Transmigrated as My Support Mage Avatar-Chapter 67: Ch: A Kingdom I Never Chose

The morning sun crept slowly over the horizon, painting the sky with soft hues of orange and gold. The wheels of the carriage rolled gently along the cobbled road, now entering a more populated path lined with elegant elven trees and morning vendors.

Inside the carriage, Fran leaned against the window, her eyes sparkling like a curious kitten.

"Woah..." she whispered, her cat tail wagging excitedly as she pressed both hands against the glass. "Look, Sister! It’s... it’s—"

She paused in wonder, her voice catching in her throat.

"S-so many elves...!"

Dila, still lying back with her arm tucked beneath her head, turned her tired gaze toward Fran and squinted slightly from the morning light.

"What is it, Fran?"

Fran pointed eagerly. "We’re surrounded! It’s like we entered another world or something!"

Dila shifted and peeked outside.

She blinked twice.

Elves.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of them, walking the roads, tending to shops, dressed in noble robes and hunter leathers alike. Elegant buildings, glowing crystal lanterns, and the smooth hum of morning chatter filled the air. The scent of warm bread drifted from nearby bakeries.

People along the roadside began to take notice of the carriage. Whispers began to follow its path:

"Is that her...?"

"They say the Princess has returned..."

"No way, after all these years?"

"Look,... is that really her?..."

Inside, Dila frowned and turned her head away from the window. She muttered, "Tch... I hate attention..."

Just then, the masked man leaned from the front driver seat, one arm casually draped over the edge.

"Good morning, Princess," he called out with a smug grin.

Before he could blink—Fran had already jumped to her feet, tail spiked like a lightning bolt, hands raised in a fighting pose.

The almost non-existing fur along her arms stood on end like an angry kitten.

"Say what again, you creeper—I dare you!" she growled.

The masked man simply chuckled, closing his eyes with a sigh and a crooked smile.

"Feisty as usual... Hahahah."

Dila sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Shut up, dude."

Fran snarled. "Sister, give me the word—I’ll claw his smug grin off."

Dila smirked faintly. "No you can’t win..... Not yet. Let him enjoy the air while he still has all his teeth."

The masked man laughed even louder. "Ohh, this trip is gonna be fun."

And the carriage rolled forward, deeper into the heart of Eldor.

As the carriage still rolling continuing forward, the path gently curved into an ascending road lined with silver-rooted trees that shimmered in the morning light. Each branch sparkled as if dusted with frost, though the air was warm and still. A faint, melodic hum echoed in the breeze—soft like a song from the trees themselves.

Ahead, a second gate came into view.

Not just any gate—a towering arch of white marble, veined with glowing runes that pulsed in rhythm like a heartbeat. Two guards stood on either side, clad in ceremonial armor etched with golden filigree, their cloaks rippling with faint blue enchantments. At the sight of the carriage, they raised their right arms, palms outward—each wearing a glowing crest on the back of their hand.

Without a word, the gate responded.

The entire arch lit up. Lines of radiant magic raced from the center outward, dancing across ancient glyphs as a soft whoomph echoed through the air. With an elegant shift, the marble parted soundlessly, revealing a road of soft crystal tiles that caught the sunlight and scattered it like scattered stars across the path.

The masked man tipped his head politely.

"Thank you," he said smoothly as the carriage rolled onward.

Inside, Dila sat in silence, watching.

Fran pressed herself eagerly to the window again, eyes wide.

"S-Sister... are we in a dream...?"

For beyond the gate, the inner district of Eldor shimmered like a realm pulled from legend. Elven towers spiraled into the sky, wrapped in climbing vines that bloomed with flowers that shimmered like living gemstones. Floating lanterns hovered midair, bobbing gently as if dancing to an unseen rhythm.

The roads were lined with nobles dressed in radiant robes—flowing silks and woven light, their ears long and adorned with crystals. The scent of moon-blossom tea and warm honey pastries drifted from the open balconies of towering homes shaped like tree roots and star-forged glass.

Soft streams of water wove through the city, sometimes flowing midair in slow arcs, shimmering with pale blue enchantments. Children laughed near the edges, their giggles echoing beneath the soft music that seemed to rise from the cobblestones themselves.

Everywhere Dila looked, there was elegance.

Ethereal.

Timeless.

Unreal.

She said nothing.

Not because she was awed.

But because something inside her quietly whispered:

"I don’t belong here."

And the carriage rolled deeper, toward the shining city.

As the carriage continued to roll down the radiant streets of Eldor, bathed in shimmering gold light and another elven whispers, Dila sat stiffly in her seat. Her blue eyes didn’t wander anymore. She simply stared forward—cold, unreadable.

