Birth of the Ruler: The Emergence of the Primordial Race

Nyxander's voice cut through the lingering tension like a blade through silk, its calm authority commanding the attention of all within the battered restaurant. "So, what's your comment on our response to your welcome gift?"

The room held its breath. Kola's gaze flickered, shifting from Kal to Bako, then to Bili, before finally resting on Nyxander. Silence thickened around them, stretching like a drawn bowstring, taut with anticipation.

Then, with a steady breath, Kola straightened, shaking off the lingering weight of his subordinates' support. His movements were slow but deliberate, and as he stepped forward, Kal instinctively mirrored the action, placing himself in Kola's path.

"Do you still want to continue?" Kal asked, his grip adjusting on the axe handle. The rod bounced lightly against his right shoulder, a rhythmic, unspoken warning.

Kola exhaled, rolling his shoulders, the crackling of his joints breaking the quiet. "There's no point in fighting anymore." His voice was steady, unwavering. "Don't get me wrong."

His sharp eyes studied Kal, searching. "You're just a subordinate, and yet… you, who value strength above all else, follow him without hesitation." Kola's words hung in the air, each syllable weighted with thought. "And not just follow, but with unwavering loyalty burning in your eyes."

With a brief pause. Kola turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting toward Nyxander, an assessing glance, fleeting yet telling, before he returned his attention to Kal.

"That means his strength is far from ordinary. It means he is someone who cannot be underestimated."

With slow, measured steps, Kola advanced, his posture no longer that of an adversary but of a man who had found his answer. Kal, recognizing the shift, stepped aside, silently paving the way.

Kola came to a stop just a meter from Nyxander. Then, without hesitation, he lowered himself onto one knee, right leg bent, left foot still grounded, a warrior's pledge of fealty. His head bowed, his voice firm yet reverent. "Please accept our loyalty."

As if bound by an unspoken command, his subordinates, standing a short distance behind him, immediately followed suit, mirroring his posture. Their voices, unified, resonated through the room. "Please accept our loyalty."

A solemn stillness fell over the space. For a moment, only the distant creak of the damaged floorboards and the whisper of settling dust could be heard. Then, Nyxander moved.

His expression remained unreadable, yet something akin to satisfaction flickered in the depths of his golden gaze. Slowly, he stood from the worn wooden chair, his presence a quiet storm of authority. With a measured stride, he approached Kola, stopping just before him.

"Good to hear." His voice was even, yet it carried the weight of finality. A hand, firm yet assured, rested on Kola's shoulder. "You may rise."

"Yes, sir." Kola stood, and as if moving in tandem with their leader, his subordinates followed, their heads lifting, their postures straightening like warriors, who are now part of something greater.

Nyxander's gaze lingered on Kola for a fraction longer before he turned, walking toward the embedded shield that still stood defiantly in the cracked ground.

Reaching out, he pinched the shield's edge between his thumb and index finger, just that, and with a casual flick, he pulled it free as effortlessly as a farmer plucking a seedling from soft earth. The sight was almost absurd; something that had buried itself inches deep into solid ground lifted as if it weighed no more than a fallen leaf.

Without looking, he tossed it back toward Kola. "You can have that back."

The shield spun mid-air, a glint of steel catching the dim light before Kola instinctively caught it. His fingers closed around the familiar weight, but his widened eyes betrayed his astonishment. "That… was not normal."

Before he could dwell on it, Nyxander turned away, already walking toward the exit. "We won't be staying here any longer. We've spent enough time engaging in this." His voice carried the finality of a ruler closing the pages of an unneeded chapter. "Let's go."

Kal, Bako, and Bili fell in step behind him, their movements synchronized, unspoken unity tying them together as they strode toward the door.

Kola and his subordinates stood watching, their eyes following the departing figures. Something in the air had shifted, what had begun as a clash had ended in an unspoken understanding.

Just as they reached the threshold, Nyxander halted. Without turning, he reached into his coat, retrieving a small leather pouch, the weight of metal inside unmistakable. He tossed it toward Kola with the same casual ease as before.

