NOVPUBChapter 224: Speech
The city square buzzed with rising tension as more citizens trickled in from the alleys and outer wards. Cloaked figures, stone-worn traders, mercenaries in mismatched gear, and soot-faced scavengers packed into the plaza, shoulders brushing, eyes wary.
Mothers clutched their children tightly, thin arms wrapped around thinner frames. Hungry-eyed boys and girls peeked out from behind worn cloaks, their cheeks hollow, their fingers stained with dirt and ash.
A few clutched chunks of stale bread or half-rotten mushroom like treasure, gnawing quietly while their parents stared ahead, waiting for whatever this so-called “announcement” was supposed to be.
Some families sat on crates or broken steps. An elderly Dwarrow woman gently fanned her grandson with a folded scrap of parchment, while nearby, a Draknir couple shared a single blanket between them and their brood of five.
They’d all come for the same reason: the promise of food.
Whispers passed between them like fire on dry kindling.
“They said free rations today, meat too.”
“They better not lie again.”
“I don’t care who rules, as long as my kids don’t go to sleep crying.”
Most kept their distance from the guards posted in a ring around the edges. Soldier in dark uniform stood like statues, their presence alone enough to keep anyone from getting too close.
Meanwhile at other side.
“A speech?” a squat Dwarrow merchant muttered, tugging at the leather strap of his empty cart. “We don’t need speeches. Just fix the godsdamn supply routes.”
“We haven’t had proper food in a week,” growled a broad-shouldered Shavralk in a cracked stonecloak, his voice deep and bitter. “But sure, I see ’em rebuilding the wall. What are we defending if there’s nothing left inside to protect?”
“Didn’t they say free food?” someone hissed. “You see any crates? Any steam pots? They lured us out here like strays.”
“Seems we’ve been scammed,” a wiry Draknir muttered, tapping his claws against the post he leaned on, flicking ash from a long, curved pipe. “Again.”
“You think this new Lord Tzarek’s any better than the last?” another asked, a woman with faded tattoos on her neck and a rusted blade at her belt.
“At least he kills his enemies face to face,” someone murmured. “More than I can say for the last city lords.”
“Sure, he kills ’em,” snapped a human with one eye and a twitching jaw. “But where’s the order? Where’s the food? I still have to pay protection to walk past the slums after dusk.”
“The gangs still run half the alleys,” another muttered. “They just wear different colors now.”
Near the far edge of the square, a group of Nephirid veterans stood in silence, tall, armored, weapons sheathed but within easy reach.
Kaela stood at the center of the formation, her arms behind her back, one foot resting lightly against a loose cobblestone. Beside her, Tharn grunted, one massive hand resting on the pommel of his axe. “They’re getting restless,” he said quietly. “That’s the third complaint about food in the last five minutes.”
“Let them complain,” Kaela replied, voice calm. “So long as they don’t try anything.”
Zarnak approached the group, giving them a subtle nod before whispering low, “If something happens, contain it. Don’t escalate.”
Kaela’s gaze was like stone. She felt nothing for them, no pity, only contempt.
The Nephirid who stayed behind had fought day and night to keep this city breathing. They bled, hunted the beasts in the wastelands, dragged back fresh meat and minerals to keep the civilians alive.
And what did these people do? Bow to gangs. Sell their scraps for protection. Trade their dignity for lies spun in alley.
She grit her teeth.
They let their portions be stolen, then thanked the same bastards who robbed them when a sliver was handed back like charity. She’d seen it happen, civilians on their knees, smiling with broken teeth as some gang enforcer tossed them a piece of meat he never had the right to claim. Meat Kaela’s comrades had risked their lives to provide.
Her fingers twitched behind her back. She honestly wanted to take care of them, to drag those leeches into the street and cut their lies open for all to see. But Tharn always stopped her.
“The situation’s different,” he’d say. “Nephirid and the others aren’t the same. Let them handle their own weakness.”
‘Weak. If they were really starving, why didn’t they hunt? Why didn’t they pick up a blade, step into the fields, and earn their right to survive?’
Kaela’s voice dropped to a quiet snarl, barely audible over the crowd’s murmurs.
“If they riot,” she muttered to Tharn, “don’t hold back. If they’d rather die begging than rise fighting, then let’s give them what they asked for.”
