Amon took a slow breath, steadying the storm within.
The blood on his coat vanished in a flicker of black flame. From his storage ring, he changed into a fresh set of obsidian robes — simple, elegant, and unmarked. Regal, but not loud.
"I don't have time to dwell on mysteries," he muttered, tightening his cuffs. "Stage one must begin."
The alley behind him dissolved into silence.
And with a step, he vanished.
—And reappeared at the heart of Ironborn City.
Towering above the central plaza stood a fortress-like manor, its crimson banners fluttering in the dry wind. Wrought iron gates sealed its entrance, and a dozen armored guards patrolled the perimeter.
The residence of the Ironborn Clan Leader.
Amon stood still for a moment, eyes locked on the structure as if he could already see the threads of fate unraveling behind those walls.
"Let's see what secrets your bloodline hides," he whispered.
And then he walked forward—slow, confident, inevitable.
But before he could reach the gates, a noble carriage rolled into view, sleek and engraved with crimson patterns. The moment Amon saw the symbol on its crest, he stopped.
"Crimson Edge Clan."
The emblem was unmistakable—two crossed swords wrapped in a blooming rose, bleeding petals.
The city square had been quiet when he arrived, but the moment the carriage appeared, it was as if someone rang a bell. People gathered, whispering, peeking.
A passerby nudged another, "Is that guy from the Crimson Edge Clan?"
The other scoffed, "You blind or just new here? Of course he is. This happens every damn week."
Amon listened, still.
The man continued, almost amused, "He comes here, plays some song, recites a poem or two—all for the clan leader's daughter. Poor bastard's been rejected more times than the sun's risen. She doesn't even leave her room anymore. No one knows when he'll show up—he just appears."
The carriage door hadn't opened. But Amon didn't need to see the face inside to know.
"Crimson Edge heir. We were in the same class at the Academy. Back then, he was called a prodigy—sharp, focused, full of pride. But love..."
He scoffed.
"...Love has a way of dulling even the finest blades."
And then he stepped out of the carriage—dressed in luxurious yellow robes that shimmered under the morning light. His long black hair trailed down his back, well-kept and regal. He was nearly as tall as Amon, with deep black eyes and a face sharp enough to charm a crowd.
Young Master Ren.
He walked toward the estate gate, where two guards immediately bowed. One of them spoke with practiced respect,"Has Young Master Ren come to visit the young lady today?"
Ren gave a quiet nod.
One of the guards turned to head inside, likely to announce his arrival to the clan leader.
But before he could move—
A voice, calm and cold, cut through the air.
"Wait."
The guard froze and turned.
It was Amon—standing just a few paces behind Ren, his dark coat swaying slightly in the breeze, eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood.
"I haven't come for her," Amon said.He raised a sealed scroll, the wax stamp glinting black.
"This letter is from the King of Gorgoroth. Deliver it to your clan leader. Now."
The guards froze—shocked.
The seal on the scroll left no doubt. It bore the royal insignia of Gorgoroth, the dominion that held nearly three-tenths of the world in its iron grip. A land ruled by a king who stood at the pinnacle of this realm—untouchable, feared, and obeyed.
A king who hadn't dispatched an envoy for decades, too
To receive a direct envoy from such a power was no small matter.
And yet… the one delivering it?
A young man, no royal emblem pinned to his chest, no carriage, no fanfare. Only those burning crimson eyes and a presence too still.
Ren glanced at him with disdain thinly veiled as curiosity.
He scoffed, lips curling.
"Hmm... does your kingdom no longer have experienced men left to send such important messages? Or are they too busy to be bothered, so they sent a child instead?"He let out a dry laugh, loud enough for the guards to hear."Is this how Gorgoroth handles diplomacy?"
But the barb wasn't about the letter.
It was about being ignored.
Because Ren knew.
He knew it wasn't the clan leader's daughter who refused to see him.
It was the clan leader himself who'd been rejecting him—every single time.
And now, with this sudden envoy from Gorgoroth, Ren saw his worst fear forming: being overshadowed, dismissed, and outshined.
But Amon?
He didn't even spare him a glance.
He simply handed the scroll to the guard, voice calm and expression unreadable.
"Please deliver this to your lord," Amon said."I've already stayed longer than I intended."
His words weren't laced with arrogance.
They were worse.
Indifference.
Like Ren didn't even exist.
And that—cut deeper than insult.
The guard, still wide-eyed, bowed deeply.
"Understood, honored envoy. Please allow me to present the letter to the Clan Leader for verification."
He accepted the scroll with both hands—reverent, cautious—and turned quickly toward the manor, disappearing behind the iron gates.
A silence followed.
Ren stood off to the side, arms crossed, his jaw tight.
Amon didn't acknowledge him. Not even a glance.
The remaining guard cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly.
"Honored guests… the Lord requests all visitors wait in the receiving chamber until correspondence is reviewed."
He gestured to a polished side hall that branched off the main path—lined with marble statues and draped crimson curtains.
Amon nodded once.
"Very well."
He followed the guard without a word, his boots tapping softly against the tiled floor. Ren trailed behind, not out of obedience—but pride.
The waiting room was wide, yet sparse. No music. No paintings. Just silence and a tall window that let light spill across a low obsidian table.
Two chairs faced each other across it.
Ren moved to sit first—but Amon walked past the chairs entirely and chose to stand by the window, arms behind his back, gazing at the city beyond.
It wasn't disrespect.
It was dismissal.
Ren watched him for a moment, seething. He sat, but the silence between them felt like a mountain pressing down.
A minute passed.
Then five.
Finally, Ren broke.
"You still think silence makes you intimidating?" he muttered, loud enough to be heard.
Amon didn't answer. He simply watched the city.
And spoke softly.
"No. Power does."