The wind at five hundred meters up was sharp enough to sting. Alina pressed one hand to her helmet and peered over the guardrail that ran along the massive stone staircase spiraling down the Rock Tortoise's shell.

"So there is a road here," she breathed, astonished. She had imagined Luciel simply commanding the tortoise to rise and lower them as it pleased — not this grand, winding stairway carved straight from the living rock. The sight made her knees feel hollow.

She quickly looked up, away from the dizzying drop below. Her heart thumped as she muttered, "This has to be recorded."

Pulling a roll of hide paper from the gap between her armor plates, Alina balanced it in one hand while she scribbled notes in quick, looping charcoal strokes. Black Tortoise City: three fortresses built upon the shell, each higher than the last…

"Do you have a death wish?" Elara's dry voice snapped from behind. The huntress caught Alina by the arm and yanked her closer to the inner rail. "Watch your step. Write later. I don't want to scrape you off the cliffs tonight."

"I just want to note a few key details…" Alina protested in a small voice, still half-writing.

"Details won't matter if you fall off and splatter." Elara's tone was flat, but her eyes betrayed genuine concern. She nodded toward the drop. "A fall from here, even with that armor, and you'll die before you bounce."

Alina sighed, reluctantly rolling up the hide. "I'm wearing Ghost Armor, you know."

"Armor won't fix stupidity." Elara leaned close, lowering her voice. "And don't forget your other responsibility." Her gaze flicked toward Luciel, walking several paces ahead. "Some things you see and hear — you don't write them down. Not even in your private notes."

"I know that." Alina rolled her eyes but kept her tone soft. "I'll write two versions of my travel notes — one for myself, one for everyone else."

Elara arched an eyebrow. "Two versions?"

"The important one stays secret," Alina said, tapping her satchel. "The published version gets edited. I've read enough adventurers' journals to know how this works. Some truths get you famous; others get you killed."

That earned her a brief, approving glance. Elara nodded. "Good. Keep that sense. Secrets are worth more than gold out here — and they're twice as dangerous."

Luciel, walking at the front of the group, caught the whisper of their conversation through the link of his heightened perception. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Both women were sharp, cautious — self-aware enough to understand the world's darker rules. That, more than their skill in battle, reassured him.

The group continued their descent down the vast stairway that clung to the shell's curve. From above, the steps appeared to wind endlessly into mist. The tortoise's shell broadened near the top, narrowing as it sloped downward, its surface veined with cracks and veins of glimmering stone.

Luciel's eyes roamed the cliff faces. He could almost see terraces carved into the stone, with vines trailing down their edges — homes suspended over the abyss, lit with lanterns. "We could build hanging dwellings along here," he mused aloud. "Maybe even plant climbing gardens…"

Then he caught himself and shook his head. "No. Too dangerous. One slip, and it's a long fall to nowhere."

For now, he decided, the cliffs would be better suited for plants — or perhaps enclosures for domesticated beasts that could help guard the city's borders.

At around the halfway mark — two hundred and fifty meters down — Alina suddenly gasped. "There's a house!"

Her voice echoed off the rock.

Built directly into the side of the cliff was a fortress — ten meters high, squat and sturdy, jutting out like a stone heart from the tortoise's ribs.

Luciel smiled faintly. "One of the three barrier fortresses."

"Keep your voice down," Elara hissed. "We're still invisible. The sentries can't know we're here."

"I know what I'm doing," Alina whispered back, offended. She lowered her tone until it was barely a breath — confident she could whisper beneath even Luciel's notice.

A minute later, the three of them reached the gate. Alina craned her neck to read the carved inscription above the door, brow furrowed. "Strange letters… I can't even write that down properly."

"Hanging Pavilion," Luciel supplied calmly.

"The Hanging Pavilion?" Alina repeated, eyes brightening. "That's such a good name. Like a house floating in the air."

Out came her hide paper again.

Elara groaned and covered her face.

Since the blonde merchant had suggested that Alina publish her adventures, the pink-haired girl had turned into a walking chronicler. Every strange building, every curious creature — she recorded it all with childlike excitement. Thankfully, she still had the sense to omit sensitive details.

Luciel waved a hand dismissively. "Let her write. It's good publicity."

Elara blinked. "Publicity?"

"Think about it." Luciel's grin was sly. "An adventurer's journal spreading through the trade cities? Tales of a mysterious fortress city on the back of a living mountain? Every mercenary and treasure hunter will want to see it for themselves. And when they come, they'll bring beast crystals to spend."