Meanwhile In the corner of the square, a lone figure leaned against a rusted fountain, half-hidden in shadow. His cloak hung low, and his arms were crossed. His name was Taleth, a known associate of the gang.
Beneath his cloak, the outline of twin daggers curved against his ribs. He smirked to himself, eyes glinting with interest.
“This is good,” he whispered under his breath. “Everyone seem will explode with slightest provocation.. Let’s see what the new ‘lord’ does next.”
Zarnak emerged from behind the steps of the stone podium,. The murmurs of the crowd still churned like a boiling pot, but his presence quieted it slightly. .
He raised his voice, powerful and calm. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ve heard it myself. I’ve lived it with you.
The city is broken. The trust is gone. And what’s left? Anger. Fear. Desperation. I understand that. I share it.”
There was a pause, just long enough for a few more voices to hush.
“But I ask you one thing. Just one.” Zarnak’s voice dropped slightly, heavier now. “Trust me. Not because I wear this armor. Not because I have a rank. Trust me because I stood my ground when everything was falling apart. Because I stayed.”
He pointed behind him toward the still-vacant platform. “And I stayed because of him. The man you’re about to meet isn’t like the last lords. He doesn’t hide behind gates. He doesn’t eat while you starve.”
Zarnak stepped down, letting the moment hang. Then, with no fanfare, no grand ritual, the air shimmered, and he was there. Tzarek.
Ben appeared as if he’d always been there, standing atop the podium in silence, the weight of his presence making the very stones feel heavier.
This surprise mixed with a bit of aether successfully make the crowd turn silent, and then he spoke.
“You want to who I am?” Ben’s voice cut through the silence. “I’m the one who walked into a broken city, took the throne, and bled in the arena to get this position. I don’t come with false promises. I don’t have flowery words. I come with results.”
His eyes look around the crowd. “You want food? You’ll get it. You want order? I’ll bring it. You want vengeance? Then earn it .”
He stepped forward. His tone hardened. All eyes were on him. Human, Nephirid, Shavralk, Draknir, Dwarrow, every race in Krahal-Zir some with crossed arms, others with clenched fists. Suspicion, fatigue, and frustration.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
He swept his gaze slowly across them.
“You think I don’t see it? The hunger. The gangs… The way you eye the guards when you think no one’s watching, wondering how much you can trust them.” 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒑𝒖𝙗.𝒄𝒐𝒎
He took another step forward.
“But here’s the difference. I’m not here to beg for your loyalty. I’m here to earn it.”
He raised his hand, fingers curling into a fist.
“You want food?”
His lips curled into a grin. The ground beneath their feet lit up.
Then, without warning, tables rose from the stone itself, filled edge to edge with steaming bread, roasted meats, glazed roots, and bowls of stew thick with spice.
A stunned silence fell over the plaza. Eyes widened. Mouths parted. The crowd shifted, but no one dared make the first move.
“I’m not here to play king,” Ben said, voice steady. “I’m here to build something. Something no outsider, no parasite, no worm in silk robes will ever steal again.”
He pointed down at the cracked basalt beneath them.
“This city is mine. Because I chose to carry its weight. But if you want to be part of what’s coming… I’ll carry you too.”
Then, softer. “If not? Then go. Walk away. Hide in the mountains. Beg at Gravenhold’s gates. But if you stay…”
He opened his hand.
“Then stand beside me. Fight beside me. And in a year, you won’t just live in Krahal-Zir…
You’ll belong to something worth dying for.”
He pointed behind him, where the broken banners of the old regime still clung to rusted poles like rotting cloth.
“Krahal-Zir died with the coward who betrayed it. That name was soaked in corruption, cracked by war, and hollowed out by greed.”
He turned his gaze back toward the crowd.
“This place it deserves a new begining, and hence…”
He drew his dagger and stepped down, slashing a line into the stone embedded in the plaza floor. Vlontera.
A word that meant nothing to the crowd, but would mean everything soon. To them, it would become a symbol. Of power. Of survival. Of purpose. “Remember it,” Ben said, standing above the freshly glowing mark.
“Not Krahal-Zir. Not the city of betrayal. This is Vlontera. The city of prosperty.”
