Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast
Chapter 43: Westreach

Chapter 43: Westreach

Clip-Clop!

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the soft crunch of dirt filled the air as the group approached the towering gates of Westreach, the grand Western hub of Eldoria. This city was the lifeline connecting the kingdom’s heartland to the wild frontiers beyond.

Boy took a moment to admire the sight before him. The white-stone walls, that Boy could faintly sense were reinforced with ancient rune wards, loomed overhead, standing as an imposing symbol of Eldoria’s strength.

The gatehouse entrance was heavily fortified, rows of armored guards standing at rigid attention, their grips firm on their weapons. A thick tension hung in the air, sharpened by the occasional muffled argument between weary travelers and the watchmen.

As the party neared, Boy felt the shift in the air—attention gravitated toward them. The guards exchanged quiet words, some gripping their halberds a little tighter, while travelers whispered among themselves, their eyes flickering toward the unbound summon in their midst.

Their wariness was expected though as Raegan had already informed him that a summon walking unbound was a rare sight.

The sound of heavy footsteps and a clanging of metal armour could be heard as a sergeant in plated armour stepped forward from within the gates and approached them, his hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he scanned them with scrutiny.

Until he stopped on one familiar face as his expression shifted in an instant.

"Raegan? By the gods, is that you" the sergeant’s demeanor cracked into a wide grin as he stepped forward.

Raegan let out a short chuckle, "You still keep watch over these gates huh, Gregor?"

The short-formed tension hanging over the group disappeared as quickly as it came as Gregor clapped a firm hand on Raegan’s shoulder, "You damned rogue, I know you got stationed in Eldorwyn but you never once came to visit. Hahaha! You still causing trouble?"

"Only the best kind," Raegan smirked before he turned his gaze to the long line of people, "It seems security in Westreach has gone up."

Gregor let out a helpless chuckle, "Lord Valen’s orders. With the war going the way it is, we can’t be too careful. Too many things slipping through the cracks."

His gaze shifted back to Raegan, curiosity evident in his expression, "What about you? I didn’t expect to see you back here. What brought you back home?"

At this, Raegan’s smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, his expression clouding over with something heavier as he glanced away, as if gathering his thoughts.

"We’re here to visit the Valen Estate," he said simply, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic weight.

Confusion flickered across Gregor’s face as he saw the sudden shift in tone from Raegan. His brows knitted together as if trying to piece something together and as he saw the usual smirk that Raegan had seemed so distant- the truth struck him like a hammer.

His posture stiffened, and the warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something hollow. His fingers curled slightly against his armoured gauntlets, as if struggling to grasp the reality of what was left unsaid.

"...I see," Gregor muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He exhaled sharply, his usual ease stripped away, "By the gods... it cannot be..."

Before Gregor could say more, a guard approached him quickly, his expression tense as he spoke, "Sergeant Gregor, there’s still much to be done at the gates. We need you urgently."

Gregor blinked, shaking himself from the haze of his thoughts. He let out a slow, measured breath before turning back to Raegan, "Go on in. Get the news to Lord Valen immediately. He needs to hear this as soon as possible."

His voice was steady, but the grief was unmistakable. He gave Raegan a final nod, one filled with unspoken sorrow, before stepping away to attend to his duties.

"Let’s go," Raegan spoke, his voice solemn and serious and the group began to move forward.

The guards stepped aside without hesitation as the group passed the open heavy iron doors, their path into the city unobstructed.

Boy observed all of this in silence, his gaze flicking between Gregor’s reaction, Raegan’s uncharacteristically heavy expression, and the guards who had moments ago treated them with scrutiny but now had stepped aside without question.

But even deeper, Boy felt something new—a disconnect. How could a warrior, someone trained for battle, be so completely unraveled by the mention of a name? He had seen men fall, seen them slain in an instant, their comrades barely pausing before pressing forward.

What makes this different?

The weight of Gregor’s grief pressed into the air around him, heavy, suffocating. And Boy didn’t understand it. Not yet.

Is this what loss means? He made a mental note of it, his mind unable to fully grasp the depth of what he was witnessing, ’What did Darius do to be able to influence someone as intensely at the mention of his death?’

But as he stuck on this, the grand sight of Westreach appeared in front of him and Boy took a moment to admire the sight before him.

The city unfolded before him in layers of gold, stone, and shadow. Majestic archways bridged the streets, casting long stretches of shade over the crowds below. Towering spires reached skyward, their banners snapping in the breeze.

