Forbidden Constellation's Blade-Chapter 153: All Is Fine

They were escorted to the royal palace under heavy guard.

They were polite, well, it wasn’t the word Fritz would use to describe it. The guards felt...bored? Like it was a routine that they’d done a million times before and knew by heart.

Wide halls of carved stone opened before them, lit by steady manalite lamps that flickered in and out. Several servants guided them to guest chambers overlooking the inner district, where the stonework was cleaner and the streets below were noticeably quieter.

They were fed well, with an assortment of meats, fruits, and vegetables that would be common for any royalty. If Fritz didn’t know any better, about the manalite and monsters, he would’ve thought himself a welcomed guest.

Yet, there was an odd part that none of the workers ever said out loud.

They haven’t met either king or queen of Khaz Vordun yet.

"Their Majesties are currently occupied," the attendant said for the third time that day, head bowed. "We ask for your patience."

Amelia’s jaw tightened.

"How long," she asked carefully, "does ’currently’ last?"

The attendant didn’t look up. "As long as necessary."

That was the answer they kept getting.

Hours turned into a day.

A day into two.

Each time they asked, it was the same response, just using a different synonym: busy, away, unavailable...

By the third evening, Amelia stopped pacing only because she looked like she was about to blow a fuse.

"This is ridiculous," she snapped. "They know who we are. They’ve escorted us inside their fortress—"

"And now they’re pretending we don’t exist!"

"They’re not pretending," Taylor said quietly. "They’re delaying."

Amelia rounded on Fritz. "And you’re fine with that?"

Fritz didn’t answer immediately.

He stood by the balcony, looking out over the inner city. From up here, Khaz Vordun looked pristine, the surface at least.

"No," he said finally. "I’m not."

"Then let me go down there," Amelia shot back, folding her arms, "and remind them who they’re keeping waiting."

Fritz turned to face her.

"If you do that," he said evenly, "you give them exactly what they want."

She frowned. "Which is?"

"A reason," Fritz replied. "To frame us as impatient, difficult guests."

He gestured vaguely toward the doors.

"As long as we wait quietly, they’re the ones stalling. The moment we force it, the narrative changes."

Amelia dragged a finger across her temple, exhaling sharply.

"...Ryn really did leave a mark on you."

Fritz said nothing. After all, he couldn’t really deny the fact. Having a competent leader go missing really does leave a large gap that had to be filled somehow.

He straightened.

"I’m going to take a look around," Fritz continued. "See what the city looks like and get more information."

Taylor nodded slowly. "That sounds more useful than waiting another day."

Amelia hesitated, then waved a hand in irritation.

"Fine. Just don’t get caught."

Fritz reached for his cloak.

"I won’t," he said.

And for the first time since they’d entered Khaz Vordun, he felt like he was actually moving toward an answer.

***

Fritz didn’t take the main roads.

He moved away from the palace district, down narrower streets where the stone grew rougher and the lamps fewer.

It got colder and heavier the further he descended.

The buildings here were packed closer together. Workshops were half-closed, storehouses were reinforced, and people moved with their heads down.

They noticed him immediately.

A human stood out in Khaz Vordun the say way a crack stood out in stone.

Fritz pulled his hood lower and approached a man stacking crates outside a workshop.

"Excuse me," he said. "Can I ask you something?"

The dwarf glanced up once, just long enough to recognize the unfamiliarity and then went back to work.

"No," he said flatly.

Fritz hesitated, then tried again a street later.

A woman sat outside a narrow building, mending a torn sleeve. Fritz slowed, careful not to loom.

"Sorry," he said. "I’m new here. I was hoping—"

She didn’t look up.

"Palace is uphill," she muttered. "You’re going the wrong way."

"I know," Fritz replied. "That’s kind of the point."

That earned him a glance.

She eyed him from head to toe.

Then she shook her head and turned away.

"Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to," she said. "And don’t ask them down here."

A third attempt ended before it began.

The moment Fritz opened his mouth, the pair he’d approached simply walked past him, conversation cut off mid-sentence as if he weren’t there at all.

