Chapter 28: Chapter28-The Astronomical Entry Fee

Outside the gates of Dalton Town.

Time itself seemed to have been crushed in an invisible hand and scattered across the frozen air.

The deafening warcry of Morg the Skull-Splitter, the orc warlord; his frenzied battle aura that could tear steel; his snarling, confident face—

all of it had been utterly swallowed by the lightning bolt that had burst from within the gate.

Silence blanketed the wilderness.

Tens of thousands of adventurers, mercenaries, and elite representatives of the great powers all stood like petrified statues.

Only the pounding of their hearts, out of control in their chests, proved that what they had witnessed was no dream.

The raging fire of greed that had consumed the crowd was doused in an instant by this abyssal deluge of terror.

“By… the God of Nature…”

One druid from a forest tribe stammered, his lips trembling, the oak staff in his hand shaking as if in mourning for some sacred balance now broken forever.

Into that silence where even breathing seemed too loud—

Tap…

Tap…

Tap…

Measured, steady footsteps came from the gate’s radiant passage, shimmering with prismatic halos like a portal to another world.

Each step landed unhurried, but struck precisely upon the taut strings of every onlooker’s heart.

A figure emerged, first a silhouette, then clear.

He was not bulky, but his posture was as unyielding as an ancient fir that had withstood a thousand storms.

His black-gold armor fit his frame perfectly, every plate inscribed with dense, intricate runes of dark gold that shimmered with power, twisting the very air around him.

Upon his shoulder rested a massive, savage warblade, arcs of living lightning dancing along its edge with a constant, unnerving crackle.

Reize Blake.

His gaze swept over the sea of faces outside.

No rage. No scorn.

Only a calm, detached scrutiny—like a storm eye judging whether the world beyond was even worth notice.

A Legendary Warrior!

And one who had barely stepped into the rank at that.

The verdict settled instantly among the strongest observers.

And with it came terror—raw, absurd terror that seized their very marrow.

A mere Legendary beginner had, with one strike, erased Morg, a mid-stage Legendary famed for his berserk fury and ironclad defense.

Even a peak Legendary mage or warrior would have needed real effort to bring Morg down.

But this—

This overturned everything they thought they knew about the scales of power.

Countless eyes, shaken and searching, fastened onto Reize.

“Could he be the master of this city? A Legendary rank ruler?”

“He… he killed Morg? The orc legion commander? Morg was unmatched in his tier!”

“Look at that gear—every piece radiates power. Not one is ordinary…”

“This is disastrous. The orc empire won’t forgive this. Blood will flow—”

“Fool. Look around. More than thirty powers are here. Orcs are mighty, but hardly supreme. And this… Dalton Town… perhaps it is far more than it seems…”

The air buzzed with fear and speculation.

Reize’s lips twitched ever so slightly, almost amused.

The shifting expressions of these so-called “great figures” were plainer to him than the mana flow diagrams of novice students at Dalton Academy.

He halted. He stood squarely upon the scorched ground where Morg had just been erased.

Then he spoke, voice crisp, every word driving into their ears:

“By order of Dalton Town’s High Council.”

His tone bore no excess, no inflection—only fact.

“The gate may be open.

But not all may pass freely.”

He paused. His obsidian eyes swept the assembly once more.

“Entry fee.”

The words fell as if announcing some mundane civic policy.

“One person—ten million mana stones.”

Gasps exploded.

He continued, expression unmoved:

“Equivalent value in rare magical materials, precious ores, or ancient relics of research worth is also accepted. Valuation shall be performed by Dalton officials.”

The silence shattered into chaos.

Sharp intakes of breath cascaded like a gale across the crowd.

Faces twisted. Eyes bulged.

Ten… million?!

Many rubbed their ears, half-suspecting they had misheard amid the shock.

Mana stones!

Not pebbles on the roadside, not cheap tavern beer.

The lifeblood of arcane civilization—pure mana crystallized, the hard currency of every mage’s toil.

A small principality, straining its entire economy, might yield a few tens of thousands in a year.

Even the Faranden Kingdom, modest yet prosperous, after expenses, would call fifty thousand in annual reserves a triumph.

Ten million per head?

This was not “expensive.”

This was an entire mountain of gold smelted into a single ticket.

To the gathered powers, it was no price at all—it was rejection, humiliation, mockery made law.

The world’s strongest factions, gathered here—

and instead of being courted, instead of being begged for audience, they were told to pay tribute like beggars at a temple door.

“How dare he?!”

Marquis Lawrence of the Crossbridge Empire flushed scarlet, nails biting his palm.

He muttered furiously to the wizened mage at his side:

“Master Lupotin! Did you hear? Ten million—per person! This isn’t negotiation, it’s robbery!

No—worse. It’s insult. Provocation! He never meant to let us in!”

But the Starseer Tower’s Legendary Lupotin didn’t answer.

His eyes, which had traced countless arcane mysteries and starry cycles, were locked on Reize—and on the radiant gate behind him.

“He’s insane…”

The mage’s eyelids twitched. In his mind raged not scorn but shock, wonder, and—though he loathed to admit it—fear.

“What is this ’High Council’?

What kind of energy was that strike? Pure destruction beyond any known arcane system…

This city…”

“Master!” Lawrence snapped, near shouting. “Say something! We can’t just bow to this farce! This—this is nothing but—”

Lupotin finally turned his gaze from the gate.

His voice rasped, dry as sand on stone.

“Marquis… do you truly think the issue here… is price?”

Lawrence blinked—then bristled, fury surging at the implication.

“What do you mean? You would accept this absurd decree?

Perhaps they are nothing but lowborn upstarts who stumbled upon a heaven-defying chance!”

“You may be right…”

But Lupotin’s eyes shone with grim resolve.

He drew in a long breath, and before all the gathered powers—

he began to walk, slow and deliberate, toward the man with the thunderblade.

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