The stone streets of Westreach unfolded like a grand tapestry, woven with history and quiet tension. Carved murals lined the walls, depicting battles from centuries past—warriors with gleaming spears, towering summons locked in combat, kings delivering victories.

Yet, beneath all this splendor, something felt off. The air was too still, despite the movement. Merchants traded, but their conversations were muted. Nobles strolled, but their glances held unease. Even the city watch, patrolling in reinforced numbers, seemed too rigid, too cautious.

It was a city standing at the edge of something looming, its once-glorious aura dimmed by the encroaching tension that clung to its streets like an unshakable fog.

As he absorbed the scene, Raegan rode up beside him, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

"At least the buildings of Westreach haven’t changed much since I was last here," he mused, "I used to slip through these gates as a kid, weaving through the merchant stalls, sneaking into the training grounds just to catch a glimpse of the knights sparring. Darius always told me this city would be the shield of Eldoria—it’s strange seeing it so tense now."

Boy glanced at Raegan, curiosity in his eyes as he asked, ’You spent time here?’

Raegan let out a melancholic chuckle, "This place was my childhood. Welcome to the entrance plaza."

As they moved deeper into the plaza, Boy realized that they were no longer just catching the attention of a few bystanders—everyone had taken notice. The murmurs that had started at the gates had now spread like wildfire, rippling through the crowd as dozens of eyes fixated on their group.

Boy tensed at first, expecting suspicion, perhaps even fear. Yet, as he scanned the faces in the plaza, he found no hostility. No wariness. Only silent curiosity, some looks filled with admiration, others simply observing with quiet respect. It was nothing like what he had anticipated.

His gaze drifted further, scanning the grand expanse of the plaza, when something else caught his eye. At the very center of the square stood a massive bronze statue of Darius Valen, a towering tribute to the man he had known only as a commander but whom this city seemed to worship as a legend.

The statue depicted him standing tall in his battle-worn armor, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword while the other was outstretched toward the sky. At his side was a summon, frozen in metal, an eternal companion locked in time.

Boy’s eyes narrowed as he noticed something even more striking—people bowing before the statue. Some touched their hands to their hearts, others whispered quiet prayers. Soldiers passing by did not hesitate to pause, offering solemn nods before continuing on their way. The reverence in their gestures was undeniable.

A strange, unshakable weight settled in Boy’s chest. He had known Darius was respected, but this wasn’t respect. This was something more.

The way people lowered their heads, some touching their hearts, others whispering quiet prayers—it was reverence. Soldiers paused mid-march, offering solemn nods before continuing on their way. The man who had led Boy was not just a leader here—he was a legend.

Boy stared at the unmoving bronze figure, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other reaching skyward as if grasping for something just beyond reach.

Was this what Darius meant to the people here?

"No time to lose, let’s get going," Raegan said, his voice firm with urgency, though the same quiet sorrow lingered beneath it."

Westreach was a city of contrasts—its towering archways and golden spires signified wealth and nobility, yet the lower levels told a different story. Winding alleys bore signs of recent scuffles, deep gashes in the stone walls, smoke-streaked rooftops, and the hurried whispers of merchants who looked over their shoulders too often. A city of wealth and power, yes—but also one teetering on the edge of something darker.

As the party moved deeper into the city, Boy took in the intricate blend of culture and architecture that made Westreach unique.

The upper districts were lavish, lined with elegant stonework, stained-glass windows depicting past victories, and soaring towers crowned with banners fluttering in the breeze.

The roads were paved in smooth cobblestone, polished from years of trade and royal processions, while noble carriages passed by, their occupants casting fleeting glances at the group.

Further down, the atmosphere shifted.

The scent of fresh-baked bread and sizzling meats from bustling street vendors filled the air, mingling with the sharper tang of smoldering forge fires from blacksmith shops. Merchants called out their wares in a variety of dialects, their voices rising above the clamor of clinking coins and bartering customers.

Mosaic murals decorated public courtyards, depicting great battles and legendary warriors, with Darius Valen often featured among them.

Despite the movement and chatter, unease crackled in the air.

Guards moved in tight formations, their hands never far from their weapons.

A street vendor hurriedly packed up his stall, his hands shaking as he fumbled with his wares.

"They took someone last night," Boy heard a merchant whisper to another. "Just gone."

The second man tensed. "You talk too much."

Their conversation ended as quickly as it had begun.

Boy absorbed everything, noting how history and tension coexisted in the very streets. For all of its grandeur, Westreach was a city holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable to come.

After what felt like a long yet revealing journey through the heart of the city, Raegan finally slowed his horse, exhaling as his gaze lifted ahead.

"We’re here."

The Valen Estate loomed before them.