Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The further he walked, the quieter it got.

Not the calm kind of quiet, more like sound itself had gotten tired of echoing here. The kind that settled into his bones and made his breath feel too loud.

Ashwing hadn't said anything in minutes.

The buildings were different now, taller, more symmetrical. Black stone mixed with something smoother, paler, bone maybe, or whatever passed for it in this part of the world. Some towers didn't have doors.

Some had dozens. None looked like they were made for people.

The sky above was still that pale grey, like smoke that had forgotten how to burn.

Then he saw the flags.

Three of them, hung high above a narrow courtyard.

Torn, but still hanging.

No wind, but they moved, slightly, like they swayed to something deeper in the air than breeze.

Lindarion stepped into the square, keeping his head low, hood still up. No one else was there. No voices. Just the flags and the buildings hunched around them.

He stared.

Dark red cloth.

Stitched with jagged black lines, like veins reaching toward the edges.

Each had a different symbol.

The one in the middle looked almost like a spire, broken at the tip. Or maybe a blade plunged downward. The sides curled in, like hooks.

The system pulsed faintly at the back of his skull.

[Foreign insignia detected…]

[Interpretation: Incomplete]

[Partial meaning: Authority. Domain. Sovereign.]

Not helpful.

But not nothing.

The second flag, ripped down the middle—

, bore a jagged circle inside a larger ring. Spikes jutted from both, but irregularly. Like teeth.

System blinked again.

[Partial meaning: Hunger. Chain. Hollowed.]

Lindarion stepped closer.

Ashwing finally stirred from his pocket, poking his narrow snout out.

"Those are military banners," he muttered. "The big kind. Either a faction or… ruling houses."

'Demonic houses?'

"Or something worse."

Lindarion studied the third banner. This one was smaller, and almost hidden. A black triangle burned into a grey background, so faint it looked like ash stains. Around it, seven dots. Red. Blood-red.

The system didn't translate anything this time.

Just flickered once.

Glitched.

Then stayed silent.

That didn't happen often.

He reached out, just a bit, and brushed the cloth between two fingers.

It was rough.

Old.

But not dusty. Not faded by time. Almost like it was newer than it looked.

'Still being used,' he thought. 'Still watched.'

Ashwing's voice was quieter now. "We should leave this area."

Lindarion didn't answer right away. He looked past the flags to the building behind them, massive, windowless, shaped like an inverted pyramid turned on its point. Doorless. Featureless. Just black stone that shimmered like oil.

Not a castle.

Not a temple.

A throne, maybe.

Or worse, something older.

"Lindarion," Ashwing said, louder. "We're being watched again."

He turned his head slowly.

Far back, just at the edge of the crooked street they'd come from, two figures stood.

Not moving. Not walking.

Just watching.

Skin grey like the rest. Eyes red.

But their silhouettes were… wrong.

Too long. Too thin.

One had a spiral mark across the side of its head. The other had no face at all.

They didn't step forward.

But they didn't vanish, either.

Like they wanted to see how far he'd go.

Lindarion pulled his cloak tighter and backed out of the square.

Not fast.

Not careless.

Just enough to make it clear he wasn't here to challenge anything.

Yet.

Ashwing ducked fully back into his pocket.

"Next time," the dragon muttered, "we scout from the sky."

'Yeah,' Lindarion thought. 'Next time.'

But part of him already knew, if those banners meant what he suspected, there wasn't going to be a next time if they didn't move fast.

This whole place was someone's kingdom.

And he was standing in its heart.

—

The streets grew narrower the deeper he went.

No more banners. No more towering obsidian towers. Just cracked stone paths that curved in impossible ways and alleys that bled shadow even in full light.

Ashwing shifted again in his pocket.

"Too quiet," the dragon whispered.

'Yeah.'

No market sounds. No conversation. Just the dry scrape of wind dragging across the stone. It wasn't abandoned, he'd passed too many quiet figures in windows, behind half-closed doors, staring without blinking.

He stepped around a stack of crates sealed with black twine, only to nearly walk into someone.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Standing completely still in the middle of the street.

The man, or thing, wore long, dark robes that shimmered faintly with mana residue. Skin a dull, slate grey. Veins slightly darker. His face was sharp, too sharp. Jaw like a blade edge. Eyes glowing red but dull, like embers about to go out.

Lindarion froze.

The demon, because that's what it was, even if he hadn't admitted it yet, tilted his head.

Then spoke.

Not in Elvish.

Not in any human tongue, either.

But his system clicked faintly in the back of his mind.

[Translating…]

[Partial comprehension achieved.]

"…you are not registered."

His voice was deep. Quiet. But not hostile. Like someone telling him the weather.

Lindarion didn't answer.

The demon stepped closer.

"Masking aura," it muttered. "Surface-born?"

Lindarion kept his cloak drawn, head slightly bowed.

"Tourist," he said plainly. "No trouble."

The system barely managed to translate even that.

The demon stared at him, unreadable. "Your tongue… not shaped right."

Lindarion tried not to react. He stayed still. Calm.

Ashwing hissed quietly from the pocket.

"Keep moving," the demon muttered suddenly. "Next checkpoint—north end."

Then it stepped aside.

Just like that.

Lindarion hesitated. 'That's it?'

"Go," Ashwing said sharply.

He moved past.

Didn't look back.

Didn't breathe until he'd cleared the curve of the street.

Only then did he pause near a broken archway and glance back.

The demon was still there, but not watching anymore. Talking to another figure, shorter, wrapped in dark cloth.

"You think he bought it?" Ashwing whispered.

'No idea.'

He looked down at his hand. The system had faded again. No more translations.

Still incomplete.

Still fractured.

'If that was a checkpoint, there's more ahead. And if they check deeper—'

They'd know.

He wasn't from here.

Wasn't anything like them.

And right now, he didn't know if that was a death sentence… or just an invitation to something worse.

Ashwing pressed tighter against his ribs. "We should leave."

Lindarion looked up again, across the skyline of twisting towers and grey haze.

'Not yet.'

There was more here.

And he was going to find out what.

Even if it killed him.