Then suddenly, she muttered under her breath, voice sharp and bitter.

"I thought this king turned into a tyrant when I was gone. So what’s all this?" She gestured with her chin at the magical city around her. "This kingdom... this molasses of pretty lights and some maybe fake smiles. What a load of dumb shit."

From the driver’s seat, the masked man turned his head slightly, the smile in his voice still calm.

"Your words, Princess... they hurt me," he said, one hand resting on the reins, the other tapping his fingers on the wood. "Molasses? Really?"

"I don’t care," Dila snapped back. "I think you lied. Lied about everything. Maybe I was never some ’Princess.’ Maybe I was never even meant to belong here. Maybe I don’t even have a damn father to begin with."

Her voice was rising—but not in volume. In weight. As if each word dragged out a decade of silence inside her.

"I was just... tossed into this place. Pulled into this world like a puppet. And now I’m supposed to play pretend? Sit on some throne beside a man I don’t even know, and call it home?"

Silence fell.

Until a soft voice answered beside her.

"I’m here, Sister," Fran whispered.

She leaned in gently, wrapping her arms around Dila’s waist like a child afraid of being left again. Her cat ears twitched, her eyes wide with sincerity. "You’re not alone. You still have me."

Dila turned her head slowly. Her eyes met Fran’s.

And in that moment—everything inside her cracked.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t speak.

She just lifted her hand and gently ran her fingers through Fran’s dark navy hair. Fran leaned into the touch with a small, tired smile, her eyes closing, resting in that warmth as if Dila was her entire world.

And Dila, behind that calm face, felt it.

Not the magic.

Not the kingdom.

Not the pressure.

But her own soul, shouting from the deepest, most silenced corner:

"I just want to be free... not owned by blood, and this stupid power of crowns."

Suddenly.....

The masked man chuckled quietly at the reins, his voice low and softer now—no longer filled with smugness, but something gentler.

"Princess... I’m not lying," he said, eyes still forward, but the edge in his tone gone. "Your father... he truly did become a tyrant. When he believed you were truly gone or dead out there somewhere—unreachable—he unraveled. He neglected the kingdom. Stopped attending councils. Stopped caring about the people. It was as if all the color drained from him."

He breathed in deeply, as though remembering those heavy, cold days.

"But the moment he confirmed you were still alive..." he said, a faint light in his voice, "he came back to life. Like the fire returned to his bones. In just three days, he turned this kingdom around. Order, hope, magic... all came rushing back. He moved heaven and earth, Princess. All... just for you."

Dila didn’t blink.

She deadpanned, her expression dry, lips pressing flat.

"Ohh. Bravo," she said sarcastically. "Well played. You really outdid yourself with the ’tragic father tale’."

The masked man laughed, oddly proud. "Well, it is impressive, isn’t it? My lord rebuilt this whole place in three days. Awesome, right?"

"Awesome my ass," Dila muttered, looking away with narrowed eyes.

Fran blinked between them, then leaned her head again on Dila’s shoulder—saying nothing, but frowning slightly as her tail flicked.

And outside, the city of elves gleamed brighter and brighter...

A kingdom built on urgency.

A throne waiting for its reluctant heir.

And a masked man smiling like the story had only just begun.

Suddenly again.

The masked man let out a small, amused laugh—tilting his head as if genuinely flattered.

"Ohh, that hurts, Princess," he said in a mock-wounded tone. "Accusing me of lying again after all the heartfelt monologue I gave you? How cruel." He chuckled softly, reins still in his gloved hands, the horses trotting peacefully along the cobbled path beneath the towering sunlit trees.

Dila didn’t even blink.

Her expression was blank—deadpan.

"You know what?" she said flatly. "Last night, you were a bloodthirsty maniac. And now? You’ve turned into a steaming pile of mister goody-goody. What’s next? Are you going to offer me cookies and tea?" frёewebηovel.cѳm

The masked man chuckled even more, his laughter light and oddly warm, like it didn’t match the eerie, terrifying person from just a night ago.

"Ohh, Princess," he said cheerfully, "you flatter me."

He tilted his head toward her, eyes closed in amusement.

"Honestly... I’m starting to think you enjoy my company."

Dila rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve cracked a Stargem.

Fran giggled softly beside her but still kept her hand looped around Dila’s sleeve protectively, as if unsure when this strange warmth might turn dangerous again.

The carriage rolled on—through elegance and mystery, with one former assassin trying to be a gentleman, and a princess who saw through every smile he wore like a mask.

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