Shadow Weaver: Sole Heir Of The Night-Chapter 176: Familiar faces

Winhelm

"Hehe, why is this place like this?" Enzo muttered as they walked through the streets of the royal capital of the ice kingdom.

Cold air clung to the city like damp cloth, sharp enough to sting the lungs. Snowmelt pooled between uneven stones, turning the roads slick and gray as boots dragged through slush and grime.

One would assume this place to be the epitome of beauty and design. A frozen marvel where every brick was laid with care, every tower shaped to reflect the pride of an ancient kingdom.

Unfortunately, that illusion shattered the moment they stepped inside.

The buildings leaned toward one another like exhausted men. Rusted pipes ran along walls meant to be white, and patched roofs overlapped in chaotic layers.

This place looked like a slum.

"It’s the most popular city on the entire planet. Everyone wants to be here," Leon explained calmly as he walked beside them.

His eyes never stopped moving, measuring faces, corners, exits.

"When too many people gather in one place, order is the first thing to rot."

The crowds proved his point. Voices overlapped in dozens of accents, merchants shouted over one another, and the press of bodies never eased.

Over the ages, so many people had poured into Winhelm that the city had been forced to grow outward without restraint.

Outer shelters stacked upon older ones, spreading like frost across stone. The true borders of the capital were long forgotten, buried beneath desperation and ambition.

"This place stinks. Fire City is way better," Zeke scoffed, pinching his nose with open disdain.

Sky Planet had been a utopia by comparison.

Waste was regulated. Population was controlled. Entry was earned, not begged for.

That level of restraint made Sky Planet stand apart, even among the great super worlds that ruled the stars.

"Hehe, better watch your mouth," Leon whispered sharply.

The moment Zeke spoke, Leon’s hand clamped over his mouth as they passed a group of armored guards. Steel boots crunched against ice only a few steps away.

Gaia was chaos given form.

Countless factions clawed at one another in an endless struggle for relevance and power. Alliances shifted overnight, and grudges lasted lifetimes.

To offend the wrong group here was to invite a fate worse than death.

Keeping their heads low, they moved deeper into the city until they reached a small inn wedged between taller buildings.

Its sign creaked in the cold wind, paint peeling and letters barely legible.

Inside, the warmth hit them like a wave. The air smelled of cheap ale, smoke, and unwashed bodies.

As the others spoke with the innkeeper, Enzo’s gaze drifted across the room.

His eyes slowed, then stopped.

A young man sat near the center, laughing loudly, his arms wrapped around two women at his sides. His hands roamed shamelessly, fingers digging into their thighs as if the world did not exist beyond his pleasure.

Bliss was etched across his face, smug and careless.

Something about him felt familiar.

Moments later, a shadow fell over the table.

The young man stiffened, then looked up instinctively.

"Enzo?" he blurted out, eyes widening.

He shot to his feet so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"Sword Cleaver. What brings you to Winhelm?" Enzo smiled, though there was no warmth behind it.

Zeke had noticed too, his grin slow and sharp.

"I... ah. Fire boy is here too," Sword Cleaver stammered, sweat forming at his brow. "Well, I should be going."

He turned, panic setting into his movements, but his escape lasted only a few steps.

The two blocked him effortlessly, the crowd pressing in behind like a closing net.

Sword Cleaver swallowed hard.

The old bastard had taken credit for much of what they had accomplished on Yari. Posing as their teacher, he had collected their rewards from the federation without shame.

And now, cornered in a filthy inn, that debt was finally being remembered.

""Hey, come on, can’t we let bygones be bygones? Remember how much help I was?" Sword Cleaver said with a strained chuckle, lifting both hands slightly as if calming wild beasts instead of two men he knew far too well.

His grin stretched wide, but it did not reach his eyes. A thin layer of sweat formed along his temples despite the cold that seeped even through the inn’s walls.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, boots scraping against the wooden floor. The lively chatter around them dulled in his ears, replaced by the loud thud of his own heartbeat.

Being cornered from two sides was not a situation he enjoyed.

Enzo stood quietly, gaze steady and unreadable, which somehow made it worse. There was no shouting, no visible anger, just that calm stare that suggested everything had already been decided.

Zeke, on the other hand, wore his amusement openly.

"It’s fine," Zeke said, stepping forward with deliberate slowness.

