Chapter 325: Chapter 286: Elves, Dwarves, and the Princess Arrive in Droves

What began as a verbal spat instantly turned explosive. Tensions flared between the two sides. The Elves’ poised demeanor gave way to a pre-battle readiness, their fingers quietly finding the hilts of their rapiers or the grips of their Magic Staffs.

A clash between a pride rooted deep in bloodlines and a rugged coarseness was about to erupt into bloodshed right at the gates of an Imperial border city!

And Esra, who had been tasked with welcoming the Elven "Trade Team," now stood helplessly between the two groups.

She pushed up her thick glasses as fine beads of sweat formed on her small nose. Her eyes were filled with anxiety and bewilderment. Her small hands rose and fell several times—two days ago, after accepting this assignment, she had installed a high-powered loudspeaker on her Guardian.

’But... should I really use this? Won’t it just make things worse?’

’These Elves seem so proud, and the Dwarves are so hot-tempered...’

She was so frantic she was on the verge of tears, her lips quivering silently.

At that critical moment, a calm, hard voice, laced with unquestionable authority, suddenly rang out like a hammer striking ice:

"Silence!"

The crowd instantly froze, and countless gazes snapped toward the source of the voice.

Knight Commander Stier Sein appeared at the edge of the shadows in the gate’s passageway. He led a squad of well-equipped Imperial Elite Knights who moved with perfect, unified steps. They were like an Iron Wall dividing a battlefield, their deadly auras held in check.

His posture was as straight as a spear. The black-and-gold-trimmed Imperial Knight Armor he wore glinted coldly in the faint sunlight.

His chiseled face was devoid of expression as his deep gaze swept over the tense Elves and the furious Dwarves, finally settling on the epicenter of the chaos.

"This is the Imperial territory of Harvia!"

"Regardless of where you come from or what mission you bear, remember this: on the soil of the Empire, conflict and private duels are forbidden by law!"

He took a step forward, his icy gaze like a physical blade as he coldly scrutinized the leaders of both sides.

"I suggest you all exercise restraint! Otherwise, the order of the Empire will personally teach you the meaning of rules!"

A biting spring wind kicked up dust from the ground, sending it swirling through the suddenly silent air.

The Elves lowered their proudly held heads slightly, the anger in their eyes replaced by a hint of apprehension and reason. The Dwarves’ clenched fists also slowly relaxed. Brege’s chest heaved as he glared at Stier, but in the end, he only spat fiercely on the ground without another word.

The air seemed to freeze, leaving only the faint scrape of metal armor and the sound of suppressed breathing.

Just as the taut silence stretched to its breaking point, a sharp, clear, and rhythmically precise sound—like the beat of a war drum—tore through the stillness before the gate. It was the sound of steel boots striking the ground.

Like a sharp blade cleaving through chaos, a contingent of riders appeared at the far end of the road, their advance perfectly uniform, imbued with an almost ruthless sense of order.

At their head was none other than the Third Princess of the Empire, Belina Benest.

Her posture was as straight as a drawn sword. She wore a sharply tailored, dark gray wool uniform beneath a cold breastplate of Fine Steel, outlining a silhouette that bespoke power forged through a thousand trials.

Her thick gray hair was meticulously tied back into a sharp wolf-tail style, revealing a smooth, high forehead and eyes as sharp as a falcon’s—eyes that could pierce a person’s very soul.

Belina wasn’t deliberately exuding pressure, but the moment she appeared, the inviolable, heroic aura and the well-honed presence of a true powerhouse that surrounded her crashed down like an invisible rampart!

All the clamor and agitation at the gate, even the intimidating atmosphere Stier had just established, were instantly crushed to dust by this purer, more concentrated Power, vanishing without a trace.

The air seemed to grow colder, becoming so oppressive it was hard to breathe. All that remained was the cold, crisp sound of her warhorse’s hooves striking the ground, each beat landing like a hammer on everyone’s heart.

Her gaze, as placid as a frozen lake, swept across the scene. Its scrutinizing weight was such that everyone she looked upon involuntarily averted their eyes. Even Brege instinctively flinched.

Belina rode straight up to Stier. The moment their eyes met, Stier immediately clenched his right fist and brought it to his chest in a standard Imperial Army salute. The motion was clean and powerful, as stark and hard as the man himself.

"Your Highness. Your knight is here to receive you."

"Knight Commander Stier."

Belina’s voice was not loud, yet it carried a metallic quality that reached the ears of everyone present.

"Tell me, when can I see this Jon Apollonia?"

Stier maintained his salute, his voice as steady as ever, though now tinged with an imperceptible note of resignation.

"Your Highness, the invitation was delivered to Grent Manor immediately, as you instructed. However—"

He paused for a moment.

"As of this moment, we have yet to receive any form of reply."

Belina’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Beneath her frozen-lake-like calm, a sharp sliver of ice seemed to flash.

Her torch-like gaze once again swept over the crowd at the gate: the Elven Trade Team, their arrogance now curbed; the Dwarves, reluctantly suppressing their fury; and... that small, helpless, black-haired girl in glasses, who had practically shrunk into a ball under the immense pressure.

Stier’s gaze followed Belina’s, finally locking onto the helpless figure of Esra.

He had an excellent memory and immediately recognized her as the member of the Giant God Workshop who had piloted the Fortress on the battlefields of Heta County.

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