The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 377: Outside the city

The descent from the Palace District felt like a slow-motion fall through a kingdom of glass. Nevareth was a city of verticality and sharp, unforgiving angles, and as Eris rode Solara down the winding imperial thoroughfares, she felt the eyes of a nation pressing against her skin.

This was the informal introduction she hadn’t asked for. The whole of the capital knew by now that the "Tyrant of Solmire" had been draped in Nevarian furs and crowned as their Empress.

As they passed through the Palace District, the highest and most insular point of the city, the air was silent, save for the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the ice-slicked stone. Here, the architecture was all gleaming ice and white marble, designed to reflect the sun and blind the unworthy. The nobles watched from high, narrow balconies, their faces unreadable masks of high-born curiosity.

Then, they crossed into the Crystal Quarter. The wealth here was different, less about bloodlines and more about the sparkling industry of the North. Merchants and minor lords stood on the street corners, their breaths coming in white puffs as they watched the procession.

"They aren’t throwing stones," Eris murmured, her voice barely audible over the wind.

Soren, riding his massive stallion just a half-pace behind her, shifted in his saddle to bridge the gap between them. "I told you. They trust my judgment. If I say you are the flame that warms the North, they will wait to see the fire before they judge the smoke."

As they moved into the Outer parts, the city’s grandeur began to fray into something more human and weathered. The stone was darker here, stained by woodsmoke and the grit of daily life. This was where the true pulse of Nevareth beat, and it was here that the reaction shifted.

A group of children, bundled in so many layers of wool they looked like round pebbles, suddenly broke into a cheer. They weren’t cheering for Eris—not yet—but for Bjorn. The massive wolf was a legend among the common folk, a symbol of the Emperor’s wild heart. Bjorn played his part perfectly, letting out a low, playful huff and wagging his tail as he trotted beside Solara.

The cheers for the wolf bled into a strange, hesitant respect for the woman riding next to him.

A few blacksmiths, arms thick as tree trunks, paused in their work to bow their heads.

A woman selling roasted chestnuts from a street cart held up a handful as they passed, a silent offering of luck. Eris was taken aback; she had spent a lifetime braced for the vitriol of a crowd, for the hissed insults of a populace that feared her. To see curiosity and even a flickering of warmth... felt like a phantom limb twitching.

Soren’s presence beside her was a constant, protective weight. He didn’t wave like a parade puppet; he rode with a quiet, regal pride, his eyes occasionally scanning the rooftops, his hand never far from the hilt of his blade. He was signaling to his city that she was not a prisoner, but a partner.

By midday, they reached the Outer Walls, the massive fortifications that served as the final boundary between the structured civilization of Nevareth and the unforgiving wild. Beyond the gates, the world changed instantly.

The geothermal vents of the Eastern Outskirts provided a brief, strange respite. The ground here was unstable and warm, the snow melting into steaming puddles that bubbled with the heat of the earth. It was a place of mist and mud, where the smell of sulfur hung heavy in the air.

But as the afternoon wore on, even the earth’s internal heat began to fail. The vents fell behind them, and the true North reclaimed the landscape.

The transition was visceral. The temperature dropped with a sudden, sharp bite as they entered the ancient pine forests. The trees here were giants, their needles caked in a permanent layer of frost that made them look like jagged silver spears. The sky above turned a heavy, steel-grey, the clouds pregnant with the weight of an approaching blizzard.

Eris felt a surge of vitality she hadn’t experienced within the palace walls. On Solara, she felt free. The wind caught her hair, pulling strands of snow-white silk from beneath her hood, and she didn’t shiver.

Her fire magic, usually a restless prisoner in her chest, found its purpose here. It radiated a steady, invisible warmth through her limbs, turning the biting cold into nothing more than a crisp, refreshing sensation.

She pushed Solara into a light canter, the mare’s hooves thudding rhythmically against the frozen loam. Soren was never more than a few feet away, his stallion’s breath billowing like a dragon’s.

He stole frequent glances at her, his protective instincts flaring every time the path narrowed or a distant branch snapped under the weight of snow. But mostly, he looked proud. He watched her navigate the rough terrain with a grace that spoke of a woman who was reclaiming her own strength.

The journey was long, a full day of riding through increasingly dense thickets. The mountains, the dreaded forest and mountains loomed larger with every mile, their peaks lost in the swirling grey of the upper atmosphere. They were the jagged teeth of the world, and the hunting party was riding straight into the mouth.

By the time evening began to settle, casting long, bruised shadows across the snow, they finally reached the forest base. This was the edge of the true wilderness, the last place where the ground was level enough to pitch a large encampment before the ascent began.

"Hold here!" Soren’s voice rang out, sounding remarkably clear despite a full day of travel.

The party came to a halt. The air was deathly still, the kind of silence that only exists when a heavy snow is about to fall. The smell of pine and cold stone was overwhelming.

"Setup!" Ryse barked, his voice jolting the tired soldiers into action. "Perimeter first! I want the fires lit before the sun completely fails us!"