Forbidden: Max level warrior

Valefort, the royal capital of the Scarlet-Flame Kingdom, stood under a sky veined with crimson cloudlight. Torch-bearing towers pierced the skyline like obsidian fangs, and the air shimmered with residual heat from the capital's enchanted forges.

Inside the inner fortress of the Flame Court, Alvar—the Grand Warrior of the Crown—stood alone in the steel-lined chamber of arms.

He drew in a breath, placed his hand over a sealed obsidian chest, and opened it with a thought.

A hum, like air being sliced apart, shivered through the room. Within the velvet-lined case rested not a blade, but a shape made of mana—condensed, flawless, sleeping.

A Spellblade.

Forged by Alvar himself.

It pulsed silver-blue like crystallized lightning, shaped as a slender longsword—but it wasn't truly metal. It was a one-time technique, a condensed killing blow, formed from pure destruction.

A single-use spell that could tear through the sky.

He turned as footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A young woman entered, armored in red and steel. Her hair blazed like wildfire, tied in a high tail that swayed as she moved. She looked barely past twenty, but her amber eyes burned with a fierce clarity beyond her years.

She stopped before him and saluted.

"You summoned me, Commander?"

"Yes, Avera."

He gestured toward the floating Spellblade. It drifted between them, humming low like a heartbeat of the world.

Avera's breath caught. Her gaze fixed on it.

Her voice dropped. "Is that…?"

Alvar nodded. "My Spellblade."

She stared in awe. "The technique… the one they say once destroyed a moon?"

Alvar didn't answer right away.

Avera stepped closer, speaking as if recalling a sacred tale.

"They say there were once three moons in the sky. The third one—pale green—was said to be the anchor for a divine being. A Moon Dragon. A creature born from the tides of time, feeding on the dreams of the world. No army could reach it. No magic could kill it."

She looked at the blade.

"So the strongest human alive at the time forged a technique… not to kill the dragon—but to destroy its sanctuary. A single swing, and the moon was gone. Shattered into astral dust."

Alvar said softly, "And the dragon vanished with it."

Avera whispered, "They called it the sinless execution. An attack so clean it left no ash."

Alvar allowed himself a brief nod. "This is not that technique. But it is born of the same principles. Refined. Sharpened. Condensed into one unrelenting blow."

Avera hesitated. "You forged this yourself?"

"I did."

"You've never given a Spellblade to anyone before."

"I know."

Her jaw tensed. "If I carry this… if I activate it… will it kill him?"

Alvar's tone was cold and steady.

"If it doesn't, nothing will."

The blade pulsed, almost as if hearing the promise.

Avera stepped forward. She extended her hand—and the Spellblade etched itself into her gauntlet as a glowing seal, the mana embedding in her very blood.

The chamber fell silent.

Alvar placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Go. You leave with all five captains. Ride with honor—and return with clarity."

Avera's voice was quiet, but certain. "I will."

Moments later, the Royal Knight vanguard thundered down the high road toward Feldrath—led by Avera, red-haired, resolute, and now wielding the weight of legends.

Unaware, perhaps, that her blade would not be the only thing tested.

At House Vaelthorn, the storm outside was nothing compared to the one brooding within its walls.

Malric stood alone in his war chamber, staring out at the rain-beaten glass. The torches behind him flickered with his breathing. His fists clenched tightly behind his back.

"He refused," he said quietly.

Alrick, standing to the side in a rage barely contained by nobility, scoffed. "He said he'll come at his own convenience. Not when summoned. Not when ordered. At. His. Convenience."

Malric turned, slow and deliberate, eyes burning like coal-fed furnaces.

"He mocks me," he said. "In my own domain. Before the eyes of my people. He turns my invitation into theater."

Alrick stepped closer. "We can have him dragged here. Tortured. Hung from the walls until—"

"No."

Malric's voice was quiet, but final.

"We'll give him the audience he wants. Let him come here on his terms. Let him step into my den. And when he does…" The distant sky was darkening by the time Ann's carriage rolled across the blackstone path leading to House Vaelthorn's manor.

From the outside, the estate looked formidable—built like a fortress, with tall walls, sharp arches, and spiked ironwork flanking every gate. But inside the enchanted carriage, the world was a different story.

Lilly still sat with wide eyes, wrapped in velvet cushions. "It's bigger inside…"

Ann leaned back with a glass of chilled citrus wine in one hand. "Spatial magic. Pocket expansion. This place is as big as a small mansion. And smooth rides are non-negotiable."

Despite the uneven path, not a single jolt disturbed their ride. Even the goblet resting beside them didn't ripple.

The carriage came to a slow stop at the front gates. Immediately, guards in crimson-etched armor tensed as they recognized the enormous silver-furred beast that padded silently alongside the vehicle.

Skarn didn't growl, but his presence was enough.

Several of the Warden's prized warhorses reared and screamed inside their stables, thrashing against their reins in panic. One snapped free entirely and galloped into the manor courtyard, trampling crates as servants scrambled to grab it.

