The Royal Capital, Zellheim.
This was a city built upon canals and a harbor, its vast, intricate framework formed by countless bridges and artificial islands.
Using tides and magic, its people powered an enormous system of sluice gates that worked day and night, keeping the city breathing.
Veylin rode along the bustling Golden Radiance Avenue, leading a squad of guards.
At the edges of the avenue, farmers newly arrived in the city huddled timidly, their coarse linen shirts smelling of earth and livestock.
The townspeople and merchants looked far more respectable, dressed in dyed woolen garments as they hurried along.
Those who dared occupy the middle of the broad avenue were nobles and clerics in lavish carriages, their robes woven from silk or velvet in vivid colors.
Veylin silently observed it all: meticulous urban planning, efficient transportation, and a sizable urban middle class.
The prosperity here already echoed Blue Star on the eve of the Industrial Revolution.
Before long, Veylin found Count Lyman's residence in the Royal Capital.
Compared with the estate in Greenvein City, it was much smaller, but in the heart of the Royal Capital, where every inch of land cost a fortune, owning a courtyard residence like this was already a symbol of power.
Veylin and his party dismounted and entered the residence.
Only a wall separated it from the bustling scene outside, yet Count Lyman's residence was shrouded in gloom.
The servants stepped lightly, tension written across their faces, and instinctively lowered their voices when they spoke.
Inside the study, heavy curtains blocked most of the light, leaving only a long, narrow strip slanting across the carpet, dust drifting visibly within it.
Count Lyman sat behind his desk, his expression dark.
Veylin sat opposite him, his expression calm.
Veylin could tell that his uncle was unhappy.