The road into Luxuria shimmered like a mirage—smooth ivory stone flanked by flowering hedges and statues that seemed to breathe. At its end stood a tall archway carved from rose quartz, veiled in silks that fluttered without wind.

Kael's caravan slowed as they approached. Ashguard riders tightened formation; Rimuru pulsed a soft warning glow. Nyaro's ears twitched, but he gave no signal to attack—yet.

Beneath the archway, a delegation awaited: nobles in layered robes of gold-threaded crimson, masks shaped like petals, and smiles that stretched too wide. Every gesture was elegance, every movement a dance choreographed for welcome—or distraction.

The lead noble stepped forward, bowing with fluid grace. "Kael Drayke, bearer of flame and burden. Luxuria welcomes you in softness and song."

Behind him, servants appeared like petals on the breeze, offering silver trays of fragrant wine, chilled fruit, and perfume-drenched scrolls. Dancers moved to music only they could hear—each step echoing the rhythm of longing.

Kael dismounted calmly, his cloak brushing the dustless stones. He scanned the offerings without reaching for any.

Rimuru floated beside him, eyes narrowed. "That wine just shifted from cherry to chocolate mid-swirl. This place is a palate trap."

Great Sage chimed in with sterile precision.

"Detected: high-density charm field. Embedded glyphs tied to scent and tone. Illusion saturation: 62%. Cognitive anchoring compromised within 12 minutes of exposure."

Kael inclined his head to the nobleman. "Your hospitality is... intricate."

"We offer no lies," the noble replied. "Only indulgences you have yet to understand."

Rimuru murmured, "Translation: drink this and forget your spine."

Kael smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes. "Peace doesn't need perfume. Just honesty."

The noble bowed again, unoffended on the surface, though a muscle twitched at his jaw. "Then we shall strive to offer clarity wrapped in comfort."

Kael motioned for his guards to follow. "Then let clarity begin with space. We'll walk."

As they passed through the silken gates, the air thickened—too sweet, too smooth, like breathing through a dream stitched with honey. Kael never touched the wine, but his fingers hovered near the hilt of his sword, as if bracing against beauty that clung too tightly.

He whispered to Rimuru, "Let's see what velvet tries to hide."

The corridor that stretched beyond the welcome gate was a masterpiece of illusion—arched like a cathedral but soft like a dream. Light filtered through invisible veils, casting pink and amber ripples across the polished floor. Music hummed faintly, just beyond hearing, like a lullaby designed to cradle the mind.

Kael walked forward, calm and alert. Behind him, the Ashguard adjusted their formation, their boots echoing softer than they should have. The sound was dampened—intentionally.

"Sound suppression glyphs," Great Sage whispered.

"Illusion web active. Pathway constructed to lower threat awareness. Surveillance enchantments embedded in three ornamental columns, two overhead silk folds, and a singing mirror disguised as art."

Kael didn't respond. His eyes drifted to the mirrored panels along the walls. His own reflection blinked half a second too late.

Rimuru hovered beside him and then slowly—grinning—morphed into a replica of one of the nobles from earlier. Her illusion wore the same embroidered mask, the same false smile, but held it with an exaggerated tilt.

She floated toward one of the veiled hallway attendants, who bowed immediately.

"Oh honored guest," the attendant intoned, not noticing the ruse. "May the soft breeze guide your passion toward clarity. Have the wards pleased your journey so far?"

Rimuru twirled her false robe. "Delightfully! But tell me—if a foreigner were to think impure thoughts, would the hallway whisper about it? Or just report to the Crown Council in private?"

The attendant froze. Eyes widened.

Rimuru pressed closer, faux voice dripping with parody. "I'm asking for a friend. A very scandalous friend."

The illusion around the hallway shivered.

In a burst of distorted shimmer, several spy glyphs suddenly lit up—floating above the columns, writhing like brands made of glass and song.

Kael stepped forward, hands still at his sides. "I take it that's your answer."

The attendant stammered. "We… we ensure the comfort and safety of all guests. That requires… foresight."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Spying," Rimuru corrected.

The noble façade melted off her like paint in rain, revealing Rimuru's usual glowing form. She stretched her limbs wide. "Investigation. That's what I call it. With flair."

The other attendants quickly bowed, murmuring apologies, but Kael didn't press the issue. He merely offered a small, dry smile.

"Truth tastes sweeter when it's not soaked in perfume."

And then, without pause, he turned and continued down the corridor, as if the illusions had never mattered.

Behind him, Rimuru whispered: "They're scared now."

Kael's voice was low and even.

"Good."

The gateway to the inner city bloomed like a rose carved from marble—arching petals, columns veined with mana-light, and a fountain that wept crystal wine into a shallow pool. Luxurian nobles lined the edges, lounging like art pieces beneath silken canopies.

Kael entered with calm steps. Rimuru hovered beside him, flickering faintly in restrained hues. Every motion around them felt deliberate—engineered to lull.

A new figure stepped forward from the gathering.

Tall. Elegant. Wrapped in crimson lace and rose-gold silks that shimmered with moving patterns. Her presence held gravity—like the center of a dream you didn't realize you were falling into.

