Strongest Incubus System-Chapter 257: Return to Arven

The carriage continued its journey along the road for the next few hours, the horses resuming their steady trot while the coachman still seemed to struggle to regain control of his own breathing after what he had witnessed. The silence inside the vehicle was now different from before. Before it had been a tranquil, almost lazy silence. Now it was a heavy silence, full of unspoken thoughts and images that the poor man would probably take many years to forget. Damon, on the other hand, had already returned to the same indifferent calm as before. He was once again seated on the cushioned seat with his eyes closed, his body relaxed as if the carnage on the road had been just a minor inconvenience during the journey.

The landscape began to gradually change as they approached Arven. The hills became gentler and more organized, replaced by cultivated fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Small farmers’ houses appeared here and there along the road, surrounded by simple wooden fences and small, well-tended vegetable gardens. The smell of freshly tilled earth mingled with the wind, carrying with it the distant sound of tools striking stone and wood. It was a clear sign that they were entering the city’s area of ​​influence.

As the hours passed, the flow of people on the road also began to increase. Merchants pushing carts laden with sacks of grain, travelers mounted on tired horses, small groups of peasants walking towards the city to sell goods or settle bureaucratic matters. Some of them looked at the passing carriage, curious, but soon returned to their own concerns.

It was only when the sun began to slowly tilt towards the horizon that the first walls of Arven finally appeared on the horizon.

Even from a distance, the city was impressive.

The light stone walls rose high and wide, forming a protective circle around the city like a sleeping giant guarding a treasure. Watchtowers dotted the expanse of the walls at regular intervals, their flags fluttering in the wind with the symbol of the ruling house of Arven emblazoned in red and gold.

Damon opened his eyes slowly as he noticed the change in the carriage’s pace.

He leaned slightly to look out the side window, observing the approaching walls with a neutral expression. There was something almost nostalgic about the moment, though he didn’t show it outwardly. It had been some time since he’d last been in that city, and Arven remained as imposing as ever.

The coachman cleared his throat again outside, still speaking with excessive caution whenever he had to address the passenger now.

"We’re arriving, sir," he said.

Damon merely nodded slightly, still observing the city ahead.

The main road widened as they approached the city entrance, converging on a large, reinforced iron gate embedded in the walls. That was where the traffic accumulated, forming a relatively organized line of carts, horses, and travelers waiting to go through the entry process.

And there was the reason for the sigh that escaped Damon a few seconds later.

He already knew that procedure.

The carriage slowed naturally as they approached the line. Armed guards circulated the area with disciplined postures, observing each traveler with attentive eyes. Near the main gate was a small garrison post built of stone, where tables and records were kept for the inspection process.

Damon lightly rubbed his temple as he observed this.

"Of course..." he murmured to himself.

He already knew exactly how it worked. First, the guards would ask basic questions about identity and purpose of the trip. Then would come the inspection of the carriage, followed by some kind of formal entry registration. Depending on the mood of the officers or the political situation of the city, this could take anywhere from a few minutes to an absolutely irritating amount of time.

He let out a heavy sigh.

"I’ll have to go through the entry interrogation," he murmured as he leaned back in his seat.

Outside, the coachman heard this and replied nervously, "It’s standard procedure, sir. They’re quite strict with visitors."

"Yes," Damon replied calmly. "I remember."

The line moved slowly.

A cart loaded with sacks of flour was released after a few minutes of inspection. A group of travelers on horseback had to dismount while two guards checked their luggage. A merchant argued animatedly with an officer about entry fees, gesticulating exaggeratedly while pointing to a document.

Damon watched it all through the window with an expression of slight resignation.

He wasn’t particularly worried about the inspection itself. Technically, there was nothing illegal about his presence there. But bureaucratic processes always had the incredible ability to turn simple minutes into unnecessary eternities.

Finally, the carriage reached the front of the line.

Two guards approached immediately, their polished steel armor reflecting the late afternoon light while their spears remained firmly planted on the ground. One of them raised his hand in a clear gesture for the coachman to stop completely.

The carriage stopped.

The coachman swallowed hard before speaking. "G-good afternoon, gentlemen."

One of the guards stepped forward. He was a robust man, with a short beard and an attentive gaze.

"Identification and purpose of the journey," he said in a professional tone.

Before the coachman could reply, the carriage door opened.

Damon descended with his usual calm, slightly adjusting his coat as his eyes quickly scanned the surrounding garrison post. There were at least a dozen guards visible in the area, in addition to some officers seated at the registration desks inside the small stone building.

The guard who had spoken initially turned his gaze to Damon.