Elara sighed. "You're weaponizing her curiosity."

"It's called marketing," Luciel said cheerfully.

"I'll only write the name and general location," Alina said quickly, ducking her head as if caught misbehaving. "Not the defenses or layout."

"I know," Luciel said, amused. He could feel her embarrassment through her voice. "You're doing fine."

His tone was warm — and it flustered her far more than she'd expected.

When he stepped past her into the Hanging Pavilion, Alina lingered for a moment, cheeks pink. "Why does he always smile like that? Like he already knows everything?"

Elara's ears flushed faintly. "He… probably does," she muttered, following after him.

The fortress itself was small compared to Wengcheng or The Wall — but efficient. Three stories tall, every level served a purpose.

Luciel gathered the guards around him, his voice carrying authority without effort. "From now on, soldiers from the three city defense teams will rotate their posts here. Anyone coming up from below will need a clearance document before being allowed through."

He gestured toward the unfinished bunks and tables lining the interior. "Once the furnishings are complete, you'll station men here. Until then, seal the gates at night — I'd rather not have a tricolor lizard using this place as a den."

"Yes, City Lord," Zanyan replied immediately, bowing slightly.

Luciel nodded. "Someone will come later to teach you the inspection routines. For now, learn the basics. This place will be your stronghold. Once we set rules, you enforce them."

Zanyan straightened, determination burning in his eyes. "Understood. I'll study everything carefully."

Luciel's gaze swept the soldiers. "One more thing. The Hanging Pavilion has a strict rule — anyone entering must surrender their weapons before continuing upward. No exceptions."

That made several of the guards glance at each other. Luciel's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. "It's not just security. It's a message. If people want to step into Black Tortoise City, they do so with trust — not steel."

Zanyan nodded solemnly. "We'll enforce it."

Luciel smiled faintly. You'll try, he thought. He knew the difficulties — for many wanderers, a weapon was as personal as a name. Forcing them to give it up would cause tension, even fights. But discipline started with discomfort.

He stepped toward a circular opening at the pavilion's base. "Come on. There's more to see."

The hole, three meters across, led to a tunnel that opened back onto the descending stairs. A heavy slab of stone could be slid across it from inside — an elegant seal that even brute force couldn't breach.

Luciel had designed the mechanism himself, simple but clever — a lever-and-pulley system powered by gravity. Press one stone inside, and the slab lifted smoothly; release it, and the gate sealed tight.

The group climbed down again. The further they descended, the steeper the incline grew. The tortoise's shell loomed above now, blocking most of the sunlight.

"There's another fortress ahead," Alina said, already fishing out her hide paper again.

Luciel smiled at her enthusiasm. "This one's called Heaven Gate Tower. It's the first checkpoint — the place where outsiders are screened before entering the city."

The structure came into view — taller and more ornate than the Hanging Pavilion, its four stories stacked like steps of an altar. A wide gate of pale stone faced outward toward the wilderness.

"So this is where the 'clearance documents' are issued?" Zanan asked.

"Exactly." Luciel clasped his hands behind his back. "After inspection, visitors receive a document allowing them to ascend through the next gates. I considered calling it a 'passport,' but 'clearance document' feels more… authoritative."

Zanyan scratched his head. "I'll need a few literate people here then. I can't read those papers myself."

Luciel chuckled. "Of course. We'll assign some scribes. Separate duties — soldiers enforce, clerks record."

Zanyan exhaled, visibly relieved. Alec, standing beside him, frowned thoughtfully, then cleared his throat. "My lord… I'd like the same. Some literate folk to handle reports. I'm not… exactly fluent."

"Granted," Luciel said easily, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Elara, watching from behind, caught that smirk and sighed inwardly. Poor fools, she thought. Luciel's kindness was never without purpose.

He turned slightly, eyes glinting. "But remember — in the long run, every officer, every captain in Black Tortoise will be expected to read and write. Literacy isn't optional for leadership. Those who refuse to learn will be… retired early."

The two men paled slightly but nodded quickly.

Elara hid a laugh behind her hand. They had no idea what kind of man they were dealing with.

Luciel's smile lingered as he looked up the slope — past the Hanging Pavilion, past The Wall, toward the gleaming spires of his growing city.

Three fortresses. Three gates. Three layers of defense — not just for security, but for civilization itself.

Step by step, Black Tortoise City was learning order.

And in that order, Luciel saw the beginnings of something far greater.

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