52- 67 – Avaland

In the middle of the open sea, beneath an endless blue sky and heavy waves crashing against the hull, a colossal war structure rose above the water. It was fashioned from dark, near-ash wood, with thick masts and shell carvings lining the bulwarks. Yet it was no ordinary vessel. It was merely the outer rim of Avaland, a colossal floating city that stretched across the waters like a living fortress.

A flash of teleportation flared across the main deck, and Sophia and Kielen materialized upon the wooden planks.

Before they could even take a single step, the heavy thrum of drums echoed through the air:

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

"INTRUDERS ON DECK!" a lookout roared from high above. "ACTIVATE WAR STANCE!"

In less than five seconds, dozens of soldiers burst from the hatches, encircling the pair from every direction.

The men were tall and muscular, their dark skin gleaming with sweat and oil. Most wore crude leathers, displaying raw chunks of gold and ivory driven directly into their flesh as tribal marks of lineage. In their hands, they gripped marine hunting spears, short axes, and heavy cleavers.

A burly warrior with gold-capped teeth and deep scars across his face stepped forward, axe in hand.

"What the fuck is this? Who authorized you to set foot on the edge of Avaland?" the man demanded in a harsh, grating voice. "Drop your weapons and get on your knees right now, or you go straight to the belly of the sharks!"

Sophia remained motionless.

Her blue eyes unfocused, looking straight past the man's head. She gazed toward the center of Avaland, where floating spires climbed into the sky. There, she caught the faint yet unmistakable residue of a powerful magical signature that had once passed through this place.

She recognized that mana instantly. It belonged to Mage Norton.

Her master had been here, and she required every scrap of information regarding his whereabouts. In order not to lose track of that subtle resonance in the air, Sophia did not even bother glancing at the soldiers. Without turning her head, she dropped a curt, cold command:

"Handle it."

Kielen stepped forward. The light robe of translucent ice covering her body shimmered beneath the fierce sun, encasing her chest and torso in a firm protective layer while leaving only the dark skin of her neck and arms visible.

She drew a deep breath and tried to project authority:

"The person beside me is the noble mage Sophia Vogen, disciple of Mage Norton. We have not come to attack this city. We must speak with whoever commands Avaland..." Kielen paused for a brief second, swallowed hard, and finished: "...with the emperor."

The lead soldier gritted his teeth. His initial surprise quickly curdled into pure outrage.

"Insolent!" the man spat onto the deck, his voice trembling with fury. "A wretch who does not respect our land, does not respect our emperor's name, allies herself with an outsider, and still dares make demands? Kneel and accept your death, for a swift demise will be a mercy compared to what you truly deserve!"

Kielen tried to cut through the man's shouting:

"I am speaking on behalf of an illustrious guest-"

"Shut your mouth!" the man barked with brutal force. "If your mistress wants to say something, she can speak for herself, not a rat like you!"

With that, the man turned his head and looked Sophia up and down. A crude, lustful grin spread across his face:

"Then again... that white friend of yours would make a fine place to dump my load."

A cold disgust churned in Sophia's stomach.

At the same time, her level 22 magical presence was already causing the air to vibrate with immense weight, setting off the floating city's silent wards. She immediately sensed far denser and deadlier auras closing in at high speed across the deck.

There was no time to waste on trash.

Sophia turned slowly toward the men. Her gaze held nothing but pure indifference:

"If you have nothing to say, shut up."

A wave of absolute cold erupted from the ground in a perfect ring.

Every soldier encircling the area froze instantly on the spot, transformed into rigid statues of ice, their faces still contorted in rage. But the man who had opened his filthy mouth received a different fate. The frigid mana drove straight through his pores, freezing his blood, flesh, and bone in a fraction of a second.

His body did not shatter onto the wood. It dissolved into thousands of tiny snowflakes that scattered into the air, blown away by the sea breeze without leaving a single trace.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed across the timber.

The elite mages finally entered the area, weapons drawn, advancing with wide strides.

