The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 223

A young man and a young woman, both in their teens, greeted Alavin with light laughs and nods, taking him in with curious eyes.

The young man was Lawren's son, Felir, a strikingly handsome lad. He was garbed in a purple tunic adorned with embroidered red patterns, overlaid with a white doublet, tailored to fit and flatter his form. His nose was straight and proud, his lips thin, and his eyebrows sharp as swords, cutting diagonally above the few strands of raven hair that fell by his temples. His visage was so flawlessly chiseled it bordered on the sculptural.

He was the epitome of a beautiful youth.

The young lady was Lawren's daughter, Dainis, clad in a green gown. Her smile was blooming like spring flowers, her skin fairer than fresh snowfall, and her eyes as clear as a tranquil pond. Her features were delicate, and between her brows lingered the serene air of a learned scholar. "Lord Alavin, it's been so long, do you still remember me?"

Alavin had some recollection of their names, but the faces he had long forgotten. After all, those were memories from his childhood.

Felir was two years Alavin's senior, and Dainis was one year older. Both had inherited their parents' exceptional genes. Their appearances were strikingly attractive.

Alavin nodded. "Time flies, we've all grown up."

Felir sighed lightly. "Indeed, we've grown. You've suffered in your time away."

"Fret not about the future, for we are here," Dainis said with a gentle face full of grace. "If you encounter any troubles, seek my father's counsel. He can offer you advice. Just don't inadvertently stir the ire of the Cobalt Strike again."

Lawren suggested, "Let's not stand outside any longer. We can talk more comfortably within the city walls."

Alavin expressed his gratitude once more and arranged for Godfred to lead his people back and relocate the more than two hundred thousand citizens.

"Be careful," Godfred whispered, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Unwarranted kindness often has an ulterior motive." NôvelDrama.Org content.

Alavin, too, felt something was amiss. In his memory, Lawren had never been so close to his father, and Lawren's current enthusiasm seemed a bit excessive. A naïve child might have been moved by such warmth, perhaps even eager to call Felir brother, but Alavin was not so easily swayed. His mind was as mature as those twice his age, and he couldn't help but stay vigilant.

Whether it was over-sensitivity or not, it was better to be cautious.

Lawren led Alavin and the others into the ancient town. The streets were meticulously clean, devoid of weeds. The shops on either side were closed, and aside from the patrolling soldiers of the Golden Scorch, there were no other people to be seen.

Alavin gazed upon the streets, familiar yet foreign, trying to reconcile them with his memories. But all he could see was decay and desolation. The cobblestones were cracked and uneven, and once- bustling taverns were now reduced to ruins and overgrown with wild grasses. This was but the main thoroughfare. What state lay beyond in the city's other quarters?

How things have changed! How the heart ached at the sight!

Alavin lamented, "We can never return Stormcast to what it once was."

Dainis stood by his side, speaking softly, "Things will get better. Cheer up."

Felir offered comfort, too. “With us here, the mercenaries won’t dare cause trouble. We will stand guard until you have rebuilt your manor.”

Alavin exchanged a few more words of thanks.

Dainis reflected, “Truth be told, I had almost forgotten you. It wasn’t until my father mentioned a few days ago that the Mallister family had been pardoned and that you were returning, that I remembered you and learned of your hardships. I feel regret and sympathy. Father said we would come to help, and so my brother and I are here."

Felir added, "While you were with the Cobalt Strike, we felt helpless. Now that you've returned, we'll help however we can. Don't be shy to accept it; the priority is to rebuild the old city and settle those two hundred thousand souls."

Lawren, walking ahead, also engaged in heartfelt conversations with Lucan and the others, reminiscing about the past and discussing the present. Their words were laced with endless sentiment.

They arrived at the Lord's manor, which was now occupied by the Golden Scorch's troops. Two- thirds of the manor's surroundings had collapsed, leaving only a small portion of the gardens intact. The air carried the scent of wine and rouge, a testament to the mercenaries and traders who had repurposed the place.