After dealing with Gerolt and his arrogance Axton left the scene without looking back.
The city of Atlas had an unsettling aura around it — full of eyes that watched, weighed, and judged.
He felt it more now than ever.
The clash earlier might have left whispers trailing behind him, but Axton wasn't one to dwell on what others thought. He needed a place to rest, clear his mind, and prepare for what came next.
An inn on the western side of the city caught his eye. It wasn't the grandest structure, but it had a certain charm.
The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mixed with the aroma of spiced wine drifting from the tavern below.
After a brief negotiation with the innkeeper, Axton paid in full for a room that suited his taste — one with a wide bed, polished wooden floors, and a window overlooking the streets of Atlas.
He didn't intend to stay long, but comfort was still a weapon in its own right.
Rested warriors fought better.
He had barely been in the room for a few hours when sharp knocks came from his door.
*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*
Axton jerked up immediately.
Trouble never waited long.
He stood, walked over, and opened the door just enough to poke his head through. His sharp gaze swept over the figures waiting outside.
Four men stood in front of him, all in uniform, their posture rigid, their expressions solemn. By their attire, they were city guards.
"The Mayor wants to see you, Commander," one of them said firmly.
Axton froze for a moment. 'The Mayor?'
His thoughts flickered back to the scuffle with Gerolt earlier. Word traveled fast in a place like this.
Had that incident already reached the ears of Atlas' leader? Or was there something more behind this sudden summons?
"Tch," he muttered under his breath, annoyed by the timing.
"What seems to be the matter?" Axton asked calmly.
The guards exchanged confused glances, then shrugged.
Clearly, they knew nothing beyond their errand.
They were only the Mayor's messengers, low-ranking soldiers with no insight into the politics that brewed above them.
Axton let out a slow exhale and nodded. "Fine. I will be out in a few minutes."
He shut the door, tidied himself quickly, adjusted his cloth and strapped the insignia of his commander rank onto his shoulder.
He made sure it was visible.
If the Mayor wanted to see him, then he would arrive not as a guest but as someone who deserved respect.
Minutes later, he joined the guards and followed them through the streets of Atlas.
******
(The Mayor's residence)
The mansion stood tall at the heart of the city — a massive structure of polished stone, banners fluttering proudly on its walls.
Guards patrolled the gates with weapons at the ready, their armor gleaming under sunlight.
'So this is where Atlas keeps its power hoarded,' Axton thought as he crossed the threshold.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of roasted meats and expensive wines.
A servant led him down a grand hallway lined with portraits of former leaders, each face painted with arrogance and pride.
Finally, they arrived before an imposing wooden door.
It creaked loudly as it opened, revealing the Mayor's dining hall.
*Creak*
Axton stepped in.
The room was vast, lit by chandeliers and golden candelabras.
A long dining table stretched down the center, covered with plates of fruit, wine, and steaming dishes that screamed wealth.
Two men sat at the far end of the table.
At the head sat a rotund man in fine robes, his gold rings clinking against his goblet of wine. This was Mayor Duncan — the political face of Atlas.
His beady eyes flickered toward Axton with curiosity.
Beside him sat another man, taller and sharper, his uniform polished, his sword resting at his side.
His face was stern, his eyes colder than ice.
This was Commander Bismarck, the head of the city watch.
The man, because of whom, Axton was called a fake.
The Mayor leaned back and chuckled softly as Axton entered.
"He's a far cry from what I expected," Duncan commented, almost to himself, his tone dripping with amusement.
Bismarck, however, said nothing.
His gaze lingered on Axton, disbelief obvious on every line of his face.
Perhaps it was difficult for him to reconcile the sight of this young outsider with the rumors he had heard.
One of the soldiers escorting Axton stepped forward. "We have brought him as you requested, sir."
The Mayor waved his fork lazily, signaling them to leave the room. "That will be all."
The soldiers bowed and left, the heavy doors shutting behind them.
Now, only the three men remained.
Axton's eyes settled on Bismarck.
He noted the commander's grip tightening on his cutlery the moment Axton entered the room.
Hostility practically oozed from the man's presence.
However, Axton couldn't care less.
In fact, he intentionally showcased his commander insignia, making sure Bismarck saw it clearly.
If the current commander disliked him, all the better.
Tension was a weapon too.
"Welcome," Mayor Duncan said warmly, pointing to the chair on his left with his fork. "Please, join us."
Axton glanced at the empty plate prepared for him.
He obliged, moving with calm confidence before taking his seat.
He was curious.
What exactly did the Mayor want from him?
But Bismarck broke the silence before the Mayor could speak.
"Is anything the matter?" Bismarck asked suddenly.
Axton raised an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean?"
Bismarck gestured at the plate in front of him. "Yes. Is there a problem? You seem hesitant."
Axton's gaze narrowed. 'What's with this guy?'
The hostility was undeniable now, thick enough to choke the room but Axton wasn't about to give the man the satisfaction of a reaction.
Instead, he shifted his focus back to the Mayor.
He smiled politely. "It will be my utmost pleasure, Mayor Duncan."
[Name: Duncan]
[Position: City Mayor]
…
[Name: Bismarck]
[Position: Commander of the City Watch]
Nothing more.
Just names and positions.
The system refused to reveal any deeper information about them, which only made Axton more cautious.
"Now, now," Mayor Duncan said, his tone light as he cut into his steak. "He is my guest, Bismarck. Allow him to feel at home."
Bismarck lifted his cup of wine, though his eyes never left Axton.
"My apologies, Mayor Duncan," he said, his voice smooth yet mocking, "but your guest might be feeling out of place here."
Axton immediately caught the subtle jab and chuckled. 'So that's how you want to play it?'
He smiled faintly and leaned forward, locking eyes with the commander. "You are not wrong, Commander Bismarck. But you know what would really make me feel at home?"
Bismarck tilted his head, curious yet cautious. "What?"
"A few of your soldiers," Axton replied smoothly, "and a city-wide recognition by the Mayor himself."
The room went silent in an instant.
*Bang*
Bismarck's hand slammed against the table, rattling the plates.
His expression twisted with fury. "Such insolence! I'll show you your place."
*Shing*
His hand darted for the sword at his side… but he wasn't fast enough.
In less than a heartbeat, Axton's flash sword materialized, its blade pressed against Bismarck's throat.
This time around, the flash sword was just an ordinary sword.
Gasps of servants outside the door could be faintly heard, but none dared enter.
Axton's face held a cold demeanor as he tilted his head. "Now you are the one disrespecting the Mayor, who thought us worthy of sharing a meal with him."
His voice was low, but each word cut like the blade in his hand would.
"…Or don't you think so, Commander Bismarck?"
The commander froze, his hand still clutching his sword's hilt.
For a moment, it looked like he might risk it all but the Mayor's laughter broke the tension.
"Hahaha! Excellent!" Duncan clapped his hands together, wine nearly spilling from his cup.
"What fire! What spirit! Now this… this is the kind of entertainment I wanted at my table."
Axton didn't lower his weapon immediately.
His focus never left Bismarck's, daring him to move.
The dining hall was no longer just a place of food and wine.
It had become an arena, a silent battlefield where respect, power, and survival between two commanders hung in the balance.
Knowing this, Axton had just drawn first blood without spilling a single drop.
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