Time Skip – 3 Days

  The riders continued along the road in formation. People who passed by looked at them with awe. Nobles rode past in fine carriages. Merchants and travelers moved aside to give way. Even the capital's patrol guards, who checked others along the road, did not dare stop them. One glance at the man leading the group — and at the many demon riders behind him, warriors trained for battle and death — was enough.

  Who could stop them?

  Who would dare stand in the path of a prince? The one and only prince of the kingdom.

  No one dared.

  Three days had passed, and they were close to arriving at Aurial, the City of Gates. From his memories, he could recall only a vague image of the place. He rarely left the capital, but he had visited once during childhood, nearly forty-five years ago.

  Time worked differently for demons. Their aging followed another scale entirely. Ten demon years were roughly equal to four or five human years. By demon standards, he was around forty-six years old, yet in human terms he appeared no older than a man in his early twenties.

  And from what he remembered, the City of Gates was beautiful — a place filled with greenery, surrounded by towering walls, and lined with massive buildings and is also one of the Trading hub of the kingdom.

  The road rose slowly ahead of them.

  At first, nothing changed. Only stone beneath hooves and the steady rhythm of riders moving as one. But then the horizon shifted, and something vast began to appear.

  Aurial.

  The City of Gates.

  It stood like a giant carved from white stone, its walls stretching across the landscape. Towers rose high into the sky. Thick greenery surrounded parts of the outer wall, vines climbing along ancient stone while tall trees formed natural barriers around the city's edges.

  Beautiful.

  But also powerful.

  Trade roads converged toward the city from every direction. Merchant caravans formed long lines outside the entrance, wagons loaded with goods from distant lands. Some carried spices. Others metals, fabrics, or strange sealed crates guarded carefully by hired swords.

  The closer they came, the more noise filled the air.

  Shouting.

  Negotiations.

  The clatter of wheels.

  And then he saw it.

  The gate.

  It towered over everything else, easily three hundred feet tall, massive twin doors carved from dark metal reinforced with layered stone. Intricate carvings covered its entire surface — scenes of war, the rise of the kingdom, ancient victories, and the lineage of the Bealor family etched in deep, precise lines.

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  At the center, the Silver Crown symbol stood above all.

  Merchants moved through the entrance in controlled lines. Guards inspected papers one by one, checking seals and identities. Wagons were opened, supplies examined carefully before being allowed inside.

  Nothing passed unchecked.

  And the guards were different.

  Not the shining silver armor of the capital knights.

  These soldiers wore black armor built for combat rather than display. Long spears rested in their hands, tips faintly glowing. On their chests rested the sigil of House Bealor.

  They stood still as statues.

  Watching everything.

  The Demon Riders approached without slowing.

  People noticed immediately.

  Merchants stepped aside. Travelers pulled their wagons closer to the road edges. Conversations died as eyes turned toward the advancing formation.

  Two hundred riders.

  The guards at the gate stiffened.

  One figure broke from the line.

  A mounted Knight likely a commander rode forward, his armor marked with additional plates and a heavy black cloak trailing behind him. He stopped several meters away, raising a hand.

  "Stop at once."

  General Kael lifted his own hand.

  The entire formation halted instantly.

  Dust settled around them.

  Silence followed.

  The commander's eyes moved across the riders slowly, measuring each detail. When his gaze reached the silver-haired figure at the front, recognition flickered — but it did not soften his expression.

  He kept his distance.

  "State your identity," he said firmly. "And your purpose in approaching Aurial."

  A murmur moved through nearby merchants. Some stared openly, shocked that anyone would challenge a royal procession.

  Kael moved slightly forward.

  "General Kael. Border Command. Escorting Prince Dae Silver. We request entry and audience with Lord Bealor."

  The commander's eyes narrowed.

  "Demon Riders this deep inside the kingdom…" he said slowly.

  His gaze shifted back to Dae.

  "And even if you are a prince, protocol remains."

  Respect.

  But no fear.

  Different from the capital.

  Dae watched him calmly, expression distant, almost bored.

  Interesting.

  Very interesting.

  Kael spoke again. "We are on official work."

  "What work?" the commander asked.

  "Classified."

  Silence stretched.

  Wind moved lightly across the road, stirring cloaks and banners high above the gate.

  Finally, the commander spoke again.

  "You cannot enter with your full force," he said. "Either wait here while I request instructions… or only one person proceeds inside."

  The Demon Riders remained motionless.

  Wind moved across the road.

  General Kael shifted his horse forward slightly. His expression did not change, but his voice carried clear authority.

  "We will enter," he said calmly. "Our mission comes directly from the Crown. We are not here for trade or politics. We require immediate passage and an audience with Lord Bealor."

  The commander did not move.

  His grip tightened slightly on his spear.

  "Protocol exists for a reason," the commander replied, his hand resting near his hilt. "Even royal authority does not allow an armed force to enter Aurial without approval."

  Kael's gaze did not waver as the commander finished speaking. Behind him, the Demon Riders remained perfectly still, their formation unbroken, horses shifting only slightly beneath armored riders who waited without impatience. The air between both groups grew heavier, not because weapons were drawn but because none were needed; the presence of trained warriors alone was enough to make nearby merchants pull their wagons aside and retreat farther from the road. Even the noise of trade began to fade, conversations lowering into cautious murmurs as people watched the standoff unfold.

  Before Kael could respond again, movement stirred from within the gates.

  A single rider approached from the shadowed passage beyond the massive doors, moving at an unhurried pace that immediately drew attention. The reaction from the Bealor guards was instant. Lines straightened, spears lowered slightly in respect rather than defense, and the commander turned sharply before dismounting in one fluid motion. His boots struck the stone as he lowered his head deeply.

  "My Lady," he said.