He clasped Sword Cleaver by the shoulders as if greeting an old friend, fingers digging in with subtle force. The friendly gesture carried a silent warning beneath it.

"You owe us though. And you’ll have to pay up."

His smile widened slightly.

"Say we’re just entering the city. We could use a pair of helping hands."

Sword Cleaver let out another laugh, softer this time, almost wheezing.

Their history was not shallow. It went back years, back to smaller jobs and tighter escapes. Before Enzo had appeared, before things escalated into federation missions and planetary disputes.

He had always admired Zeke’s recklessness from a safe distance.

He had never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

Seeing them here in Winhelm was shocking, but not impossible. People like them did not stay in one place for long.

And someone like him, who had once slipped into Sky Planet’s restricted zones and walked out alive, could not exactly pretend to be a harmless traveler.

If he could reach Sky Planet, he could reach anywhere.

"Ohhh, that’s fine," Sword Cleaver said instinctively, nodding before thinking it through.

For a brief second, relief flickered across his face. Helping sounded manageable. Harmless even.

Then he looked at Enzo again.

And the relief vanished.

He remembered Yari.

The federation.

The payments he had quietly collected under the title of their ’teacher.’

His smile stiffened, lips twitching as realization crept in like cold through cracked glass.

Helping was one thing, but these guys were typically involved in things even he didn’t want to be a part of.

Yari had been a disaster.

A flaming, collapsing mess of betrayal and shifting loyalties.

And now they were in Gaia. In Windhelm of all places.

This was not Galafray. This was the Ice Kingdom’s capital, a city where power struggles ended with bodies vanishing beneath snow.

The air itself felt heavier here.

"Too late to say no. You’re already in it," Zeke said casually.

He wrapped an arm firmly around Sword Cleaver’s shoulders and began dragging him toward the staircase.

It looked friendly to anyone watching.

It was not.

Sword Cleaver stumbled slightly as they moved, nearly knocking into a serving girl who hissed under her breath. His mind raced faster than his feet.

Yari had spiraled out of control in a matter of days.

Gaia could spiral in hours.

"Wait, at least tell me what this is about," Sword Cleaver muttered under his breath.

Enzo walked ahead, silent, the wooden steps creaking beneath his boots. He did not look back.

That silence was louder than any threat.

As they disappeared up the stairs and the inn returned to its usual noise, the scene in another part of the city could not have been more different.

Deep within Windhelm, far beyond the slums and crowded districts, stood an estate hidden behind layers of security and illusion.

The building itself blended into the snow like a frozen monument.

Inside, warmth radiated from crystalline lamps embedded in the walls. The air smelled faintly of incense and polished wood.

A circular chamber lay at the heart of the estate.

Figures sat around a long obsidian table, their forms draped in dark cloaks. Shadows concealed their faces, though the pressure they emitted made the air ripple faintly.

These were not ordinary cultivators.

Each one could shake districts with a thought.

"The fall of the Liberation Front has nothing to do with us," one voice said coldly.

The speaker leaned forward slightly, gloved fingers tapping against the table’s surface.

"They severed ties with us long before their reckless actions."

"Then explain why Her Highness has decided to punish our Lady," another voice snapped back.

There was restrained fury in the tone.

"You better come correct."

A low murmur spread across the chamber.

Opinions clashed. Accusations surfaced. The temperature in the room seemed to drop despite the controlled heating.

Some argued it was coincidence.

Others insisted it was a calculated move by the crown to weaken them.

These were members of the Freedom Party.

Once, they had been untouchable.

A dominant faction within the royal ruling class, their influence so vast that policies shifted with a word from their estates. From the comfort of their homes, they had directed trade, military appointments, even border disputes.

Windhelm had once danced to their rhythm.

But time was cruel.

The younger generation within the royal family had grown ambitious. External threats had forced reforms. Old alliances had fractured quietly in the dark.

Power that once felt permanent now felt fragile.

If they misstepped now, it would not simply mean loss of influence.

It could mean eradication.

"Enough," a calm voice cut through the noise.

A short, bald man rose from his seat.

He did not radiate the same explosive aura as the others, yet the room gradually fell silent.

He held a small remote device between his fingers.

Without another word, he pressed a button.

A translucent display flickered to life above the center of the table, casting pale blue light across the chamber.

"Let’s hear from the Lady first," he said evenly.

The projection stabilized.

And a familiar face appeared in the air above them.