Kola lifted his hand, catching it effortlessly, fingers tightening around the pouch. "Give that to the man hiding in his kitchen upstairs," Nyxander said. "That's the payment for the damage his restaurant suffered."

For the first time, a ghost of a smirk touched Kola's lips. He gave a short nod, squeezing the pouch in his grip. "Alright." He stood still, watching, as Nyxander and his men stepped through the exit, disappearing into the world beyond.

A moment passed. Then, Edgar and Eadric stepped closer, their movements hesitant, yet laced with the weight of unsaid thoughts. "Is it okay to just give in like that?" Edgar's voice carried both curiosity and an underlying unease. His eyes flickered from the empty exit back to Kola, searching for something, reassurance, perhaps.

Kola didn't turn to them immediately. His gaze was still fixed where Nyxander had disappeared, his thoughts deeper than they could see. "You saw it too, didn't you?" His voice, though even, carried an undeniable certainty. "He pulled my shield, a shield weighing 500GP, out of solid ground with just two fingers. And he did it as if he were plucking a feather. Not only that, but he could even tell that someone was hiding in the corridor of the kitchen."

Slowly, his eyes shifted from the exit, settling on the two standing before him. "You can be the judge of whether you want to stay… or leave." With that, Kola turned and began striding toward the second floor, the pouch in hand, ready to hand over the money to the restaurant owner.

Edgar and Eadric exhaled sharply, exchanging glance, silent, yet filled with a mutual understanding that only years of companionship could forge. "Huh… Hah." A sound somewhere between a scoff and a reluctant laugh escaped their lips. Then, as if reaching an unspoken agreement, their steps followed after him.

"You can't just abandon us just because you've sworn loyalty to someone else," they muttered, their voices laced with both jest and sincerity. And so, they followed, not just out of duty but out of something deeper, something forged not in words but in trust.

The streets buzzed with life, a symphony of calls, clatters, and footsteps weaving together into an unbroken melody. Merchants stood on wooden platforms, voices rising as they bartered and beckoned, their hands gesturing toward wares that gleamed under the light. Customers, some eager, others skeptical, haggled over prices, their conversations overlapping like waves upon the shore.

The walkway, thick with bodies, became a river of movement, figures pushing, weaving, pausing, and shifting. Carts rattled along the uneven stones, their wheels creaking under the weight of goods, while carriage drivers shouted commands to restless horses.

Through this organized chaos, Nyxander and his subordinates moved, cutting through the crowd like a ship carving through restless waters.

Kal, weaving past a hurried merchant, stepped closer to Nyxander's side. "Boss." Nyxander, without breaking stride, gave him a sideward glance, w silent acknowledgment. Kal hesitated for a breath, then finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at him. "I've been meaning to ask this for a while now… Just how strong are you really?"

Nyxander's brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Hmmm." His throat hummed as he tilted his head, fingers stroking his lower jaw, a contemplative gesture, as if weighing his own strength in his mind.

"Strong enough to take on all of Astro Station's teams." The words were delivered with the ease of someone discussing the weather, but their weight hung in the air like a boulder teetering on the edge of a cliff. Kal exhaled sharply through his nose. "Then why did this suddenly spark your curiosity?" Nyxander asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Kal scoffed. "Hah." He gestured vaguely, his hands moving as if trying to grasp at words. "You pulled a shield made of 500GP that was embedded several inches deep into solid ground with just two fingers. Not just that, but you tossed it into the air as if it were a kitchen knife."

Nyxander blinked, then gave a small, almost absentminded nod. "Ha… Oh. I see." For a moment, he was silent, but then something else seemed to cross his mind. His gaze sharpened as he turned slightly toward Kal. "GP… What exactly is that?"

Kal's expression flickered with mild surprise before settling into understanding. "GP stands for Gravity Pull." His voice took on a slightly instructional tone. "It's the unit we use to measure an object's weight in relation to its gravitational response. Every object interacts with the surrounding gravity based on its body composition."

Nyxander gave a small nod, absorbing the information. "I see." But in the quiet spaces of his mind, another thought stirred. "There is much to learn about this strange world I've reincarnated into."

And with that, they continued, weaving their way through the crowds, figures moving through a world still vast, still full of mysteries waiting to be unraveled.