They wore uniform armor crafted from dark-green scales, their joints bound by a shimmering blue fluid. Their heads were completely concealed beneath closed helms crested with four curved horns, leaving only dark slits through which it was impossible to discern where they were looking. In their hands, they brandished heavy maces, short spears, and broad axes charged with water and tide enchantments.

Sophia merely flicked her left hand casually to the side.

A thick dome of translucent ice, resembling a sealed igloo, rose from the deck around Kielen in less than a second, locking the servant safely within.

Kielen pressed both hands against the frigid wall, watching the battle unfold through the ice. Her heart hammered against her throat.

"Please, do not lose," she whispered to herself, pressing a hand against her chest. "I cannot fall back into their hands."

The trauma of being used and abused for so long by the warriors of the coast was still far too raw for her to endure the thought of seeing her benefactor fall.

The commander of the elite mages was an imposing warrior, his four-horned helmet standing proud at the front of the formation. Seeing the frozen soldiers and the protective dome rise, he took a slow step forward.

He locked his gaze onto Sophia, recognizing the magical aura humming in the air:

"Even your master treats us with respect, yet here you are, attacking and slaughtering our men as if we were weaklings. It seems the surface has long forgotten who we are. Your master is not here, so we shall be the ones to teach you a lesson."

In the very next instant, the elite mages surged forward in flawless synchronization, fanning across the deck to envelop Sophia from all flanks.

Sophia raised her right hand and unleashed three long ice spears toward the warriors charging head-on.

The spears tore through the air at blinding speed. The commander deflected the first with an enchanted war axe, shattering the spell into crystalline shards. The second struck a soldier squarely in the chest, but the marine scale armor absorbed the impact. The tip fractured and clattered to the deck without piercing the plate.

Sophia planted her foot firmly into the wood.

Sharp spikes erupted directly beneath the warrior on her left. With swift reflexes, the man leaped into the air to evade the splintering floor.

Surprised by the man's reaction speed, Sophia did not freeze. While he hung suspended in midair with no footing, she thrust her open palm forward.

A spike of ice three times thicker and denser blasted outward like a solid log.

The stake slammed into the warrior mid-jump, shattering his scale armor and impaling him against the wooden bulwark, pinning him in place.

Sophia moved to conjure another heavy spike against the soldier advancing on her right, but a mage from the rear hurled an enchanted war axe, wreathed in scorching blue flames.

The combined impact of incoming maces battered Sophia's frost barrier, throwing off her balance. In that split second, the fire-infused axe whistled past her left flank.

The blade did not bite into her flesh.

The fiery spell burned away the delicate linen of her Taoist robe without harming her skin, yet the heat incinerated the noble fabric, exposing her left shoulder and one of her full, fair breasts to plain view. Her nipple was already hardened from the cold she emanated, circled by a delicate areola of soft pink.

Time seemed to grind to a halt.

Sophia froze for a fraction of a second, stunned that an attack had breached her guard.

Around her, the warriors fixed their eyes upon the noble mage's exposed flesh, their gazes heavy with raw lust at the sight of a body so immaculate.

In Sophia's mind, Mage Norton's stern voice resonated with force:

"You are exceedingly powerful, Sophia, but you lack real battlefield experience. Never underestimate an enemy and take them for weak. That is why I am giving you this robe. It can withstand even a powerful attack."

The memory struck her like a violent slap.

It was an unbearable humiliation. She had committed a novice combat error her master had forewarned her about, expending the protective enchantment of her attire. And worse, her body had just been laid bare before the filthy eyes of those men.

As they watched in stunned silence, the magical threads of the Taoist robe began to weave themselves back together, knitting the destroyed linen in a seamless flow until the garment was fully restored, concealing her skin once more.

Yet the fury in her chest had already breached all limits.

Sophia's eyes turned entirely blue, deep and freezing cold. Her hair drifted upward in the air as mana pressure spilled violently from her frame. The atmosphere on the deck grew so suffocatingly heavy that every warrior present felt a chill of terror crawl up his spine.

She raised both open hands.

A monumental mass of ice cascaded over the bulwarks and crashed into the open ocean.