Ann clicked his tongue. "Tsk. He's just walking. Now that I think of it maybe I should create a dimension where I can summon him from any time"

He raised a hand and conjured a portal behind him—a compact shimmering doorway.

"Skarn, in you go. Take a nap."

The Voidstorm Direwolf stepped into the pocket dimension without protest and vanished in a blink of light.

"Useful little thing," Ann muttered. "Might throw a mountain in there next time."

A steward arrived, trying not to tremble.

"Sir… Lord Vaelthorn awaits you in the great chamber. Please follow me."

He bowed politely—disciplined and formal. Not afraid. Not yet.

Ann nodded once, and they walked together through the manor halls.

The throne chamber loomed ahead, tall and severe, its floor paved in obsidian tile. Red firelight danced along the etched walls. The Warden sat upon a raised seat of ironwood and dark steel. His cloak rested around him like the wings of a vulture. Beside him, his son stood with a clenched jaw and clenched fists.

As Ann and Lilly stepped through the archway, the silence shattered.

Alrick Vaelthorn's voice cracked like a whip.

"You—!"

He pointed, eyes filled with fury.

"You're the one—you're the filth who stole that filthy peasant from me!"

Ann raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"And the dress!" Alrick spat. "Do you know what you took? That wasn't just for me! I was going to offer it to the princess herself—to win her favor, her smile, her hand! You ruined everything!"

Lilly stiffened beside Ann.

Malric did not rise. He rested his hands atop the arms of the throne and spoke in a slow, measured tone.

"You've stirred quite the mess, outsider. For days now you've walked within my territory. Ignoring my summons. Interfering in matters not yours. Claiming power you have yet to prove."

Ann's gaze didn't waver.

"I walk where I wish."

The room chilled. Even the guards lining the walls subtly adjusted their stance.

Malric continued, "I could have sent ten men to drag you here in chains. But instead, I offered you the dignity of an invitation."

"I accepted. On my terms."

"And you brought that… creature," Malric added. "The one that sent my entire stables into a frenzy."

Ann gave a faint smile. "Skarn likes to stretch his legs."

Alrick took a furious step forward. "You mock us!"

"I haven't even started," Ann said lazily.

Malric raised a hand, silencing his son.

"There's been… treachery," he said. "A man infiltrated my house. A former enforcer turned assassin. We believe he seeks my life."

Ann's expression didn't shift.

"How tragic."

Malric's voice hardened. "He's killed three of mine already. If you are what they whisper you are, perhaps this is a good time to demonstrate it." The chamber door burst open with a metallic slam. A guard rushed in, face pale, armor stained with streaks of fresh blood.

"My lord!" he shouted. "The traitor has been sighted! He's in the west wing—four of our men are already dead!"

A pulse of silence followed.

Malric didn't move. Not at first.

Then slowly, like a snake uncoiling, he turned to Ann.

"I suppose this is the perfect opportunity."

Ann's expression shifted.

He took one uneasy step back.

"I... didn't come here for this," he said, voice faint.

His gaze darted around the room—toward the guards, the bloodied messenger, the hall beyond the throne.

"If someone's here to kill you—then I want no part in it."

Lilly turned to him sharply. "Ann?"

He raised his hands slightly, palms forward.

"I'm not a fighter. I'm just—just someone who got caught in the middle. If this assassin's coming for me, maybe I should go. Maybe I should beg."

A few of the guards exchanged glances. Alrick smirked.

Malric stepped down from the dais, slow and sure.

"Well," he said, voice dark with satisfaction, "I must admit, I was almost convinced."

He walked a half circle around Ann, hands folded behind his back.

"But now I see you clearly. The self-proclaimed Demon Lord of Infinity…"

He came to a stop, eyes gleaming.

"Shaking in front of a hired blade."

Malric's lips curled.

"I arranged this test—this assassin—because I needed to see the truth. I wanted to know if the rumors were real. If the man who killed my enforcers, who paraded through Feldrath like a crowned god… was anything more than a well-dressed con."

He stepped closer.

"And what do I find?"

His voice dropped, sharp as a blade.

"An actor. A coward. A fraud."

Lilly stared at Ann, stunned.

Then Ann smiled.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

He let out a quiet sigh, then turned to Malric with eyes like shadowed embers.

"It took you long enough to say it."

The Warden blinked.

"What?"

"That," Ann said, "is the signal I was waiting for."

"For plotting against the Demon Lord of Infinity…"

The flames around the chamber flickered violently.

"…you have sinned against both heaven and earth."

He turned his gaze—slowly—toward Lilly.

No. Not to her. To the floor beneath her.

"You," Ann said softly, "I know where you are."

The guards tensed.

"I felt you three minutes ago, slipping into her shadow. You've been there since."

Malric stopped moving.

Ann extended a hand.

"If you don't come out…"

The floor beneath them dimmed.

"…I'll drag you out myself."

The temperature dropped.

Even the iron sconces dimmed as the shadow beneath Lilly rippled—no longer bound by natural light.

The assassin had been there the whole time.

But he was not unseen.

Not to Ann.