Extra: Yandere Milfs Obsessed with me!

Chapter 474: Sulyvhan the Conqueror (5)

Ten years had passed since those days at the Alexandria Outpost... Time, that invisible sculptor, had reshaped the face of the continent according to the will of a single man. What was once only a precarious defensive position in the middle of a slag desert had become the beating heart of a reborn civilization. The kingdom, forged in the blood of demons and the sweat of the survivors, had officially transformed into the Empire of Alexandria. Its borders no longer merely contained the threat; they now extended over vast and fertile lands, wrested from corruption by purification rituals and modern agriculture.

Where demonic brambles once smothered life, fortified cities with white limestone ramparts now replaced the old villages of thatch and mud. Wide, well-maintained paved roads linked the provinces together, allowing merchant caravans to travel without fear. Thousands of inhabitants now lived in safety under the imperial banner, protected by an army whose discipline had become legendary. Abundant harvests, favored by innovative irrigation techniques, filled the granaries every autumn, banishing the specter of famine. In the cities, artisans produced goods in sufficient quantity for trade and daily needs, making the districts resonate with the sound of the anvil and the loom.

Sulyvhan Alexandria ruled over this whole with an authority and wisdom bordering on devotion for his people. He bore the title of Emperor, a title he had not sought for glory, but to stabilize a humanity that had drifted too long without a compass. His main palace stood at the heart of the capital, Alexandria the Great. The stone building, whose reflections recalled mother-of-pearl under the midday sun, dominated the central square where all the energies of the city converged. Solid towers housing war mages, and thick walls fitted with ballistae protected the city against any residual incursion. Inside, spacious halls with ceilings adorned with frescoes depicting the great battles welcomed imperial audiences and councils. Ordered gardens, true havens of peace where rare essences bloomed, surrounded the palace. Fountains, fed by underground aqueducts, flowed gently, their steady lapping soothing the most tormented minds.

Sulyvhan stood on the main balcony of his private apartments. His six-foot-three silhouette stood out against the azure sky. His long silver hair, a legacy of his past mutations, fell over his shoulders in a silky cascade that the light wind sometimes stirred. He wore a light and practical armor made of leather and dark metal plates, without excessive decorations... For him, finery was only a useless burden on the battlefield. His face remained calm and determined, though his silver pupils and black sclerae testified to a fatigue that only a sovereign can understand. His gaze swept over the lively city below with attention. Merchants were opening their shops, displaying Neon fabrics and exotic spices. Children ran in the streets, their laughter rising up to the palace like proof of the success of his work. Soldiers on patrol, whose armor shone in the light, maintained order with firm courtesy.

The sound of a heavy and regular step on the marble announced a familiar presence. Sulyvhan did not turn around, already knowing the aura that was approaching.

"The Empire seems prosperous this morning, Sire," Ashborn began in a low voice, coming to stand beside him.

Sulyvhan let out a slight breath, almost a sigh, while his gaze lingered on the slate roofs that gleamed under the morning sun. He observed the comings and goings of the merchants, the carts loaded with fruits and precious fabrics, the children running between the stalls. Everything seemed peaceful, almost too peaceful. He slowly turned toward Ashborn, his second, who stood motionless to his right, his hand resting on the guard of his sword.

"Prosperity is a fragile facade, Ashborn," he said in a low voice, tinged with a weariness he struggled to conceal. "It requires constant vigilance so as not to collapse under the weight of personal ambitions."

Ashborn slightly inclined his head, acknowledging his emperor’s words, but his gaze remained fixed on the market square. "Our generals are loyal," he retorted, though his tone betrayed an almost imperceptible hesitation. "Pendragon has secured the northern passes with exemplary rigor, and Dantalion manages the mana flows with formidable efficiency. No report signals any failure in their respective jurisdictions."

Sulyvhan slowly nodded, but his fingers drummed against the stone balustrade, betraying an inner agitation he could not quite master. He let the silence settle, weighing each word before formulating them. "Loyal to the Empire," he murmured, as if to himself. He finally pivoted on his heels to face Ashborn, plunging his gaze into that of his general. "I have convened the council of the seven generals for this afternoon. The latest reports from Silvernight mention unrest in the border provinces of Draken."

Ashborn frowned, and his hand instinctively tightened around the guard of his sword, a gesture he had adopted since his years of campaigns. "Draken is a man of action, Sire," he said, seeking to temper his sovereign’s concerns. "He tolerates administrative peace poorly, that is a known fact. But he knows the terrain better than anyone and he will know how to handle a few skirmishes without letting it degenerate. I know him, he is not the type to let a conflict fester through negligence."

"War is not a remedy for boredom," replied the Emperor in a dry, almost sharp tone, as if cutting short any attempt to downplay the situation. "It is a necessity that one endures. But tell me... how are the new recruits at the Academy? I have heard that this year’s class was particularly promising."

Ashborn’s face brightened with a slight smile, a rarity for him that did not escape Sulyvhan. "They are promising indeed," he admitted, his voice gaining warmth. "Some show exceptional aptitudes for handling aura."

Sulyvhan sketched a half-smile, though his thoughts remained hooked on the shadows gathering on the horizon of his empire. "I see..." he acknowledged, his gaze losing itself again toward the roofs of the city. He let the word float in the air before adding, almost to himself: "Make sure that this determination does not turn into blindness. Early talents are sometimes the most fragile when they collide with the realities of the world." He turned away from the balustrade, adjusting the folds of his cape, and his step echoed on the tiles as he headed toward the council halls. "Prepare the documents for this afternoon, Ashborn. I want every general to have a copy of the Silvernight reports before the session begins."