My Mansion of Gorgeous Maids in Another World-Chapter 80: Top

Jett's carriage rattled along the winding, rutted road as the jagged silhouette of the Northern Wall Kingdom loomed into view.

Each concentric ring of pale granite rose like a giant's ribcage against the sky, stones chiseled so precisely their seams vanished in the golden haze of late afternoon.

Narrow arrow slits and crenellated battlements caught the sun at every tier, while banners bearing the kingdom's frost‑blue crest fluttered stiffly in the sharp breeze.

Beyond the grassy moor lay three smaller sentinel walls, each bristling with life.

The guards stood at rigid attention in frost‑grey armor polished to a mirror finish.

Their pauldrons bore engraved runes that hinted at enchantments of warding and watchfulness; beneath their visored helms, eyes the color of glacial ice scanned the horizon with unwavering diligence.

At each checkpoint, a long spear's tip cut silver lines through the air, the butt ends pressed into the earth in salute as Jett's carriage rolled to a halt.

Inside the carriage, Jett leaned forward, pressing his palm against the cool glass of the window.

Gods, this place feels more like a living barricade than a kingdom, he thought.

He brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead and caught Barbara's eye.

Though she appeared the picture of regal composure—her silver‑threaded gown whispering around her knees—he saw the slightest tension in her chin as she smoothed her skirts.

At the first wall, two sentries stepped forward, their red‑tipped halberds glinting ominously.

The stamp of the royal seal on Barbara's sleeve drew their respectful bow.

"By the grace of the Queen, we grant passage to Princess Barbara of Northernhold," announced the senior guard, his voice low and resonant.

Jett inclined his head once, the motion casual but precise, as the guards clicked their heels and returned to their posts.

A quarter mile beyond, the path narrowed until it disappeared beneath a canopy of ancient pines.

Their gnarled roots clutched the earth like bony fingers, while clusters of amber moss dripped from twisted branches overhead.

Here lay the hidden rail: a slim iron track forged to bear the carriage through a tunnel carved into sheer rock.

The horses snorted at the sudden gloom, their breath steaming in the cool shade, but Jett's quiet command settled them instantly.

Barbara's slender fingers curved around the polished wood frame, her pale eyes softening as the wind‑borne scent of damp earth and pine filled the carriage.

The rhythmic click of wheels against iron echoed through the rock, punctuated by distant drips of water along the tunnel ceiling.

Emerging into the chill air beyond the third wall, Jett let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The final barrier—a wall twice as high as the rest, its surface sealed with metal sheathing—towered before them.

Frost‑blue banners snapped in the wind above its arched gate, and a pair of silver‑helmed wardens, their cloaks the color of storm clouds, watched impassively.

All clear, Jett mused, the corners of his mouth lifting.

With Barbara's authority vouchsafed, even these ancient defenses bowed before them.

Through the great gate they rolled, entering a courtyard of pale stone and frozen fountains, where the heartbeat of the kingdom lay waiting beyond those walls.

The carriage clattered forward into the outer district of Asciana, where narrow streets wound between squat stone dwellings and open‑air markets.

Here, the first tier of walls rose modestly—bare granite unadorned by flourish, save for occasional strips of beaten copper that gleamed like flecks of fire when sunlight struck them.

Peasants in homespun wool bustled through stalls of root vegetables and salted fish, their breath drifting in white puffs under the watchful gaze of two bored guards atop the low rampart.

Barbara leaned toward Jett, her voice soft but brimming with authority.

"This is the Commons District," she began, sweeping a gloved hand toward the bustling thoroughfare. "Folks here labor by dawn's light, and their taxes build the higher walls you'll soon glimpse. Beyond this lies the Guild District, where craftsmen shape metal and marble into wonders, paying tribute in the form of artistry and coin. Notice the belt of polished iron crowning that second wall—each plate forged by the Master Artisans of the Silver Guild." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Jett nodded, absorbing every word as the carriage eased to a halt before a stout wooden gate studded with iron nails.

"And above that?" he prompted.

Barbara's pale smile held a trace of pride.

"The Merchant Quarters occupy the third terrace. Here, caravans from distant realms arrive with silks, spices, and gemstones. Even the air smells richer—lemon balm and ambergris drifting on the breeze. But we can't cross that barrier today without proper credentials. Only the gilded carriages of nobles and high‑ranking envoys pass beyond it unhindered."

