"People inside, hear me!"
A middle-aged man dressed in the ornate noble attire of the Crossbridge Empire amplified his voice with mana.
"We are official envoys from the Crossbridge Empire, Starseer Tower, War God Church, Thunder Mage Tower...!"
"In accordance with the Continental Pact, we have come to investigate the anomaly here. We mean no harm!"
His voice echoed across the barren wilderness, but Aerial City remained silent, giving no response.
Marquis Lawrence’s face grew unsightly.
He shouted again, "Open the barrier at once and come out to greet us!"
"Accept the Empire’s investigation and protection! It is your honor!"
"So long as you cooperate, the Empire will forgive your past transgressions, and may even grant you..."
He rambled on, promising noble titles, wealth, and beautiful women, attempting to tempt them with the glory of the Empire, as though it were a supreme blessing.
From the perspective of an ordinary mortal, the allure was indeed deadly.
Just the promise of a Crossbridge Empire noble title was enough to drive countless people mad.
For this was one of the mightiest empires on the Aresia Continent, boasting innumerable warriors and powerful mages, and commanding terrifying reserves of resources.
When Lawrence finished, he waited calmly for Dalton Town’s reaction.
In his eyes, the residents of Dalton were nothing but a bunch of lowly commoners who had stumbled into fortune. Upon hearing such enticing benefits, surely they would be scrambling to accept.
But to him, these were empty promises. As long as they opened the gates, everything inside would belong to the Empire.
Yet his declaration was met only with the whistling of the high winds, and faint chuckles from some among the crowd below.
His proud words were nothing but a clown’s act.
Another group, however, lacked such patience.
A green-skinned orc clad in black scale armor, a hideous scar slashing across his face—the infamous leader of the Dark Blade Mercenary Corps—stepped forward.
He bellowed toward the sky:
"Listen up, you bastards inside! I don’t have the patience for this nonsense!"
"If you know what’s good for you, crawl out here on your knees and surrender everything in that city!"
"If I’m in a good mood, I might even leave you a whole corpse!"
"Otherwise, once we crack open this shell, this pretty city will be painted red with your blood!"
His words dripped with violence and cruelty.
Some who fancied themselves just frowned slightly, but far more eyes gleamed with the same feral light of approval.
But whether carrot or stick, Dalton Town remained utterly still. Not even a bird emerged.
The scene pressed an invisible weight onto the crowd.
It was like a god aloof in the heavens, looking coldly down at a swarm of noisy ants.
Greed, threats, boasts—all seemed pale and powerless before absolute strength.
Rage simmered among the gathering.
"Damn curs!"
"Ungrateful scum! Just you wait..."
"They’re probably laughing inside, dividing up the treasure as we speak!"
"We must find a way in—they cannot be allowed to monopolize it!"
Yet neither hard threats nor soft persuasion availed them.
For once, these high-and-mighty figures from across the land found themselves helpless before a single city, trapped in an awkward stalemate.
At that moment, Master Lupotin of the Starseer Tower stepped forward, drawing all eyes.
Though he too had failed to breach the city, he was still a well-known Legendary Mage, famed far and wide.
"Everyone, stay calm."
"The defenses here far exceed our expectations."
"The technology... may not belong to this era."
Lupotin spoke slowly, providing himself a dignified excuse while pointing out the key truth.
"Brute force is not the answer. It would only waste our strength. In this old man’s opinion, this city is not without flaws."
"A shield of such magnitude must have a core or control nodes, perhaps underground, perhaps hidden nearby. We need time to search and study."
He paused, sweeping a sharp glance across the many scheming factions.
"In these circumstances, to bicker or clash among ourselves would be folly. Why not join hands and discuss a strategy?"
His suggestion quickly drew nods from many faction leaders.
Their shared frustration smoothed over rivalries, if only for now.
"The Archmage speaks wisely!"
Viscount Lawrence immediately chimed in.
"The priority is to find a way inside. Until then, we must seal the news... and drive off some unnecessary ’riffraff.’"
His gaze swept coldly toward the small mercenary bands, wandering mages, and petty nobles lingering on the fringes. His eyes radiated contempt and dismissal.
Lupotin’s proposal was like a drop of cold water in boiling oil—instantly crystallizing a fragile consensus among the powers.
A lavishly carpeted tent, raised by conjured magic, was soon erected in the clearing outside the city.
Only a dozen representatives of the world’s top forces were allowed within.
Inside, the air grew heavy, thick with invisible clashes and schemes.
The leaders of a dozen factions sat around a round table.
Lupotin of Starseer Tower took the seat of honor—he had initiated the meeting, after all. His expression remained calm, as though failure had not touched him.
To his left sat Marquis Lawrence of the Crossbridge Empire, his back straight, embodying imperial pride.
To his right sat a hulking Archbishop of the War God Church, clad in heavy armor, face rugged, eyes blazing with fanaticism.
Also present were the deputy master of the Thunder Mage Tower, several influential figures of the Mercenary Guild, and shadowy envoys from secretive organizations.
"You’ve all seen it with your own eyes," said the Thunder Mage Tower’s deputy, a rational-looking middle-aged woman tapping her finger on the table.
"This Aerial City itself overturns our current understanding of magic."
"Its value is immeasurable. The building materials, the energy system, the possible ancient knowledge—it could reshape the entire continent."
"Hah, reshape the world?"
The Archbishop of the War God Church thundered with bloody excitement.
"This is the trial and gift of the War God! Only the truly strong deserve it!"
"As I see it, those natives inside stumbled into the ruins by dumb luck. They have no right to own it!"
"When we enter, all who resist are heretics—purged without exception!"
He slammed his fist, already envisioning the holy war to come.
Such a fortress should be sanctified as the War God’s bastion, to smite all foes!
Its riches would fund the holy armies, and resistance would serve as practice for the faithful.
Lawrence frowned at the naked brutality, though his mind weighed profit more than principle.
"Patience, Archbishop," he said.
"Conquest is inevitable, but how to conquer, and how to divide the spoils—those require deliberation."
"The Crossbridge Empire holds primary claim here. After all, this lies within our northern frontier, and the Faranden Kingdom is our vassal..."
He pressed his argument for sovereignty.
"Bullshit!"
A green-skinned orc with jagged tusks cut him off without ceremony.