Within seconds, a monstrous shelf of solid ice expanded across the sea, freezing the waves into a petrified white plain stretching hundreds of meters around the hull.

Then came the impact

Avaland had been moving at a steady speed. Colliding against the colossal sheet of ice that materialized from nothing was as though someone had slammed the emergency brakes on the entire city.

The violent jolt shook the colossal timbers and stone towers alike. High watchtowers swayed, beams groaned under extreme strain, and alarms began wailing across every sector. The floating city shuddered to a sudden, violent halt in the open sea.

On deck, Sophia moved with lethal composure, her hair floating in the air. She broke limbs and crushed the warriors charging her until not a single man remained standing. Within the ice dome nearby, Kielen kept her eyes wide, trembling at the aftermath.

It was then that approaching auras descended from the heavens.

Gliding through the air with wind spells, a squad of men landed upon the frost-coated timbers of the deck.

Leading them was a tall, broad-shouldered young man of athletic build. He wore only dark trousers, his skin tanned by the coastal sun, his bare chest and arms entirely smooth and devoid of gold, jewels, or tribal marks. In his right hand, he held a short spear with a polished tip.

The fallen soldiers still drawing breath upon the wood looked up in relief:

"The Prince!"

"Prince Theron has arrived!"

Theron surveyed the carnage around him. He had watched the final moments of the slaughter from high above, witnessing his finest warriors eradicated by a single woman.

He stepped forward with firm strides, leveling his spear toward her:

"Sophia, I have long heard your illustrious name. But here you stand within Avaland, where disrespect is not permitted. And I, Prince Theron, demand that-"

Sophia did not even allow him to finish speaking.

With the fury of her mistake still searing her thoughts, she had zero interest in hearing demands.

Her entirely blue eyes locked onto Theron.

She raised both hands. A crushing mass of ice began condensing in the air above Theron and his retinue, poised to grind them all into paste against the deck.

In that heartbeat, Theron felt Sophia's murderous intent drop upon him like a physical mountain.

He realized in an instant that his spear would mean nothing against such power. If that spell descended, he would be shredded in seconds.

The raw terror of death clamped around the prince's throat.

Without a second thought, Theron dropped his spear, tore a pulsating purple gem from his belt, and poured every drop of his mana into it.

"STOP!" he screamed.

A purple radiance folded the space around Sophia and Kielen. In a fraction of a second, geometric plates carved with ancient runes snapped together, sealing both the archmage and the servant inside a perfect three-meter cubic cage.

The moment the spatial seal closed, all mana flow between Sophia and the outside world was severed.

The ice dome protecting Kielen dissolved into thin vapor on the spot. The towering masses of ice hovering over Theron lost their cohesion, collapsing onto the planks as harmless water. The freezing gale died, and the suffocating pressure vanished.

Both women stood trapped within the very same cubic enclosure.

Kielen fell to her knees upon the wood, trembling, gasping for breath as she stared at the translucent barrier walls. Beside her, Sophia remained upright.

Sophia did not strike the walls, nor did she betray any hint of panic. She stood tall, meeting Theron's gaze through the barrier with a disdain so serene and haughty that she appeared entirely indifferent to her own imprisonment.

Theron dropped to his knees upon the deck, chest heaving violently, gasping for air. His hands shook from the severe mana shock the stone had demanded and the terror of having stood inches from death. The relic in his grip had lost nearly all its purple glow. He had burned an incalculable treasure merely to remain alive.

Yet as air filled his lungs once more, the prince lifted his head.

He looked into the cage. Kielen cowered on the floor, but Sophia remained unbroken, looking down upon him as though he were an insect crawling upon the wood.

The terror in Theron's chest began to shift.

He rose slowly, finding his feet. His shock gave way to blinding admiration, and from that admiration flared an unbridled greed.

He looked at her fair white skin, at the aristocratic bearing that refused to bend even in a cage, and at the absurd might of a woman who had nearly broken Avaland in half all on her own.

A slow grin began spreading across Theron's face.

