The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic
Chapter 226

The towering gate of Nevan shimmered in the evening light, its iron lattice work glowing orange from torches mounted at even intervals. The high stone walls, etched with old runes of fortification, cast long shadows over the bustling crowd.

Dozens of soldiers moved along the parapets, and more guarded the entrance below. The flow of people into the city was neatly separated—a wide left lane for commoners, many with bags slung over shoulders and carts in tow, and a right lane packed with wealthy merchants and their guarded caravans.

Kael's eyes flicked to the merchants being escorted through by polished knights and scribes, comparing the ease of their entry.

"Wouldn't it be safer to get in as merchants?" Kael murmured low, just loud enough for the others to hear.

A few heads turned toward him, brows slightly raised. He wasn't alone in that thought.

Martina, walking at the front, answered calmly, "Merchants are all registered. And His Highness the Third Prince personally oversees that registration to root out spies or smugglers. Anyone that smells wrong is interrogated."

She glanced back at him. "Besides, Nevan's the trade capital in this region. Natural harbor, central location, everything flows through here. And everyone watches."

"It's better to go as a commoner than as a merchants of warriors."

Kael nodded, understanding. "So, go as a nobody, pass like a shadow."

"Exactly," Martina said.

As they neared the checkpoint, they could hear the sounds of coins clinking, tired groans, and the firm voices of guards barking instructions.

Each person at the front of the line was halted by a short, bearded guard.

"Fifty copper coins per entry! No exceptions!"

Sol's eyes widened and her mouth dropped. "What?! That's extortion!"

The nearby guards instantly turned toward him, their expressions hardening. Just as one of them stepped forward, Herion reacted fast, dragging him back by the arm.

"Don't mind him," Herion said smoothly, bowing slightly. "He's been in a foul mood ever since his wife started controlling all his money. Poor guy can't even afford proper boots."

The guards paused… and then, unexpectedly, laughed. One of them even patted Sol's shoulder in sympathy.

"Tough life, brother."

Kael exhaled through his nose, hiding his grin.

Then came Martina's turn.

Though she was disguised well—her long green hair was now black,and her face altered with a few well-placed illusion marks—her regal bearing and statuesque figure made her difficult to ignore.

Even in commoner clothes, she moved like someone born to command armies.

As she reached into her pouch and handed over five silver coins, one of the guards took the chance to graze her hand—too slow to be an accident.

The air around the group froze.

Kael could practically feel the killing intent that surged up from the others. Frey's fingers twitched toward her blade. Adonis's jaw clenched. Even mild Linda's pupils darkened.

This guy's about to lose his hand…

But before anything exploded, Martina raised a single hand.

Her smile was calm, voice honeyed. "Nevan's quite lively, isn't it?"

The guard blinked, slightly flushed. "O-of course, Lady. We're growing thanks to the grace of His Highness, the Third Prince."

Martina's expression brightened, a bit too sweet. "Ah yes, the Third Prince… like a god among men. If only I could meet him in person…"

"Ah, bad luck, Lady. His Highness left just yesterday morning for an urgent summit. He'll be gone for a few days."

"Oh, how unfortunate…" she said, her tone laced with hidden amusement.

Then, in one smooth motion, she withdrew her hand, wiped it on a fine white handkerchief she'd pulled from her sleeve, and tossed it away, letting it fall to the ground like trash.

The gesture was sharp, calculated—an insult disguised as grace.

Kael followed silently, stepping behind her with the others. As they walked through the gate and into the city, the cobblestone road stretching wide ahead of them, the tension still clung to the group.

"I should have butchered him," Linda muttered.

"We could've cut him into pieces," Frey hissed, and even Sol nodded seriously for once.

"Enough!" Martina snapped, but kept her tone low. "I told you don't address me as nobles. We're not nobles here. It's Tina, remember?"

The group halted their complaints immediately.

"We apologize… Tina," they said in near unison.

Martina kept walking, cool and collected, her back straight like a blade. Behind her, the team fell into step, blending perfectly into the evening rush of Nevan.

Only Kael looked back once at the gate.

She's scary when she wants to be… but damn effective, he thought.

....

The streets of Nevan were nothing short of a luxurious marvel—cobblestone roads, smooth and polished by centuries of footfall, stretched in graceful curves flanked by grand buildings with intricate iron railings and tall arched windows.

Gas lamps flickered along the walkways, casting golden halos that danced on the glimmering stone. Balconies with wrought iron vines, stone gargoyles atop corners, and the heavy scent of rosewood perfume wafting through the air gave the entire city an aura of ancient Victorian opulence—timeless and majestic.

Elegant carriages rattled past, wheels polished to shine, drawn by majestic horses with braided manes. Well-dressed nobles strolled under parasols, merchants hawked expensive silk and rare spices from elaborately adorned stalls, and classical music floated through the air from an old violinist playing near a marble fountain.

The group moved cautiously but blended in well, dressed as standard troops with long cloaks and weapons discreetly tucked beneath them.

Then, a strange sight caught their eye.

Few path ahead, there was an open field.

A large gathering had formed near a grassy square, where a lavishly embroidered tent stood in the center, its red-and-gold fabric shimmering under the torchlight. The crowd buzzed with excitement, people jostling for a view.

In front of the tent, a makeshift wooden stage had been erected, and several actors in flamboyant clothing were mid-performance, their exaggerated gestures drawing applause and laughter.

"Whoa, look at that!" Sol's eyes gleamed. He leaned forward, practically bouncing. "Can we watch it? This looks interesting!"

The others turned to him in unison with raised eyebrows.

"We're on a mission," Adonis grunted.

"This isn't a festival," Frey snapped.

"We'll get spotted if we stand around," Linda added sharply.

Sol recoiled, sulking, "You all act like we're about to be executed tomorrow..."

Martina chuckled, a warm sound that surprised even Kael.

"Okay, okay… calm down. We're not in that much of a rush," she said. "Let's take a look—but stay at the back and don't draw attention."

Reluctantly, the group agreed.

They made their way toward the crowd, slipping in through a gap at the back where shadows were deeper. The stage was clearly visible from here, framed by strings of magical lights hovering above, casting a glow over the performers.

"Please a huge round of applause for the artist and with this began Act I of Play, Shadow of the Blessed depicting the man who gave it all only to be backstabbed by the world."

The moment Kael heard this, his ears stood erect and a premonition welled up in his heart.

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