"Lord Kael Drayke," she said, voice soft as velvet. "The Scourge who wears diplomacy like silk. We welcome you to Vel'Serin."

Kael inclined his head. "Thank you, Lady…?"

"Call me Maralys," she purred, offering no house name. "No titles today. Only pleasure, understanding, and perhaps… communion."

Her eyes shimmered subtly—not naturally. Rimuru's voice brushed his ear.

"Charm field active. Micro-glamours layered on pheromone dispersion. She's trying to seduce your cognition."

Kael held her gaze without blinking. Maralys stepped closer, her presence folding around him like perfume, like warmth in winter—inviting, deceptive.

"Don't you ever tire of resisting?" she whispered. "What if surrender… felt like truth?"

Kael closed his eyes.

For a moment, the sensory weight pressed in: her voice, the music of the fountain, the distant laughter, the illusion of comfort.

But then, he pictured fire.

Not a blaze of war. A slow, quiet burn—rising through paper-thin lies, curling around truth like dawn warming frozen stone.

He opened his eyes.

The illusion faltered.

For a heartbeat, he saw her true self: worn. Weary. Scars beneath the glamour. Magic stitched into her skin like chains.

He spoke gently.

"Your beauty is real. But your freedom isn't."

Maralys froze. Her charm field flickered like a broken spelllight.

Then, without a word, she stepped aside—expression unreadable, veil pulled tighter across her face.

Kael walked past her without further comment.

Rimuru, drifting behind, offered a quiet comment to the silence.

"She wanted to control you. Instead, you saw her."

Kael didn't answer. He didn't need to.

The inn looked more like a palace sculpted from moonlight.

Every inch of its structure flowed like liquid marble—pillars coiled into rose motifs, and gauzy curtains drifted from unseen breezes. The air itself shimmered with perfume and illusion, casting gentle glamours over every corner. Even silence here smelled sweet.

Kael stepped into the main hallway and immediately felt it—pressure without weight. A hush of comfort so curated it bordered on command.

"Mana layering," Great Sage whispered. "Calmness enchantments active. Dream inducement 18%. Emotional suppression: mild, ambient."

Rimuru poked one of the glowing wall sconces and yawned. "I liked the village better. At least the trauma was honest."

Their rooms were lavish—too lavish.

Kael's bed could have fit five. The mattress adjusted itself to his body with enchanted sensitivity. The windows were never truly dark, just bathed in an eternal velvet dusk. The wardrobe stocked itself based on inferred desires, and the mirrors complimented him in a dozen languages.

He changed into a simple tunic and walked to the balcony. Below, the noble district murmured with perfect laughter and slow dances—no one running, no one shouting, no one crying.

Everything controlled. Everything beautiful.

Kael stared upward. The stars were hidden behind enchantments—only painted constellations gleamed above.

"Even the sky here wears makeup," he muttered.

From behind him, Rimuru floated onto the edge of the bed like a faintly glowing scarf. She curled up beside a warm lantern that flickered blue.

"I'll stand watch," she said, eyes dimming. "If I dream anything scandalous, blame the upholstery."

Kael didn't answer.

He sat on the balcony floor, back against cold stone, letting the silence press in—but not through.

Internal monologue: "If this is peace… why does it feel like a performance?" "If no one's allowed to hurt… can anyone truly heal?"

The lights dimmed further as the dream-wards kicked in.

But Kael didn't sleep.

Not yet.

The inn had long since quieted. Even the ambient music—notes spun from illusion threads and humming mana—had faded into gentle silence.

Kael stood alone on the side balcony, arms folded over the cool railing. Below, the noble quarter stretched out like a sleeping painting—gilded domes, petal-shaped rooftops, and towers veiled in magic that made even shadows look graceful.

But it all felt wrong.

Too soft. Too quiet. Too... controlled.

From a nearby alcove just beneath the balcony, faint voices drifted upward.

He didn't move. He just listened.

"I'm sorry," whispered a young woman's voice, trembling with shame. "I didn't mean to cry. I—I adjusted the charm. I thought I could hide it."

"You did fine," murmured another, older voice. "But don't let the mistress catch your eyes red. You know what happened to Mariel."

"I just… I saw his caravan. And for a second, I felt something. Not fear. Not nothing. I think it was… hope?"

The second voice hushed her sharply, but with fear, not cruelty.

"That's dangerous talk. They'll scrape your dreams out if they think you've stopped suppressing."

Kael exhaled slowly. His hand drifted to his side pouch and closed around something warm.

He called no flame. Spoke no spell. He simply let the memory of the Phoenix—of that moment of healing in the village—surface like breath rising through water.

From his palm, a tiny blue-white ember sparked.

It hovered for a moment, then drifted downward—silent and unseen—riding the warm night air like a feather on a sigh.

Below, the younger servant gasped.

There was no fire. No heat.

But something loosened.

"I can feel…" she whispered. "I can feel again."

A small laugh broke out—raw, broken, real. The sound startled even her companion.

Kael stepped away from the railing before either of them could look up.

No one would know what he'd done. There'd be no announcement. No reward.

Just one servant breathing freely, perhaps for the first time in years.

Internal monologue (Kael): "Even roses need air. Even silence needs space to cry."

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