Chapter 82 - 16

The grand hall of the Apex Estate was filled with a chaotic mix of dramatic weeping, heated arguments, and absolute pandemonium. Word of Arthur’s departure had spread through the private executive wing, and the twelve women who effectively controlled the continent were handling the news with varying degrees of emotional ruin and frantic scheming.

"You can’t just leave us in this massive palace alone!" Nisha wailed, her large fox ears pinned flat against her head as she clung desperately to Arthur’s right leg like a heartbroken child, her plush orange tail thrashing against the marble floor. "Who’s going to review my trade reports?! Who’s going to scratch behind my ears when I pretend to be exhausted?! Master, take me with you! I can squeeze into your luggage! I’m very flexible!"

"Get off his leg, you loud-mouthed fox!" Greta roared, though her own eyes were noticeably watery as she wiped her nose with her thick leather blacksmith sleeve. "He’s going to study, not going on a hunting trip! But Arthur, lad... at least let me send a squad of heavy-armored forge-golems to stand outside your apartment door! What if the plumbing in a commoner building breaks?! Who’s going to fix your pipes?!"

"I have already drafted seven separate covert infiltration operations," Valerie, the Grand Marshal of Security, declared with deadpan seriousness, unrolling a tactical map of the academy district across the dining table. "Option A: I disguise myself as a transfer student in his class. Option B: I bribe the landlord and occupy the apartment directly above his. Option C: I deploy forty elite stealth operatives to set up a perimeter on the surrounding rooftops—"

"Option D is that you do none of those things and sit down, Valerie!" Lyra interjected firmly, though her own cheeks were flushed and her violet eyes held a shimmering layer of unshed tears. She stood beside Arthur, holding his small, solitary travel bag with a protective grip. "We promised him he could live a normal life for a few months! If forty secret service guards start hanging from his apartment gutters, it ruins the entire point!"

Baroness Ignis let out a booming, theatrical sigh, resting her chin in her massive hand while lounging on a velvet couch. "A king sleeping in a cramped, tiny room... It breaks my dragon heart. If any of those scrawny academy girls try to flirt with my man, I’m burning the freshman dorms to the ground."

"I have already placed a curse—I mean, a protective spell—on his enrollment token," Celeste, the Chief Archmage, stammered nervously, adjusting her spectacles while her face turned a deep, flustered pink. "If any student approaches within two inches of him with ill intent, their hair will temporarily turn bright purple!"

"That is wildly unprofessional, Celeste, and I completely support it," Madame Vespera purred, giving Arthur a long, lingering wink while dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

After an hour of chaotic goodbyes, tearful hugs, and dozens of hidden tracking charms being quietly removed from his coat by Arthur himself, he finally managed to step out of the estate’s private rear gate.

He wore no tailored silk, no jeweled cuffs, and no sovereign coat. Dressed in a simple, high-collared dark shirt, durable trousers, and carrying a single leather duffel bag over his shoulder, Arthur looked like nothing more than a handsome, low-born youth from the provinces. A specialized mana-suppression ring on his right finger completely veiled his immense magical signature, downscaling his public aura to that of an average, unremarkable freshman.

Leaving the secluded palace hill behind, Arthur walked briskly down toward the heart of Aegis City’s residential district.

The afternoon air was warm and vibrant, carrying the rich scents of roasting coffee beans, melted chocolate, and fresh artisan pastries from the street-side cafes. As Arthur walked along the wide, stone-paved avenues, a deep, quiet sense of pride welled up within his chest.

Three years ago, this land was a desolate, dust-choked wasteland of broken rocks and abandoned mud shacks. Now, he was walking through a thriving, modern metropolis created entirely by his own economic engine.

He passed a towering three-story marble building with sleek glass windows, where the bold gold sign of the Continental Central Bank caught the sunlight. Outside, ordinary citizens, common merchants, and mercenary women stood in orderly queues, casually making deposits and withdrawing crisp, blue paper banknotes featuring Lyra’s public profile print. Nobody was carrying heavy, cumbersome sacks of copper or silver anymore. The financial system he designed was breathing life into every corner of the city.

Across the street, modern fashion boutiques displayed colorful, lightweight cotton dresses and tailored coats on glass mannequins—a far cry from the scratchy, unrefined wool robes of the old kingdom. Young noblewomen and female adventurers sat under colorful cafe umbrellas, sipping hot iced-coffee and milk tea, chatting animatedly about the latest stock dividend rates, luxury perfume trends, and regional travel discounts.

"Did you hear?" a young female swordswoman at a nearby table laughed, holding up a freshly printed morning newspaper. "The Central Transport Union just added three new Sky-Drake routes to the northern port! We can reach the ocean in four hours now!"

"I’m saving my banknotes for the new mana-powered stove," her companion replied eagerly. "My mother says it bakes bread twice as fast without any wood smoke!"

Arthur walked past them with a subtle, satisfied smirk. The people were happy, the economy was booming, and civilization was moving forward at a staggering pace. They had no idea that the silent architect who made their modern lives possible was casually strolling right past their tables, carrying his own luggage.

Turning off the main commercial boulevard, Arthur entered a quiet, tree-lined residential alleyway near the edge of the academy district. The buildings here were neat, four-story stone apartments with wrought-iron balconies and blooming flower boxes.

He climbed the clean, narrow wooden staircase of an unassuming residential building, stopping at the far end of the second-floor hallway.

Reaching into his pocket, Arthur pulled out a simple brass key. He stood directly in front of his apartment door—Door 204—and took a long, quiet breath.

Behind this door lay no servants, no bank ledgers, no dragonkin war-matrons, and no continental decrees. Just a bed, a desk, a window overlooking the city, and the threshold of a completely new life.

Arthur inserted the brass key into the lock, turned it with a sharp, satisfying click, and pushed the door open.