The morning in Asgard had a rhythm all its own.
It wasn't hurried like ordinary comrcial capitals, nor too solemn like cities built solely for ostentation. It was a strange balance—alive. Strax walked down one of the central avenues as he stretched without ceremony, arms raised, back cracking slightly, a long sigh escaping as if he were waking not from sleep, but from an entire chapter.
"Hm..." he murmured. "This grew fast."
The sun illuminated the city at a comfortable angle, reflecting off the light stone structures mixed with enchanted tal and ancient wood. Asgard did not follow a single architectural style. It was a sum of influences: solid foundations, functional towers, open areas designed for circulation and coexistence. Nothing seed designed just to impress—everything had a purpose.
And that was new.
When Strax founded Asgard, it was a gamble. A strategic point. An experint in organization. Now... it was a real city.
He walked more slowly, observing.
rchants opened their shops, so human, so not. Elves, dwarves, demi-humans, minor races that rarely mingled in urban centers — all coexisting with a naturalness that did not co from chance. It ca from the right rules, applied in the right way.
A caravan from the Veil Company crossed the main road, its banners discreet but imdiately recognizable. Guards accompanied them without tension, more as a ceremonial escort than surveillance.
Strax smiled slightly.
"Monica..." he thought. "You really did a miracle."
The Veil Company had been the key. Not just for the capital, but for the trust. Where the Veil established itself, the rchant guilds followed. Where the guilds went, infrastructure erged. Warehouses, routes, contracts, stability.
And stability attracted people.
He passed through a square that hadn't existed a few months ago. Children ran between enchanted fountains that kept the water clean. A group of bards discussed chords while an older wizard explained sothing, gesturing wildly. Guards leaned on their spears, alert but relaxed.
There was no fear there.
Strax paused for a mont, hands on his hips, observing the whole scene as if looking at a work that was unfinished... but already functional.
"Asgard is no longer a point," he murmured. "Now it's a node."
He resud walking, heading toward a higher area of the city. As he climbed, the sound changed. Less market, more tal. Hamrs. Charms being tested. Technical voices.
Construction.
A huge area was surrounded by temporary structures and containnt runes. Engineers, structural wizards, and arcane architects worked together, sothing that rarely worked well elsewhere. Here, it seed almost natural.
Strax raised an eyebrow.
"So that's it..."
A new wall was being erected—not for imdiate defense, but for future delimitation. It was not a barrier of war. It was a planned urban border. Wide gates, roads designed for expansion, spaces reserved for districts that did not even have nas yet.
A supervisor noticed his presence and approached, clearly nervous when he recognized him.
"Lord Strax," he said, bowing his head. "We weren't expecting your visit today."
"You weren't expecting it because I didn't tell you," he replied calmly. "What are you building?"
The man hesitated for just a second.
"A new urban ring. The population forecast has been... revised upwards."
Strax chuckled softly.
"Of course it has."
He observed the floating projection sches: advanced comrcial districts, mixed residential areas, spaces reserved for institutions that did not yet exist.
"Who approved this?" he asked.
"Lady Monica," the supervisor replied imdiately. "Based on the comrcial flows predicted for the next two years."
Strax closed his eyes for a mont, taking a deep breath.
"Two years..." he murmured. "She's still being conservative."
He opened his eyes again.
"Good work," he said to the man. "Keep it up."
The supervisor almost smiled with relief.
Strax walked away, heading for a higher point from where he could see most of the city. Asgard stretched out before him like sothing alive, growing not chaotically, but intentionally.
He sensed sothing different there.
Not just power.
Responsibility.
Strax descended from the elevation with calm steps, still imrsed in that rare state where satisfaction and vigilance coexisted. The city was alive—and precisely because of that, imperfect. It was in this interval, between growth and stability, that cracks usually appeared.
He noticed the commotion before he heard it.
The flow of the street slowed. People veered off course. An informal circle ford, not out of open curiosity, but out of that collective discomfort that no one wants to take responsibility for.
Strax frowned slightly and changed course.
As he approached, the voices beca clearer.
"Get up, you useless thing!" growled a man, his tone laden with impatience and sothing else, sothing dirtier. "I don't have all day!"
On the ground lay a motionless figure.
Strax stopped a few feet away.
The woman was lying on her side, partially curled up, trying to protect her body. Her clothes were too simple for the climate, torn in more than one place. Her skin—naturally tanned—was so covered in dust, dried mud, and old blood that it looked almost black. There were marks on her arms, legs, and back. So were recent. Others were not.
She tried to move when the man took a step forward, but her body didn't respond as it should.
"Co on!" he insisted, kicking the ground next to her, not her... yet.
