Chapter 14:
Reincarnated as a High Elf Sage, I’ll Burn Down This Rotten Kingdom from Within
The night wind in Virelion was different from the night wind in Ardellon.
Here, the air carried two contrasting scents: the sweet aroma of flowers from neatly maintained noble gardens… mixed with the stench of garbage and rusted iron from the slums.
Lyselle moved swiftly away from Duchess Iscera’s party. The crystal lamps and music slowly faded behind her. She adjusted the hood of her cloak, making sure the shadows covered almost her entire face. Her steps weren’t hurried, but purposeful.
Every sound around her became sharper as she left the heart of the party. The distant clatter of hooves. The drip of water from a broken pipe. The shout of a guard far down the street. Everything seemed to tell her: she was moving toward a side of the kingdom outsiders rarely saw.
The alleys she passed grew narrower. Stone walls on either side closed in, forcing her to tread more carefully. The salty stench of sweat mixed with the smell of meat roasting in a crumbling hearth assaulted her senses.
She knew she was getting close to the Tax District—a place mentioned earlier that night by two nobles at the party, their tone playful, as if “selling humans” was just another normal part of trade.
In Ardellon, heavy taxes existed. But in Virelion… Lyselle had heard rumors that those who failed to pay would be “seized” like goods, forced into labor or sold to third parties. And tonight… she would see the truth for herself.
---
She stopped at the end of an alley, looking down a sloping cobblestone road. Torches lined the path, but their light wasn’t warm—it was a tired, sickly yellow, flickering as though exhausted from burning. Between those dim lights stood the silhouette of a large building: tall iron fences, a locked gate, and a wooden sign reading “Royal Tax Collection & Distribution Office.”
The sound of rattling chains came from the direction of the fence. Lyselle shifted to the left, slipping into the shadows behind a stack of wooden crates. From there, she peeked.
Inside the yard, three tax officers stood over a boy. He was thin, his knees dirty, his hands tied behind his back. Bruises marred his cheeks, and his lips were split. Every time he tried to lift his head, one of the officers would shove him back down.
Lyselle felt her anger rise. But then, something else caught her attention—someone stood between the boy and the officers.
A young man with golden hair, simply dressed but clean. He stood tall, unafraid, as if the iron fence and sharp glares around him meant nothing.
Lyselle recognized that face. She had seen it from afar, on the palace balcony.
Caelan Virelion.
---
Caelan’s voice broke the night. Calm, yet carrying a weight that was hard to ignore.
“Release him.”
No shouting. No elaborate threats. Just a simple order that somehow sounded like absolute truth.
The officer to the left snorted.
“Orders from who? You think we’re scared of a little noble boy who plays in the streets?”
Caelan didn’t move. “Orders from someone who can have you out of a job by tomorrow morning.”
The middle officer chuckled.
“Our jobs are safe, Your Highness. Our superiors… are far higher than you.”
His tone dripped with mockery, as if to stab at Caelan’s pride. Lyselle could feel the tension from meters away.
The officer on the right tapped the boy with the butt of his spear.
“This brat’s a year behind on taxes. The law’s clear—he’s to be sold. Buyer’s already waiting. Want to buy him yourself? He costs more than a noble’s little toy.”
---
Lyselle’s fingers tightened around her dagger. She wanted to move forward and cut those words right out of the man’s mouth. But she held herself back.
Not yet. Let’s see how far he’ll go.
Caelan stepped forward. One step… two. His face remained calm, but his eyes never left the man who spoke.
“If you won’t release him… then I’ll make you.”
Silence. Only the crackle of torch flames.
Then, sudden movement. Caelan’s fist slammed into the nearest officer’s helmet with a loud clang of metal. The man staggered back, clutching his head.
The other two reacted quickly, raising their spears, their tips glinting faintly under the torchlight. They struck together—clearly trained to subdue resistant debtors.
Caelan moved with surprising speed. He batted aside the first spear with his left arm, spun, and kicked the second man in the stomach. The blow forced the man back several steps, though he didn’t fall.
---
Lyselle studied his movements. He wasn’t a noble who only trained in fencing for show. The way he shifted his weight, the precision of his strikes—this was the fighting style of someone who had truly risked his life before.
But three armed men, in the middle of a district crawling with corrupt guards? That was dangerous, even for someone like Caelan.
She saw the staggered officer recovering, ready to strike from behind. Lyselle sighed, drawing her knife from beneath her cloak.
Looks like I’ll be dancing tonight.
She stepped out from the shadows, her pace steady.
