The streets of Ross were alive with celebration. Countless citizens lined both sides of the main road, cheering with unrestrained joy as the victorious army returned to the capital. Banners fluttered in the late afternoon breeze, children waved small flags, and the sound of drums and trumpets filled the air.
Seated tall upon his horse, King Gavin Ward surveyed the scene. His sharp eyes softened when he saw the people—men, women, and children—dressed in new, clean clothes. Though many still bore the marks of poverty in their thin frames, their spirits radiated vigor and hope unlike anything seen just weeks before.
This transformation was not born of chance. It was the direct result of the reforms Gavin had driven forward. New looms now flooded the markets with affordable cloth, bringing dignity to the poor. Factories—sponsored and organized by the crown—had been established across Rose City, offering jobs to every able hand. With wages came food, with food came strength, and with strength came pride. For the first time in years, no citizen went hungry.
They knew whom they had to thank. The change was visible, undeniable, and deeply personal. For that reason, the cheers that rang out did not simply greet a king—they welcomed the man who had restored their dignity.
Gavin raised a hand in greeting, his smile both gentle and commanding.
"His Majesty just waved at me!" cried a young girl, clutching her friend's arm in disbelief.
"He smiled at us!" another shrieked, her voice cracking with excitement.
A group of women along the roadside screamed like children at a festival. The joy was contagious, washing over soldiers and citizens alike.
The soldiers themselves, hardened men who had just returned from bloody fields, found their eyes wet. To march home as defenders of the people and be embraced as heroes—it was worth every sacrifice. They no longer carried themselves as weary warriors but as proud guardians of their homeland.
All of this was possible only because of one man—their king.
A chime echoed softly in Gavin's mind.
> [Army Belonging +10 | Army Glory +10 | Personal Worship +10]
The system's prompt brought another small smile to his face. He had not only won battles—he had won hearts.
---
A Day Later
Far from the capital, a carriage trundled down a dusty road. The young elf maid, Ya'er, leaned out of the window, her eyes shining as she spotted the silhouette of towers and walls in the distance.
"Your Highness! Look! We're nearly there!" she cried.
Her voice trembled with excitement as she continued, "That's the capital. My eagle scouts confirmed it—the army has entered the city!"
Inside the carriage, a figure shifted eagerly. It was Her Royal Highness, an elf princess, traveling across the continent to witness the legendary miracle army of mortals. She leaned forward, her emerald eyes wide.
"Finally…" she whispered.
Her heart raced as she imagined the army that had shattered every assumption about war. With no mages at their command—only common mortals—they had defeated an enemy one hundred thousand strong, whose ranks boasted sky mages and monstrous power. Such a feat could only be called divine.
That was why she had left her distant homeland. To see this miracle with her own eyes.
But more than the army, her thoughts drifted toward their leader.
"What kind of man could command such a force?" she wondered aloud.
In her imagination, he shifted from form to form. Perhaps a stern, middle-aged general, carved from discipline and steel. Or a grizzled veteran with white beard and weathered eyes. Or maybe a dazzlingly young commander, handsome and sharp as a blade.
Her thoughts turned mischievous, and she pictured a statuesque warrior woman clad in gleaming armor, long legs and bold beauty that could command both the battlefield and hearts alike.
At that thought, the elf princess's gaze dropped to her own slender figure. With a sigh, she muttered under her breath. "If only…"
Ya'er, riding opposite her, didn't notice. She was too thrilled by the thought of seeing the great king of Ross.
---
Meanwhile, in Rose City
Unaware of the fantasies spun about him, Gavin Ward was buried in government affairs. Reports of harvest planning, military expansion, and population movements stacked high before him.
Rose City had changed beyond recognition. Half a month ago, he had ordered a massive relocation to swell the city's numbers. Now over 250,000 people called Rose City home, and the number was still climbing.
Fields stretched outward from the walls, alive with labor. Hybrid rice seeds, newly distributed, promised bountiful harvests. The season was right, and every day new land was reclaimed and sown.
Farmers worked tirelessly, joined by their families. Women, too, plowed and planted, while their sons prepared to serve in the king's expanding army. Gavin had already drafted plans: the standing army would grow from two thousand to ten thousand. With stability at home and abundance in the fields, manpower would never run dry.
The elf princess's carriage rolled past these very fields. To her, the sight was mesmerizing. Farmers sang as they worked, sweat glistening in the sun. Children carried baskets, women tended crops, and laughter rang out even amidst toil.
"It's so lively!" Ya'er exclaimed, pointing at the bustling scene.
The princess smiled warmly. Elves revered nature, and though these were simple farms, the thriving greenery delighted her heart. She leaned out of the carriage, taking in the sight of mortals living in harmony with the land.
Yet the people, noticing the elegant strangers, paused. Few had ever seen elves before. Whispers spread, and eyes followed the carriage with curiosity and awe.
---
At the City Gates
The carriage finally reached Rose City's gates. The guards, sharp-eyed and disciplined, stepped forward to block the path.
"Halt! Who goes there?" barked a soldier, lowering his spear.
Ya'er puffed out her chest proudly. "We are elven travelers, journeying across the continent. We have come to meet the leader of your victorious army!"
At her words, the soldiers stiffened. Elves? Here? Suspicion flickered in their eyes. But the mention of the war—the impossible victory—made them cautious.
Inside the city, Gavin listened as his steward, Stephens, leaned close and whispered urgent news.
"Your Majesty," he said. "An elven delegation has arrived at the gates. They request an audience… with you."
Gavin's pen paused mid-stroke. His brow furrowed, and his deep voice rumbled.
"Elves? They want to see me?"
The thought left him both intrigued and cautious.
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