Strax took a deep breath.
"Hey."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
The rchant turned with obvious irritation, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
"It's none of your business," he snapped imdiately. "This is my property. Now get out of the way."
Strax tilted his head slightly, assessing him.
The man wore rchant's clothes far too expensive for soone so far removed from any relevant guild. A fake signet ring. New boots, but poorly cared for. Restless eyes. Cold sweat.
An opportunist.
Strax took another step forward.
"I asked what you're doing," he repeated, his tone still calm... but now firm.
The rchant swallowed hard.
"I... I'm trading," he said, trying to regain his composure. "This thing is my rchandise. It fell on its own. It's not my problem."
Strax looked away from him and fixed his gaze on the woman.
Her hair was long and black, but with a shade of purple so dark that it was only visible under the right light. A dark elf. Rare. Her fine features were swollen, marked. One of her eyes barely opened. Her chest rose and fell with difficulty.
She didn't look at anyone.
Only at the floor.
Strax closed his eyes for a second.
When he opened them, sothing had changed.
"Interesting," he said, almost to himself. "I rember the laws of this city very well."
The rchant laughed nervously.
"Look, whoever you are, I paid entry fees. I have docunts. This isn't a paladin's kingdom."
He turned back to the woman and pulled the chain attached to her wrist.
"Get up!"
The movent was incomplete.
The chain stretched... and stopped.
The rchant blinked, confused, pulling again.
Nothing.
"What...?"
Strax held the chain with two fingers.
There was no visible effort. No tension.
"Take your hand off her," he said, finally.
The rchant felt the chill down his spine too late.
"Listen here, you bastard," he began, his voice rising in aggressive desperation, "you don't boss around! I—"
The chain fell apart.
It didn't break.
It simply turned to dust between Strax's fingers, as if it had never been solid.
A heavy silence fell around them.
The rchant took a step back.
"W-who do you think you are?"
Strax sighed.
A long, weary sigh... disappointed.
"Who let a worm into my city to sell slaves?" he asked aloud.
The word "my" fell like an invisible hamr.
So guards, watching from a distance, imdiately stiffened. One of them turned pale.
"M-my city?" stamred the rchant. "Who do you think you are? So nobleman?"
Strax finally looked directly at him.
There was no explosion of aura. No explicit threat.
Just presence.
The kind of presence that made the body understand, before the mind, that sothing was deeply wrong.
"Ah..." he let out a sigh that brought a little smoke out of his mouth... "CO HERE." He shouted, and quickly, all the knights of the city appeared close to him, kneeling on the ground.
"YES, LORD!" They all said together.
Strax kept his gaze fixed on the rchant for another second—not out of indecision, but so that everyone around him would understand exactly who was being judged there.
Then he turned to the kneeling knights.
"I want to know," he said, his voice low and heavy, "who authorized the entry of a slave trader into Asgard."
The silence was imdiate.
The knights exchanged tense glances. One of them, more experienced, took a deep breath and spoke, choosing his words carefully:
"Lord... there is, as yet, no explicit law prohibiting the slave trade within the walls. We have been given no protocol for—"
Strax raised his hand.
The knight fell silent instantly.
Strax was silent for a few seconds. It wasn't explosive anger—it was calculation. He looked around: the people watching, the guards, the rchants, the city itself listening.
"Then this failure is mine," he said at last. "And it ends now."
He took a step forward.
"From this mont on," he continued, "any slave trader who attempts to enter Asgard will be considered a hostile criminal."
The knights raised their heads.
"Do not arrest them," Strax added. "Eliminate them. Free the slaves imdiately. Provide assistance. If there is resistance... do not hesitate."
"YES, LORD!" they replied in unison, their voices echoing down the avenue.
The rchant began to shake visibly.
"W-wait..." he stamred, his eyes wide. "This can't be... I have rights! I can pay! I can leave the city right now, please—"
Strax turned slowly toward him.
Each step he took seed to suck the air out of the surrounding area.
The man fell to his knees, completely broken.
"I beg you..." he sobbed. "It was just business... I didn't know... I—"
Strax stopped in front of him.
"You knew exactly what you were doing," he replied, without raising his voice. "You just chose the wrong place."
The movent was quick.
A single blow.
Clean.
Final.
The body fell limp, and the silence that followed was absolute.
Strax looked at the horsen.
"Clean up."
They moved imdiately, efficiently, without question.
Strax then turned to the dark elf.
He knelt again, this ti with genuine care. He slipped one arm under her legs and the other around her back, lifting her with ease, but also with respect.
She was unconscious now, her body too light for soone who should have lived for centuries.
"I'll take care of her," he said, more to himself than to the others.
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