Caelan noticed her only when she was halfway to the fight. His eyes narrowed briefly in surprise—before returning to his opponents. Lyselle said nothing.
---
The stench of iron hit her nose as Lyselle moved deeper into the narrow tax district alley. Red-brown stains marked the brick walls, never scrubbed clean. At the far end, a child’s scream echoed—hoarse, frightened, and full of pain.
“Let him go!”
The voice was sharp, cold… and familiar.
Lyselle turned the corner, spotting Caelan—his long coat torn, sword in his right hand already dripping fresh blood. Three tax officers armed with axes circled him, and on the ground lay a thin boy clutching his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers.
One officer stepped forward, raising his axe. “Who do you think you are, noble brat? Tax matters are matters of the state—”
CRACK!
Caelan moved faster than lightning. His sword cut diagonally, slicing not only the man’s weapon but also the arm holding it. Hot blood sprayed across his face. The man screamed, but Caelan kicked him into a wall, the sound of snapping bones echoing down the alley.
Lyselle paused for a moment. This wasn’t an honorable duel—this was slaughter.
“You just going to stand there?” Caelan shot her a glance, his eyes blazing.
She gritted her teeth. “Shut up. Focus!”
Another officer attacked from behind Caelan, but Lyselle raised her hand. WHOOSH! A blast of solid wind hurled the man into a stack of crates. Wood splintered, rusty nails stabbing into his back. His scream was deafening.
“Good,” Caelan muttered before turning to the third man. They clashed—CLANG! CLANG!—but Caelan deliberately created an opening. When his opponent swung high, Caelan drove his blade into the man’s gut, pushing until the tip emerged from his back.
The man choked, blood and saliva spilling from his mouth. “F-for… the s-sake of—”
“Be silent.” Caelan yanked the sword free with a sharp twist. The body collapsed, blood pooling across the cobblestones.
Lyselle rushed to the wounded boy, kneeling to press against the injury. “Stay with me. You’re safe now.”
The boy’s eyes were half-shut. “They… took my sister… to… the tax warehouse…”
“Warehouse?” Lyselle looked at Caelan.
He nodded, flicking blood from his sword. “End of the district. But we don’t have time—if they know we’re coming, those kids will be corpses before we arrive.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the alley. Six more tax officers emerged, one carrying a mace as thick as an arm.
“Good… more rats to slaughter,” Caelan muttered.
Lyselle narrowed her eyes. “We take them down. Fast.”
They charged. Lyselle raised both hands, sending two men crashing into the walls. One’s skull burst against the stone, red splattering like a rotten flower.
Caelan stabbed the first attacker under the arm—armor’s weak point—then twisted the blade, tearing flesh. Another swung the mace, but Caelan ducked, slicing through his legs at the knees. His screams mingled with the smell of blood and filth.
A fleeing man was speared from behind by Lyselle’s wind-forged lance. He staggered, gasped, then fell, eyes glazed.
Silence followed.
Only the drip of blood onto stone remained.
Caelan looked at her, his expression grim. “This is just the beginning. That tax warehouse… is far worse than you think.”
Lyselle clenched her fist, her cloak already stained with blood. “Then we tear this rot out from the root.”
Together, they headed for the alley’s end, leaving behind red pools and lifeless bodies.
---
The air around the tax warehouse was stifling, like the breath of a corpse-filled pit. From the outside, it looked like any ordinary storage building—rusted iron doors, small windows above—but Lyselle knew the goods hidden inside weren’t merchandise.
Caelan stopped by the side of the door, his back against the wall. “Six guards outside. Inside… I count twelve, maybe more. Armed with crossbows and spears.”
“Then we make our own entrance,” Lyselle replied, her voice calm but cold.
She spread her hands. Dust motes in the air began to vibrate, swirling into a vortex. Within seconds, the wind turned into a razor slash that cut two nearby guards in half. Their bodies split from shoulder to waist—flesh, bone, and organs scattering, blood pouring freely across the ground.
The others had no time to shout before Caelan leapt into their midst, his sword moving like a deadly serpent. Each swing severed throats or pierced hearts.
An arrow nearly struck Caelan, but Lyselle flicked her fingers and chanted quickly. “Clyr Ventas!”
The arrow exploded midair, wooden shards scattering.
The iron warehouse door swung open from within—a huge officer stepped out, wielding a double-headed axe. “Who dares—”
Lyselle lifted her palm, a blue orb of light forming. Lightning burst from it, striking the man. His body convulsed, eyes rolling white, the smell of charred flesh filling the air. He fell, still smoking.
“In!” Caelan barked.
