Reborn As Noble-Chapter 354: Crossing Lines ( )

The wyverns soared through the sky, their powerful wings cutting through the cold air. The woman clutched the saddle tightly, her heart racing from the whirlwind of events.

The Halfling ambassador's voice carried over the rushing wind. "Listen carefully."

She turned her head slightly, straining to hear. "Even with wyverns, you cannot fly straight into human lands."

Her grip tightened. She had expected this; the Amazarak were not welcome in any kingdom. The Halfling Kingdom, however, was neutral—a rare bridge between nations.

"We must land at the Halfling capital first," the ambassador continued. "There, I will do what I can to speed up your entry process."

Her stomach twisted with anxiety. "How long will that take?"

The ambassador's eyes darkened slightly. "Officially? Weeks."

A sharp breath escaped her lips. Weeks? That was impossible. By then, Zania would already be gone.

Before she could protest, the ambassador raised a hand. "I said 'officially.' But I will see what I can do."

Hope flickered in her chest, but his next words dimmed it. "Even with the proper documents, your journey will still be slow."

She turned fully toward him, brows furrowing. "Why?"

The ambassador's wyvern dipped slightly as they adjusted formation. "The borders are strict. Every kingdom enforces checkpoint inspections."

"How many?" she asked, though she feared the answer.

His lips pressed into a firm line. "Four."

Her breath caught. "Four entire kingdoms?"

He nodded. "From the Halfling Kingdom, you must pass through the Dwarven Kingdom first."

She swallowed hard. The Dwarves were fiercely territorial and known for their strict inspections.

"Then Elven lands," the ambassador continued.

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Her jaw clenched. The Elves were even less welcoming to outsiders, and their magical detection would reveal her identity as an Amazarak the moment she arrived.

"After that, the Beastkin Kingdom," he said. "And finally, the Human Kingdom's military checkpoint before Armand."

Her shoulders tensed. She had known it would be difficult—but not this difficult.

The ambassador met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Even with my help, you must understand this—you may not make it in time."

His words hit her like a stone to the chest. Her fingers curled into fists. But she had no choice; she had to try, even if it felt hopeless. Even if the journey took too long. At the very least, she would be there to bring Zania's body home.

The wyverns descended in smooth arcs, their large wings stirring up dust as they landed in the Halfling Kingdom's official transport zone. The woman barely had time to steady herself before the ambassador dismounted and turned to the nearest officer.

"Process this woman's documents immediately," he ordered, his tone sharp yet diplomatic.

The Halfling officer, dressed in the kingdom's official uniform, raised a brow but nodded. "Come here, ma'am," he said.

She stiffened, unsure if this was truly happening.

The officer cleared his throat. "Ma'am, place your hand on the mana scanner."

She stepped forward, heart pounding. The device hummed to life, glowing softly as it recorded her mana signature.

Then—a stamp. The officer nodded, quickly filing the papers. "Your permit is being processed. You will receive a temporary pass for now."

Her hands trembled as she accepted the document. "...That's it?"

The ambassador smirked. "That's it. But don't relax yet."

She swallowed. Right. This was only the first gate. Dwarven lands were next, and the Dwarves were not as… gentle.

The Halfling ambassador crossed his arms, observing as the official finished stamping her temporary permit.

Then he turned toward a nearby wyvern rider—a tall Halfling woman clad in light leather armor, a short sword strapped at her side.

"You will accompany her," he ordered.

The rider nodded firmly.

"Understood."

The woman blinked, startled.

"W-wait, you mean I won't be going alone?"

The ambassador let out a dry chuckle.

"If you go alone, every kingdom's checkpoint will turn you away." His gaze hardened. "An Amazarak woman traveling without an official escort? That's practically an invitation for trouble."

She swallowed hard, realizing he was right.

Even with the permit, she would never have made it through the Dwarven border alone.

Turning to the ambassador, her voice trembled, "Thank you… Mr. Ambassador… thank you."

Then—

She fell to her knees, tears slipping down her cheeks.

The ambassador's expression softened slightly, then he sighed.

"Don't thank me yet. You still have a long way to go."

The wyvern rider stepped forward and offered her a hand.

"Come on," she said with a small smirk. "We have a mountain to cross."

The woman wiped her tears and took a deep breath, then grasped the rider's hand.

She would not stop now.

Meanwhile, in the Armand region, Gaze City, Gaze Prison—

Zania sat in her dimly lit cell, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

The cold air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed; her mind was elsewhere.

In less than three days, she would be executed before the people of Armand.

She had failed.

Every single Amazarak warrior who had accompanied her—dead.

As for the ones who had scattered across the human kingdom? She had no idea if they were still alive… or if they had met the same fate.

Regret consumed her.

What had she been thinking?

Believing the hero's words.

Believing in her mission.

Believing she could take down a noble house without understanding its power.

Her fingers dug into her arms, pressing against the fabric of her clothing as she fought the urge to break down.

She wanted to cry.

To scream.

To beg for her life.

But she wouldn't.

Not in front of the Armand guards.

Not in front of the people who had captured her.

She refused to show weakness.

So she sat alone, silent.

Then—

Footsteps.

Zania's ears twitched.

Someone was coming.

Slowly, she lifted her head, narrowing her eyes at the approaching figure.

Who?

Was it her executioner?

But she still had time. Why?

Zania's body tensed.

She saw her.

The elf.

The beautiful one with silver hair—yet to Zania, there was nothing comforting about her presence.

The scary one.

The one who had force-fed her meat laced with chili, watching her suffer with a smile.

Liana.

Or Miss Liana, as she had heard others call her.

The elf stood at the bars, her emerald eyes calm yet unreadable.

Then—

She smiled.

A shiver crawled down Zania's spine.

Why was she here?

Was it time?

Was she here to drag her to her execution?

Or was this something worse?

Slowly, Liana leaned closer, resting her hand lightly against the bars.

Then—

She spoke.

"Still alive, I see."

Zania's throat went dry.

Liana's smile never wavered.

"What's wrong, girl? Scared?"

Her voice was sweet—too sweet.

Zania swallowed hard but refused to answer.

Liana let out a soft chuckle, her fingers casually spinning a small, metallic object between them.

A key.

Zania's eyes locked onto it, her body stiffening.

The key to her cell.

Liana tilted her head, an amused sparkle in her eyes.

"Oh? What's with that look?" she teased, tapping the bars lightly with the key.

Then her voice dropped into a softer, almost tempting whisper.

"Wanna come out and have a fight?"

Zania's muscles tensed.

She didn't respond.

She couldn't.

A fight?

No.

Not with this woman.

Not after already losing to that monstrous boy.

Liana observed her in silence.

Then—

Her smile faded.

Her emerald eyes hardened.

And her voice—

Cold. Sharp. Final.

"If you don't want to fight…"

She leaned in just a little closer.

"Then don't you dare show that face to my young master again."

Zania's breath hitched as Liana's gaze burned through her, revealing something more dangerous than hatred.

Possession.

Territorial fury.

Zania understood immediately.

This elf…

Would kill for him.

Would kill her for even looking at him the wrong way.

And unlike Javier—

Liana wouldn't hesitate.

( End of Chapter )