his gaze remained that of a celestial judge.
"And please be aware… I have a Divine Protection that makes it impossible for a lie to pass by me unnoticed. To me, a falsehood sounds like a discordant note in a beautiful song."
The shift was instantaneous.
Julius stepped back, yielding the floor without a word.
The crowd's murmurs died instantly, replaced by a reverent silence.
Reinhard hadn't just entered the conversation; he had taken ownership of the world.
Ravel didn't panic.
She didn't even blink.
Instead, she took a half-step forward, matching his intensity with her own noble fire.
The air between them seemed to crackle with static.
"Of course, Sir Reinhard," she said, her voice like silk drawn over a steel blade.
"But I never claimed to have told you our secrets. I merely told you a story that was convenient for the moment."
She tilted her head, a daring, faint smile appearing on her face.
"After all, why should a lady reveal her private affairs and the mechanics of her travel to total strangers who greet her with drawn steel and suspicion?"
Bold. Dangerously bold. She was talking back to the Royalty here!
"But," she continued, her tone cooling, "it is true that we are not here to harm anyone. It is also true that we are lost. Our arrival was an accident of fate and spatial instability. If your 'protection' is as absolute as you claim, then you should also know that we carry no malicious intentions toward this city or its inhabitants."
The silence that followed was a physical weight.
Reinhard and Ravel stared at each other—the Royalty of Lugunica and the Princess of the Phenex.
It was like watching two grandmasters move pieces on a board only they could see, a battle of wills that required no weapons.
Finally, Reinhard broke.
He let out a cheerful, genuine laugh that shattered the tension like thin glass.
"Hahaha! Well, that much is certainly true," he said, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish, boyish grin.
"Please forgive my rudeness, milady. I hope you can understand my perspective. It is quite alarming when a presence as dark… and as powerful as yours companion's suddenly appears in the heart of the capital without warning."
His eyes flickered past Ravel. Past me. Directly to Giratina.
My heart skipped a beat.
Giratina was in her human form, her presence suppressed to the point of being a ghost.
And yet, Reinhard had seen her strength.
"This land is the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica," Reinhard explained, his tone shifting back to that of a friendly, hospitable guide.
"Specifically, the Royal Capital."
"I express my gratitude, Sir Reinhard," Ravel said, bowing again—this time with a hint of genuine respect for a man she clearly recognized as a peer in power.
"Your assistance has been invaluable. If you will allow it, we shall take our leave so as not to disrupt your duties or your duel any further."
Reinhard smiled warmly and stepped aside, gesturing toward the exit.
"Of course. You are free to go. I hope that we may meet again under better circumstances—perhaps over tea, rather than in a crater of your making."
Ravel gave a sharp signal with her eyes.
Follow me. Now.
We didn't wait for a second invitation.
We followed her toward the exit, our footsteps echoing in the massive, hollow space of the arena.
As we stepped out of the stone corridors and into the bustling streets of Lugunica, a wave of heat, noise, and the smell of a living, breathing city hit me.
The architecture was medieval yet grand, with stone buildings and horse-drawn carriages filling the cobblestone roads.
Ravel had navigated a political minefield and come out without a scratch.
I looked at the back of her head, feeling a surge of pride mixed with genuine terror.
She wasn't just a spoiled girl from the Underworld anymore. In this world, she was a powerhouse.
...
POV: Julius Juukulius
...
The dust settled as the mysterious group disappeared into the dense crowds of the capital.
Julius slowly approached Reinhard, his hand still resting white-knuckled on the hilt of his wooden sword.
His heart was still racing—a sensation he wasn't accustomed to in the presence of mere travelers.
"Reinhard," Julius said quietly, his eyes fixed on the empty crater.
"Explain something to me."
The Sword Saint turned, his expression unusually somber, the cheerful mask he usually wore having slipped just a fraction.
"Why did you stop me?" Julius asked.
"When the girl admitted to the deception, I had a window. I could have disarmed them and taken them into custody for questioning before they could weave another spell."
Reinhard looked at the crater, then at the distant silhouettes of the four travelers as they rounded a street corner.
"Well…" Reinhard began slowly, his voice low.
"If I hadn't stopped you…"
He paused, looking at his own hand as if checking for tremors that shouldn't be there.
"You would have died, Julius. Within a fraction of a second."
Julius stiffened, his pride as a knight flaring.
"I am a Knight of the Royal Guard, Reinhard. I am not so easily dispatched by—"
"No," Reinhard interrupted, his voice devoid of any hyperbole or comfort.
"I said that incorrectly. Forgive me."
Julius frowned.
It was extremely rare for Reinhard to misspeak or admit to an error in judgment.
"If I hadn't stepped between you and that group," Reinhard said, his blue eyes reflecting a deep, unsettling clarity, "then all of us in this arena—every knight, every spectator, and every stone of this building—would have ceased to exist before we even felt the heat of the blast."
Julius felt a cold sweat prickle the back of his neck. The summer air suddenly felt freezing.
"All of us? Even you, Reinhard?"
Reinhard didn't answer immediately.
He just watched the spot where the woman called Gira had stood.
He remembered the way the air had curdled around her, as if reality itself was trying to pull away from her presence.
"I don't know," the Sword Saint whispered, and the honesty in his voice was the most terrifying thing Julius had ever heard.
"And for the first time in my life, Julius… I'm glad I didn't have to find out."
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