He had nearly died. He had burned a fortune to capture her. But now, staring at that frost goddess locked directly before him, the prince's blood surged with raw ambition. Making that woman bear his heirs would be the greatest glory the House of Avaland had ever known.

Around the deck, the surviving soldiers began picking themselves up.

Not a single man glanced at the broken corpses or the comrades frozen solid into the wood. Men died every day in the waters and along the ramparts of Avaland. Weakness was discarded without mourning.

Roars of celebration began echoing between the bulwarks.

"Long live Prince Theron!"

"The heir subdued the witch of the continent!"

"The people of Avaland never kneel!"

Theron received the cheers with his chin held high. He thrust his bare chest forward, his tanned skin gleaming in the light, turning toward the crowd with an imposing posture.

"Even the disciple of the strongest mage is nothing before the blood of Avaland!" he roared to his men.

His heart was still pounding hard against his ribs from the mortal fright that had nearly claimed him seconds ago, yet he kept his footing firm and walked over to the translucent cage.

In the corner of the sealed space, Kielen was curled on the floor, clutching her knees. The woman trembled, her eyes locked onto the prince's boots as they approached.

Sophia remained standing.

Theron halted before the barrier with a wide grin.

"I admit you forced me to fight seriously," the prince declared, thoroughly proud of his supposed feat. "Few on the continent come close to my level."

Sophia did not even reply. She simply ignored him, raising her right hand toward the magical wall.

She extended two fingers, attempting to condense a spark of pure mana at their tips to test the barrier's structural resistance.

Yet the spell could not hold.

Before the magic could take physical shape, the blue light faded and was swallowed by the cage's surface, dissolving into nothingness.

Theron laughed aloud at the futile attempt.

"This is a relic bestowed upon me by the gods," he said, puffing his chest in boastful arrogance. "A precious gift that has finally found its use. It devours any magic you attempt to cast inside. Right now, you cannot do a single thing without my permission. Except breathe."

Sophia withdrew her hand, keeping her posture tall and her chin high, looking at Theron as though she remained in absolute control of everything.

"Release me," she commanded, her voice firm and arrogant. "Or when my master returns, he will make you pay for all of this."

Theron openly mocked her words.

"Norton?" he scoffed, stepping closer to the barrier. "The mage went into the deep sea alongside the old man..."

Theron cleared his throat, coughing lightly to cover the slip before amending:

"...the emperor. They set out after the beast that emerged from the ocean floor. And both vanished. My father's aura, Norton's, and the creature's own presence disappeared at the very same moment, without leaving a trace."

Hearing that Norton had vanished, Sophia felt her heart race slightly.

Her master had been away from the Floating Tower for far too long, and this news was dire. A genuine concern for the safety of the man who had raised and taught her flashed through her thoughts.

As she absorbed the revelation, Theron continued:

"Yet I truly hope he returns. After all, his disciple slaughtered many of my elite soldiers. And given his friendship with my father, I will demand heavy compensation."

At those words, Sophia's irritation flared instantly.

Norton was a noble, deeply respected figure with a spotless reputation across the continent. Hearing this brute drag her master's name and speak of demanding reparations infuriated her. Furthermore, she knew all too well that she would face a severe reprimand from Norton for getting dragged into a senseless squabble and damaging diplomatic ties.

Noticing her silence, Theron took another step forward.

His gaze descended shamelessly over the mage's body. Even draped beneath the Taoist robe, Sophia's lush curves were unmistakable, especially the generous swell of her breasts pressing against the white fabric. The prince's blood heated rapidly, and a thick, prominent bulge began straining against the front of his dark trousers, tenting the cloth against his groin.

With his cock rock-hard and visibly tenting his trousers, Theron leaned closer to the barrier.

"Yet all of that can be set aside," he said, his tone softening with vanity. "You are an elite mage, and I am the crown prince of the greatest realm across the seas. Together, we can sire the strongest offspring this world has ever seen. We will rule both sea and land. Our children will walk beneath this sky as true chosen ones."