And something curious happened.

The man blinked.

Once.

Then twice.

His expression slowly changed from professional to complete surprise.

"Wait..." he murmured, tilting his head slightly as if trying to confirm something his eyes didn’t believe.

The second guard beside him also looked at Damon more closely.

And then his eyes widened.

"Captain?" he said suddenly, his voice full of surprise.

The first guard immediately straightened his posture.

"What is it?" he asked.

The second discreetly pointed at Damon. "I recognize him."

Now several of the nearby guards began to look more closely as well.

Damon raised an eyebrow slightly, noticing the sudden change in behavior.

The second guard stepped forward, looking at him with a mixture of respect and disbelief.

"You..." he said slowly. "You’re Damon, aren’t you?"

The silence that followed was almost comical.

Damon blinked once, seemingly surprised by the question.

"I am," he replied simply.

It was like throwing a stone into a tranquil lake.

The reaction was immediate.

The captain of the guard let out a small sigh of astonishment before pounding his fist against his chest in a formal salute. Several of the other guards quickly imitated the gesture, some of them now observing Damon with a clear mixture of admiration and curiosity.

Even the officers inside the garrison post began to look out.

"Ah, it’s Lady Morgana’s guest..." one of them murmured.

Damon stood still for a moment, clearly not expecting that reception.

"I imagine that means I won’t need to fill out any forms?" he asked in a slightly dry tone.

The captain of the guard let out a small, nervous laugh.

"Forms?" he repeated, almost offended by the idea. "Sir, Lady Morgana made it clear that you should be treated like a nobleman."

The atmosphere at the garrison post had completely changed now. What had been a formal inspection now felt more like an unexpected encounter with someone famous.

The captain finally gestured towards the gates.

"Make way."

The guards at the gate’s gears immediately began to move the heavy mechanism. The enormous iron and wood doors began to open slowly with a deep creak.

Damon watched this with a slightly amused expression.

"That was unexpectedly efficient," he commented.

The captain gave a small smile. "Consider this an official thank you from the Arven garrison."

Damon climbed back into the carriage as the gates finished opening.

The carriage slowly passed through Arven’s enormous iron gates, the heavy creaking of gears still echoing off the walls behind them. As soon as they were completely through the city entrance, the noise outside changed almost immediately. The relative silence of the road was replaced by the lively, constant sound of a bustling city. Cart wheels creaking on stone, merchants hawking their wares in loud voices, the distant clinking of metal from some forge, and the continuous murmur of hundreds of conversations mingled in the air like a constant stream of urban energy. The smell was different inside too. Spices, freshly baked bread, cured leather, coal smoke, and the faint scent of horses formed a mixture that perfectly defined life within the walls.

Damon watched everything from the carriage window with a calm expression as the vehicle moved along the main street that stretched just beyond the gate. The streets of Arven were wide and well-paved with large blocks of light-colored stone, arranged in an almost geometric pattern that revealed the city’s careful planning. Two- and three-story buildings lined both sides of the road, many with ornate balconies and family flags hanging from the windows. Some of these flags clearly belonged to smaller noble houses in the region, while others represented established merchant or artisan guilds.

The coachman seemed much more comfortable now that they were inside the city, as if the presence of guards and walls had lessened some of the anxiety he still carried from the road. He drove the horses more firmly now, guiding the carriage through the moderate flow of traffic along the main avenue. A few people glanced curiously at the vehicle as it passed, perhaps trying to identify the passenger inside the elegant carriage, but most were too busy with their own affairs to pay much attention. Damon leaned back slightly in his seat, letting his gaze sweep over the buildings as the carriage moved forward. Arven hadn’t really changed as much as he’d imagined. It was still a prosperous, organized, and visibly wealthy city compared to many other regions he’d visited. However, the more he observed the details around him, the more he noticed small differences that confirmed the sense of tension he’d felt back at the gate.

There were more guards patrolling the streets than he remembered.

They appeared in small groups of two or three, walking along the sidewalks or positioned at important intersections. Their armor was clean and well-maintained, but their expressions were a little more serious than usual for simple urban patrols. Some merchants conversed in hushed tones while discreetly glancing at these soldiers, as if something was happening that everyone knew about, but no one spoke openly about.

Damon let out a small, silent sigh.

The political situation in Arven was clearly far from tranquil.

The carriage turned onto a slightly wider street that led directly toward the city’s upscale district. In the distance, the tallest towers of the central area, where the grand mansions of influential families were located, were visible. Damon knew exactly where this route would eventually lead.

Arven Manor.

