I Received System to Become Dragonborn-Chapter 815: Enter The Palace
Eccar, Mark, Selene, Thorne, and Kaela moved steadily through the streets, their boots stepping in the stone roads with each determined step. All around them, the citizens of Qomore paused in their daily routines to glance their way. Their eyes lingered on them with curious and cautious looks, some even wary.
It wasn't hard to see why. From their armor and weapons it was clear they were adventurers, but it was the state they were in that drew the longest stares.
Their cloaks were dusty and frayed at the edges, their armor bore fresh scratches, dents, blood and any other organic substance. And their stern and hardened face carried the unmistakable weight of a long and grueling journey.
Even children tugged at their mothers' sleeves, pointing quietly at the battle-worn group as they passed.
Mark, feeling the growing attention, leaned in and whispered to his companions, "Let's move quickly. No need to draw more eyes."
Eccar's sharp eyes sweeping over the watching crowd, then he gave a silent nod as did the others. Without breaking stride, they picked up their pace, heading straight for the towering structure that dominated the skyline, that is the palace.
Before long, they reached the broad road that led directly to the palace gates.
The guards stationed there who were clad in polished mail and fine colors of the kingdom, spotted them instantly. Five worn-down adventurers marching toward the palace was not something they saw every day. They usually don't even bother coming here because they know they will not be let in.
The guards stepped forward to block the path, spears lowered just enough to make their point.
One of the guard who clearly the leader, spoke sharply, "No adventurers allowed in the palace. Your place is at the guild. I thought you know that."
Their eyes flicked over the group, looking at the dirt-streaked faces, the torn cloaks, the faint stains of old blood on their armor.
A few of the guards snorted quietly, their disdain plain on their faces. The lead guard sneered as if offended by their very presence. Mere adventurers, and in such a filthy state. How dare they approach the palace?
Mark caught the look but forced himself to stay calm. He took a breath and stepped forward.
"We come from the Astoria Kingdom. We need to see the king immediately. It's urgent," Mark said curtly.
The guards let out a loud and mocking laughed. The leader gave Mark a long look and scoffed. "And why should we believe that? Even if you are from Astoria, you think you can just walk into the palace and demand an audience with the king?" He gestured at their grimy appearances. "You think you're that important?"
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Mark's jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, holding back his frustration. "Yes. This is important. There's a pressing matter the king needs to hear. Now."
But the lead guard only laughed harder. "No. Go back. Get out of here. The king doesn't have time for every dirty band of sword for hire who comes crawling to the gate."
His words were sharp and the other guards straightened, ready to push them back if they dared to press further.
The five adventurers exchanged glances. They had expected this. The sneers and refusal was all predictable. But even knowing, the weight of frustration still settled on their shoulders. They had come too far to be turned away now.
Then, cutting through the tense air, came a loud sigh. It was Eccar's voice, heavy and sharp.
The others turned toward him, immediately sensing the shift. His usual easy smirk was gone replaced by a hard expression. Whatever patience he had was wearing thin and everyone in the party could feel it. He was about to act and most likely not gently.
Eccar stepped forward, boots grinding against the stone road.
Mark's hand shot out slightly and speak. "Eccar, don't make this worse. We can't afford that right now."
Eccar gave a small nod, but Mark wasn't comforted by it. The nod was too brief. He wasn't convinced that Eccar planned to hold back. But he can only hope.
Then Eccar spoke, voice raised just enough to command attention. "Hey. Listen up, guard. I've got this fancy scroll, you know."
With deliberate slowness, he pulled out the rolled parchment that he showed before to the guards on the gate, its ribbon seal marked with the crest of King Aethor himself. He held it out so the lead guard could see it clearly.
The guard's eyes narrowed as he leaned in, inspecting the seal. His sneer didn't fully fade, though.
"This…" he muttered, "This is enough to let you through the city gates freely. But to enter the palace and seeing the king, that's another matter entirely." He straightened, clearly still intending to deny them.
Eccar's lips pressed into a thin line. Without a word, he withdrew the scroll and rustled through his pack, his movements sharp and impatient. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he produced something else. It was a heavy medallion, gleaming even through the layer of dust.
It was large, the size of his palm, and bore the intricate seal of Archmage Adrius, the unmistakable symbol pulsing faintly with Magic energy.
The shift was immediate. The lead guard's eyes widened, his posture stiffening.
Around him, the other guards straightened, the color draining from their faces.
The seal couldn't be faked or stolen. It carried protective wards that would reject false hands. This was real. Undeniably real.
The lead guard swallowed hard, his earlier arrogance faltering. His voice, when it came, was tight. "...Very well. You may pass. But don't cause trouble inside."
He stepped aside, albeit grudgingly, and gestured for the gates to be opened.
Eccar tucked the medallion back into his pack without a word and glanced once at Mark, who exhaled quietly, tension easing just a little.
Without looking back at the stunned guards, the party continued forward—through the gates and into the palace grounds, the heavy doors closing behind them.
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