On the floor of the cage, Kielen's eyes went wide, and she turned her head toward Sophia in total shock.

Sophia stared at the prince without blinking for even a second.

"I would rather be burned to ashes than bear a filthy descendant of yours."

Her words landed heavy and cruel across the deck.

The smile on Theron's face died on the spot. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched tight, seized by rage at the public rejection.

Without paying the slightest mind to his fury, Sophia turned her back on him.

She smoothed the folds of her robe with calm grace, sat cross-legged upon the floor of the cage, rested her hands upon her knees, and closed her eyes in classic lotus posture.

Spatial magic was Norton's domain, not hers. She possessed only the basic theoretical foundation of containment matrices her master had explained in the past. Yet rather than waste breath on Theron, she began to meditate, extending her passive senses to study the invisible flow of the prison from within.

Theron clenched his fists on the outside.

"If you will not bend right now, fine by me," he said, taking the stone back into his palm. "You will not step out of there without my permission, and I have plenty of time."

Theron touched the surface of the purple stone.

The entire cage shuddered. The three-meter cubic walls began folding inward with violent force, compressing the dimensions around the two women.

Inside, space contracted so severely that Sophia and Kielen were squeezed almost flush against each other. There was hardly room enough to stretch an arm.

Kielen panicked instantly. Feeling her body pressed against her mistress and terrified of being obliterated by Sophia's cold wrath, the woman began trembling and stammering:

"F-forgive me, my lady! Please forgive me, I didn't mean to touch-"

"Sit down and shut your mouth," Sophia cut her off dryly, without opening her eyes or breaking her meditation.

Outside, the cage shrank away in a fraction of a second, absorbed entirely into the stone.

Theron held the purple gem high with his right hand, displaying the prize to the entire deck and to the watchposts encircling the sector.

"Today we claimed a glorious victory!" Theron's voice rang out with power, carrying across the bridges and walkways of Avaland. "Every man here is a champion! Drink until you are filled! Spread word to the entire city that not even the disciple of the world's strongest mage can compare to me!"

The response from the soldiers and warriors erupted in a deafening roar that shook the deck timbers:

"Theron! Theron! Theron!"

The chorus of voices thundered through the sea air, reverberating against the ramparts of the floating city.

Theron took a thick cord from his belt, tied the stone securely, and looped it around his neck, letting the trophy rest against his bare chest.

With his chin held high and arrogant strides, the prince marched across the deck, cheered by his men as he carried the captured archmage upon his chest.

Word that the heir had subdued the invader from the continent, the disciple of the legendary Mage Norton, spread like wildfire across the city of Avaland.

Theron drank and ate whatever he pleased without caring for his image, surrounded by warriors raising mugs with drunken roars and chanting his glory through torchlit streets.

Late into the night, a palace guard approached with a bowed head to summon him.

Theron headed toward the royal palace.

He walked bare-chested, lightly drunk, swaying as he moved. Across his tanned torso, the prince made no effort to conceal the red lipstick marks smeared across his skin, much less the satisfied smirk upon his face.

Theron crossed the gates of the colossal stone fortress and pushed open the doors to the throne room.

The hall was vast and silent, occupied only by guards standing motionless like iron statues at the entrances. At the far end, seated upon the throne carved from sea rock with a cold, immaculate posture, was the ruler of Avaland.

Empress Stella Dewplume.

She wore a delicate ceremonial mask covering the upper half of her face, concealing her features from outside eyes. Long black hair cascaded down her back, and the skin of her neck and chest was of a noble, flawless white, standing out against her dark gown.

Seeing the solitary figure upon the imperial seat, Theron spoke with a slurred drawl:

"Mother, awake so late?"

The woman upon the throne did not so much as blink behind her mask.

"At this moment I am not your mother," Stella's voice cut like a blade of ice. "I am the empress. Act with proper respect and not like an uncontrolled drunkard."

Theron halted in the center of the hall.

In that instant, the prince circulated his mana through his body in a swift, violent surge. The energy burned the alcohol from his bloodstream in a fraction of a second. His mind cleared, his loose posture snapped rigid, and he corrected his bearing on the spot.