Through the gate's narrow window, Jett glimpsed a riot of color: banners striped in crimson and gold, towers of stacked crates and woven tapestries, and carts drawn by sleek ponies that trotted along polished cobblestones.

Above them all, he caught sight of the pale blue flag fluttering atop the final, soaring wall.

"That is the Sovereign's Rampart," Barbara continued, her voice a whisper now, as though speaking of something sacred. "Beyond it lies the Royal Terrace, crowned by the Azure Court. There, the Queen's palace gleams with lapis facades, its windows inlaid with gemstone tracery that catches the sun like captured stars. Only those bearing the royal sigil may ascend to stand beneath the palace's colonnades. And soon," she added with measured softness, her eyes meeting his, "we will."

Jett couldn't help but admire Barbara's unwavering confidence—how she spoke of Asciana's tiers as though she'd strolled each level in silk and sapphires.

That's the kind of certainty I like, he thought, a wry twist at his lips.

He pushed open the carriage door and stepped onto the gravel courtyard, boots crunching in measured rhythm.

Ahead, two guards—young men in ill‑fitting frost‑grey breastplates—leaned against the low rampart, engrossed in a sloppy game of dice atop a weathered barrel.

Their visors were tipped back, yawns betraying their boredom as they flicked silver cubes at each other's armor.

One guard straightened, voice dripping disdain.

"Oi, what're you lot even doin' here?" he sneered.

The other snorted, rolling his eyes.

Jett ignored them, chin high, and strolled past with a casual swagger.

The guards sprang upright, hands flying to halberds in sharp surprise—only to falter as a line of soft footsteps echoed behind him.

First came Mia, Noctlisa, and Eleonora: three statuesque maids in crisp black‑and‑white uniforms, their exotic features and perfect posture lending an aura of otherworldly grace.

Each carried herself with quiet dignity, yet their presence was unmistakably devoted to the man walking before them.

Behind them, Princess Barbara emerged, gown trailing like a whisper, her pale gaze calm and imperious.

Though still young, her royal bearing silenced any doubt of her station.

The guards froze, faces blanching beneath their helmets.

The dice clattered forgotten to the ground as they clutched their weapons, hearts hammering with the sudden realization that they'd dared to insult not just a traveler, but the ice‑blooded princess and her formidable retinue.

The guards gulped, eyes darting wildly, then one mustered a tremulous shout, "Get back or we'll—!"

But before his half‑formed threat could land, Jett's dark‑ink steeds thundered into view.

The massive mounts, sleek and obsidian as polished coal, surged forward through the gate.

Their hooves struck stone with thunderous force, and when two guards stumbled into their path, the beasts lowered their heads and swept them aside like mere flies with a casual toss of their armored forelocks.

The horses reined to a halt beside Jett, nuzzling his coat in a gesture of familiar devotion.

Jett's lips curved into a confident smirk as he met the stunned gazes of the guards.

"That's how it should be. My power blooms only at the top of this capital," he declared, voice smooth and assured.

At his words, the maids readied themselves.

As the carriage approached the second wall, Eleonora drew her slender blade.

With a graceful flourish, she slashed the air.

A sharp gust of wind answered her command, slicing through the sentry line and sending armored soldiers tumbling back.

Her hair whipped around her face as she advanced, eyes blazing, clearing the path with lethal precision.

Beyond her, Noctlisa stepped forward.

Her hands glowed with crackling energy as she unleashed a series of concussive blasts.

Stone and steel erupted beneath the force, hurling would‑be attackers off the rampart like ragdolls.

Each blast left a scorched mark, a testament to her raw, untamed power.

Finally, Mia extended her slender fingers, chanting softly under her breath.

Vines and blossoms erupted from cracks in the stone, weaving between weapons to bind them.

Archers found their bows entangled in thorny vines; swords were sheathed by creeping ivy.

Nature itself bowed to her command, neutralizing any threat with gentle but unbreakable restraint.

With every obstacle dismantled by his loyal protectors, Jett stepped forward alone to the final gate.

There, the Sovereign's Rampart rose in magnificent defiance, manned by the kingdom's finest guards in polished silver armor.

He straightened his shoulders beneath Barbara's calm gaze and prepared to summon his own power—a force that would bloom only at the capital's highest heights.