He stood alone in the middle of the street, listening to the distant sounds of metals clanging and the low murmur of voices all around.

So this was how it was.

He slumped onto a nearby chair as exhaustion overtook him.

Fritz exhaled slowly.

"Ryn would’ve seen something by now."

Fritz had only managed to make people uncomfortable.

He rubbed a hand over his face and let his arm fall back to his side.

Yeah.

This was harder than it looked.

After a moment’s hesitation, he turned toward the nearest side street onto the sign of a local bar.

Fritz adjusted his cloak and headed inside.

If he couldn’t pry answers out of the streets—

Maybe he could sit still long enough for them to come to him.

The bar was nearly empty.

A long stone counter ran along one wall, its surface worn smooth through decades of use and spilled bear. A few stools were scattered loosely around, most of them unoccupied.

Fritz chose a seat near the center and sat down.

Alright, he thought. Ryn would—

He reached into his pouch and set a small bag of coin on the counter beside him. Just enough to be obvious.

At least he thought so.

Footsteps sounded from the back room as the bartender emerged.

He took one look at Fritz.

Then at the coin.

Then back at Fritz.

"That supposed to mean something?" he asked.

Fritz cleared his throat. "Just thought I’d—"

"Save it," the bartender said, already reaching for a mug. "You’re not that kind of mysterious."

Fritz blinked. "I’m not?"

The bartender slid the mug across the counter and filled it without asking.

"Nope."

He leaned an elbow on the stone, eyeing Fritz openly now. "You sit too straight. You look at the door too often. The telltale signs of an amateur."

Fritz slowly pulled his hand back from the pouch.

"...Right," he muttered.

The bartender pushed a mug of beer closer. "

Drink," he said. "Then talk like a normal person."

Fritz hesitated, then took a sip. He flinched immediately. Dwarves really know how to handle their alcohol.

He exhaled through his nose. "I’m bad at this."

"Yeah," the bartender agreed. "I noticed."

Fritz stared into the mug for a moment, then gave a quiet huff. "I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with this city."

"But everywhere I turn, I’m met with silence," he continued. "What’s going on?"

The bartender shook his head. "If you want answers, stop pretending you’re someone else."

A beat.

"Stick to what you’re actually good at."

The words landed harder than Fritz expected.

The bartender reached for a mug of his own.

"...That said," he added, setting it down, "I might have some answers—if you’re willing to listen."

Fritz didn’t hesitate.

"Then tell me about the king and queen," he said. "Because we’ve been waiting days."

The bartender’s mouth twitched.

"Ah," he said. "That."

He leaned back against the shelves, arms crossing loosely. Not tense. Just tired.

"It’s been a lot of nonsense," he continued. "Khaz Vordun stands strong they said."

Fritz frowned. "And it’s not?"

The bartender let out a short laugh, though there was no humor behind it.

"They say that from behind castle walls," he said. "While they sit on stockpiles the rest of us will never see."

He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, toward the palace above.

"Manalite’s becoming a luxury," he went on. "What little comes in gets funneled straight uphill. Workshops shut down one by one. Repairs take longer. Tools get reused until they break."

"And food?" Fritz asked.

The bartender’s expression hardened.

"Stagnating," he said. "Trade routes are dangerous now. Beasts roaming closer to the roads. Caravans don’t make it back."

It made sense, they were fed extremely lavishly while inside the castle.

Fritz’s grip tightened around his mug.

"So why doesn’t anyone say anything?" he asked quietly. "Why is everyone pretending nothing’s wrong?"

The bartender met his gaze.

"Because they were told not to."

"They put out an order," the bartender continued, voice low. "Anyone who questions the crown. Anyone who claims things are getting worse."

He tapped the counter once.

"Death penalty. No questions."

"People stopped talking after that," he said. "Not because they believe the lies, but because it was stupid to find the truth."

Fritz sat there for a moment longer, staring into his mug.

Then he nodded.

"...Thank you," he said.

Fritz stood, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. He slid a few coins onto the counter, this time simply as payment for the story and beer.

As he stepped back out into the street, the noise of the city washed over him again

Fritz had made up his mind.

He would confront the Dwarven Royalty.