Squaring his shoulders with open mockery, Theron offered an exaggerated theatrical bow.

"The crown prince greets the... tem-po-rar-y empress of Avaland."

He enunciated the word syllable by syllable, chewing over each sound deliberately to let the provocation ring through the chamber.

Stella's brows knitted slightly behind her mask.

"I heard from the guards about what occurred earlier," she said, resting her chin on her hand. "Yet I received no official report regarding an assault against our nation. If you still respect the hierarchy of this empire, why was I not informed immediately?"

Theron shrugged with casual contempt.

"The soldiers were severely wounded and the commotion was great," he replied smoothly. "Besides, I was occupied offering support to the widowed wives of the men who fell today."

Stella let out a sweet, gentle laugh, a soft sound that contrasted bizarrely with the cruelty of her position.

"I hope the holes where those warriors were buried are as warm as the holes you were buried in."

Theron grinned from ear to ear, proud of his conquest with the city's women, and retorted with a laugh:

"The empress is sometimes far too vulgar."

Stella repeated that same sweet, soft laugh before continuing:

"Perhaps I, as empress, possess the right to be however I please. But you, as a mere crown prince, are obligated to answer me. What was that battle, and what truly took place?"

The grin lingered on Theron's face, yet a thick vein now throbbed at his temple. With teeth clenched behind pulled lips, his expression was no longer casual, masking a burning fury at being subordinated so bluntly.

Theron swallowed his rage and spoke:

"That woman invaded our waters, disrespecting the soil of Avaland," the prince began, puffing his chest as he inflated his own glory. "She tried to freeze the entire city to intimidate us, but when I descended to face her, the story changed. We traded fierce blows. Her ice was nothing before my speed and the weight of my spear. I broke her advance, mastered Norton's fearsome disciple, and captured her without shedding a single drop of my own blood."

Stella rolled her eyes beneath her mask at her son's heroic tall tale, yet she extracted the core threat from the facts.

"And where is this Sophia now?" she asked.

Theron tapped the purple gem hanging against his bare chest with his forefinger.

"Locked right here. Under my absolute control."

Stella tilted her head slightly, studying the faintly pulsing stone.

"Can she hear or observe us?"

"No," the prince replied with a dismissive smirk. "Right now she sits in complete darkness, learning to obey me."

Stella gazed at the pulsing gem for several moments longer.

"You have two choices," the empress declared, her firm voice echoing against the stone walls. "Either you tame that woman once and for all, or you put an end to her."

Theron's eyes narrowed instantly.

A heavy suspicion took hold of his mind. He knew the mother he had, and in that moment his thoughts raced through every scenario.

If he killed Sophia, when Norton returned from the ocean abyss, the devastating wrath of the continent's most powerful man would not fall upon the empress, but upon his disciple's executioner. Killing Sophia meant painting a death mark upon his own forehead, creating an enemy that could easily strip him of his claim to the throne.

Theron hardened his expression, refusing the trap.

"I will take very good care of her," he answered dryly.

Without waiting for the ruler's blessing, Theron turned his back and began striding toward the hall exit.

"Did I authorize your departure?" Stella's voice whipped through the air, cold and commanding.

Theron stopped in his tracks, yet he did not step back. He merely glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes locked onto the woman seated upon the throne.

"No," he said with blatant disrespect. "But it is past midnight, and mother needs her sleep to care for that fair white skin of yours. As for me, I need rest after the hard, massive battle I fought today. Since you offer no praise for my deeds, at least let me sleep."

Theron turned and kept walking toward the open doors without waiting for an answer.

Crossing the stone threshold into the dark corridor, the prince moved his lips, letting slip a near-soundless word:

"Bitch."

The murmur was low, muffled by the sound of his footsteps against the stone, yet he knew full well the hollow echo of the empty hall would carry the insult to his mother's ears.

Behind him, drifting from the quiet throne, Stella's melodic, mocking voice rang loud against the walls:

"Rest well, my beloved son."