Forbidden: Max level warrior

Two days had passed since the incident in Feldrath.

In the high sanctum of the Whispered Eye, violet dusk filtered through ancient stained glass. Kaen Veyran stood before Ordran Myrric, his robes scorched, his face calm but weary. Ash still clung faintly to the hem, a lingering memory of what the Verdant Edge had become.

"I confirmed it," Kaen said. "The magical disturbance drew in a Razorback Wyvern."

Ordran stirred. His eyes, deep as molten wells, remained unreadable. "A-rank."

"Fully grown. Male. Level eighty-five. It wasn't acting naturally—it was provoked, almost... magnetized. Like the forest itself had whispered for it."

"And?" Ordran asked.

"I mange tk destroyed it," Kaen replied. "But barely and not at the cost of the destruction of almost half the forest."

He hesitated, then added, "There were no traces of the man we observed. No lingering mana. No footsteps. Nothing. Either he concealed himself on a divine level, or he left the moment he sensed us."

Ordran's fingers tapped the staff resting across his lap.

"There is something else," Kaen continued. "I made my way to the outskirts—to Feldrath. I heard talk of a man who interfered in a village affair. One of the villages under House Vaelthorn's protection."

"A noble house."

"A ruthless one," Kaen said. "Word has begun to spread. The villagers call him the Demon Lord of Infinity."

Ordran leaned back in silence. The chamber, high above the world, felt suddenly smaller.

"Then the echo has begun," the Grand Seer murmured. "Let them carry his name on their tongues. It will reach the King soon enough."

Far away in the mountains, a manor of dark ironwood and stone cast its shadow across the eastern valleys. House Vaelthorn's seat was not decorated with trophies or banners—it was a fortress, austere and powerful, like the man who ruled it.

The Warden of the Eastern Border stood by the high window of his private hall, arms behind his back. He gazed toward the horizon, toward the distant glow of Feldrath's lamplight. Behind him, his son paced.

"He stole her," the young noble seethed. "That peasant girl. Mine, by right. I had already told the village chief and even still she's with him"

The Warden didn't respond.

"And the dress," the son added sharply. "I reserved it—ten gold. Enchanted. I had the merchant seal it. He walked in, doubled the price, and took it."

Still, the Warden said nothing.

"And your enforcers," the son snapped. "They're dead. Not injured—dead. In public. In daylight. He even spared on of them to bring the information to us! While townsfolk watched and whispered. People are calling him—"

"I know what they're calling him."

The Warden's voice was quiet. Flat. Dangerous.

"They call him the Demon Lord of Infinity."

His son scoffed. "A title. A bluff."

The Warden turned. His eyes burned with calculation.

"They're afraid of him," he said. "And more dangerously—they're beginning to question me."

He walked to the center of the room, boots echoing against stone.

"For over two decades, I have ruled the east unopposed. Not just by mercy, but by fear. In the face of the world I kind but then I also take certain actions to earn the proper respect and fear.

That fear has been my foundation. Now... one man. One name. One act of defiance. And the cracks have begun to show."

He raised his chin.

"We will confront this man. We will test his strength. And if he is what they say he is... we may offer alliance."

"And if he's not?"

"Then I'll see his bones dragged through the streets of Feldrath. Send word to him, tell them the Warden request an audience with him"

In the capital city of Valefort, the throne room of the Scarlet-Flame Kingdom burned with ceremonial firelight. The stone was obsidian-black, the banners were stitched with ember-thread, and the scent of molten crystal filled the air from the eternal brazier behind the throne.

The King of Flame sat unmoving, cloaked in silence, while the Grand Seer of Flamewatch stood before him with hands folded behind his back.

"There is no mistake," Ordran said. "We attempted scrying. The crystals ruptured. Our vision was repelled not by wards—but by something deeper. Something raw."

The King narrowed his eyes.

"Feldrath is whispering. They say he calls himself the Demon Lord of Infinity. I would've dismissed it—but... the magical scars in Verdant Edge are real. The forest still stinks of collapsed ley lines. And Kael Veyran reports that a Razorback Wyvern was lured to the scene."

"A beast of ancient blood," the King said.

"Yes," Ordran nodded. "And it was slain."

The King was quiet for a long time. Then, without looking away from the flames, he gave the order.

"Send the Royal Knights."

From the far side of the chamber, a figure stepped forward. Silver armor gleamed in the firelight, flawless and unmarred. His cloak bore no emblem, only the bare sigil of the Crown.

Alvar, Grand Warrior of the Flame Court, bowed his head.

"I will not go."

The King turned sharply.

"If the threat is real," Alvar said calmly, "then I remain here. By your side. Should the capital itself be threatened, you will need me. But I will send the others."

The King considered it, then gave a single nod.

"Dispatch all available knights. Let them find this Demon Lord."

Later that evening in Feldrath, the noise of the city dulled as the night set in. In a quiet corner of the upper district, warm candlelight flickered through the window of a rented room.

Ann sat beside the open shutters, legs crossed on the edge of the chair, watching the stars as if they might blink first.

Lilly sat nearby, curled in the corner with a blanket pulled to her chin. She hadn't said much—just listened. Sometimes that was all she needed to do.

Then she saw it.

A small smile, tugging at the corner of Ann's mouth.

"What is it?" she asked sleepily.

He didn't turn to look at her. Just took a quiet breath, eyes still on the night sky.

"Things are starting to brew," he said.

There was a pause.

"Might get interesting soon."