Inside, the smell of blood was far stronger. Dozens of thin children sat in rows, hands chained, their skin mottled with bruises. A guard gripped a young girl’s hair, a knife at her throat.
“One step closer and this brat dies!” he snarled.
Lyselle didn’t answer. Her lips moved in a whisper. The air trembled—WHAM!—a massive ice spear pierced the man’s back, pinning him to the floor. Blood dripped from the frozen tip.
“Release them all,” she said flatly.
Four guards charged. Lyselle spun, unleashing a storm of wind blades that sliced them from head to toe. Body parts thudded to the ground, the walls painted red.
Caelan smashed the chains with his sword, urging the children toward the exit.
“Go! Run to the market, don’t stop!”
A scarred captain in black armor appeared from the upper floor. “How dare you cause chaos in the Royal Tax—”
Before he could finish, Lyselle stomped the floor. The ground split beneath him, blue fire roaring from the crack, engulfing him alive. His scream lasted only seconds before silence claimed him, leaving a charred corpse.
Caelan gave her a long look, his breathing heavy.
“Your power… is darker than I thought.”
“If that’s what it takes to destroy them, I’ll use it all,” she replied.
A long whistle sounded outside—the signal for reinforcements. Caelan lifted his sword again, eyes on Lyselle. “We’re not done. This is only the first round.”
She nodded, magic still blazing around her.
---
The whistles outside multiplied, forming a rhythm that left no doubt—large reinforcements were arriving.
Through the warehouse’s cracked door, Lyselle saw dozens of heavily armed officers filling the street. Some wore full plate armor, others carried large bows aimed at the building.
Caelan spun his sword, the steel reflecting torchlight. “We won’t get out the front without cutting through half the city.”
Lyselle raised an eyebrow. “Who said we’re leaving through the front?”
She raised both hands, chanting ancient words.
“Veyr Arctis — Orkan Veltra!”
The ground shook beneath them. The warehouse air was sucked out in an instant before a massive whirlwind burst from the floor, tearing through the side wall.
Bricks, dust, and splintered wood flew, while several unlucky officers were sucked into the vortex, their bodies spinning before smashing to the ground with sickening cracks.
Through the gap, they stepped into the back courtyard—only to face a spear formation.
One officer stepped forward, spear aimed at Lyselle. “By order of the Kingdom of Virelion, you are under arrest for—”
His words cut off as Caelan removed his helmet, revealing his face. “You want to arrest me too, Captain? Or did you forget—I am the Crown Prince?”
The courtyard fell silent. The spear line glanced at each other, caught between orders and the fact that the man before them was the king’s own son.
The captain tried to stand firm. “Your Highness… this order comes directly from the Royal Tax Council.”
“A corrupt council,” Caelan cut in, his tone sharp as a blade. “You think I’ll let them torture the people under the shield of law?”
Lyselle was ready to cast again, but Caelan raised a hand to stop her. “This is my duty.”
He walked toward the formation with steady steps—then broke into a sprint, sword flashing, cutting through the first rank before they could raise their shields. Blood sprayed, screams rang.
The rest hesitated, but Lyselle closed in, forming a massive magic circle beneath their feet. From it, giant black roots erupted, coiling around their legs, snapping bones with stomach-turning cracks.
Those who tried to flee were skewered by ice lances or shredded by wind blades.
From behind the troops, a man in a purple robe—the mark of a high tax official—stepped forward. His face was pale, eyes like a serpent’s.
“You think you can destroy us so easily? The Council is this kingdom’s backbone!”
Lyselle’s voice was cold.
“If the backbone is rotten, it must be broken.”
She hurled a spear of fire straight into him. His body ignited, screams piercing the night until silence fell, leaving only the stench of burnt flesh.
The remaining troops dropped their weapons and fled.
Lyselle’s breathing remained steady, though her magic still burned like wildfire. Caelan looked at her briefly before tending to the rescued children. Some were taken in by locals, others by Caelan’s loyal guards.
“This is just the start,” Caelan said as he wiped his blade. “As long as the Tax Council stands, they’ll send more like this.”
Lyselle stared toward the distant city center, where the palace tower rose. “Then we start from the inside.”
Caelan nodded, his gaze hard.
“Tomorrow night, I’ll take you into the palace. There’s a door only I can open from within.”
From a rooftop in the distance, a pair of eyes watched them. A figure in a black cloak smiled faintly before vanishing into the shadows.
That night, the sky over Virelion glowed red with the reflection of the burning warehouse, and the blood in the streets became an unspoken promise—
A promise that the war against corruption had only just begun.
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