It was the main residence of the city’s ruling family, and also the place where Morgana usually conducted her political and administrative affairs. Considering the letter she had sent, Damon imagined that this would be the first natural destination of the journey.

He was mentally preparing for a long political conversation when something interrupted the carriage’s progress.

A horse suddenly appeared in front of the vehicle.

The animal stopped sideways in the street with a precise movement, forcing the coachman to pull the reins forcefully to avoid a collision. The carriage horses snorted angrily as they stopped abruptly, their horseshoes scraping against the cobblestones.

"Sir..." murmured the coachman, visibly nervous again.

Damon opened his eyes calmly.

Outside, the horse blocking the path was a large, well-trained animal, covered in light, reinforced leather armor. Seated upon it was a woman wearing armor that clearly indicated her position as a knight of the city.

She dismounted with a fluid, confident movement, landing on the cobblestone street with the confidence of someone accustomed to years of martial training. Her armor was elegant, made of steel plates fitted over a dark leather base, and a short cape fastened at her shoulders swayed gently in the wind. Her fair hair was tied in a high ponytail that moved slightly as she began to walk toward the carriage.

Damon watched her approach through the window.

There was something very deliberate in the way she moved.

It wasn’t a hostile approach.

But it wasn’t casual either.

She stopped beside the carriage door and lightly tapped the wood twice with her knuckles.

Damon opened the door and leaned slightly out.

Their eyes immediately met hers.

The woman had a firm, analytical gaze, the kind that assessed a person in seconds before deciding how to act. Despite the armor and military posture, there was also a natural elegance in her presence, something that suggested discipline and refined upbringing at the same time.

She gave a slight bow of her head in greeting.

"Sir Damon," she said.

Her voice was firm, but polite.

"Yes?" Damon replied calmly.

She placed one hand on her chest in a formal greeting.

"My name is Ingrivid," she said. "Knight in the service of Lady Morgana."

Damon blinked slowly, analyzing the name.

He vaguely remembered Morgana mentioning someone with that name in a previous letter, perhaps as part of her personal guard or military advisor. Still, finding her there in the middle of the street was unexpected.

"Ingrivid," Damon repeated with a slight nod. "Pleasure."

She observed the interior of the carriage for a second before continuing.

"Lady Morgana requested that I intercept you as soon as you enter the city."

Damon raised an eyebrow.

"Intercept?"

She nodded.

"Yes." Her gaze swept quickly across the surrounding street before returning to him.

"She also asked me to deliver a specific message."

Damon rested his arm on the carriage door frame, clearly curious now.

"I’m listening."

Ingrivid breathed calmly before speaking.

"Lady Morgana requested that you not go to Arven Manor."

The silence that followed lasted a few seconds.

Damon tilted his head slightly, observing her face more closely.

"That’s... unexpected."

"I imagined it would be," Ingrivid replied sincerely.

"Did she explain why?"

"She only partially explained," the knight said. "But she made it clear that the situation inside the manor is not safe at the moment."

Damon crossed his arms slowly.

This confirmed some suspicions he had already begun to develop since crossing the city gates.

"Her stepmother?" he asked.

A small flicker of surprise crossed Ingrivid’s face.

"So she already mentioned this to you, sir."

"Yes."

The rider nodded slowly.

"Then I imagine it’s unnecessary to explain that there are... tensions within the residence."

Damon let out a small sigh.

"Family tensions are rarely simple."

"Especially when they involve political power," Ingrivid added.

She then took a step back and pointed slightly to her horse.

"Lady Morgana asked me to take you to another location where we can talk without the risk of being observed."

Damon remained silent for a moment, assessing the situation.

He could insist on going directly to the mansion.

But if Morgana had sent someone specifically to intercept him, there was probably a good reason.

Besides, Ingrivid clearly seemed competent.

And absolutely loyal.

He finally nodded.

"Very well."

The coachman glanced nervously between the two.

Damon turned to him briefly.

"Change of plans."

The man nodded quickly.

"Of course, sir."

Damon looked back at the rider.

"Lead the way," he said calmly.

A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on Ingrivid’s face.

"As you wish."

She mounted her horse again with an agile movement and turned the animal towards a side street that branched off from the main avenue. The horse began to move forward at a controlled trot as she gestured for the carriage to follow.

The coachman shook the reins.

The carriage began to move again.

Damon closed the door and settled into the seat as the vehicle turned in the new direction.

Through the window, he could see Ingrivid riding a few meters ahead, guiding them along a path that seemed to lead away from the city’s political center.

He let out a small sigh.

Apparently, things in Arven were even more complicated than he had imagined.