Keiran entered through the double doors, his boots clicking against the polished marble floor as he stepped inside.
A long red carpet stretched from the entrance to the throne, its deep crimson hue standing in stark contrast to the white stone beneath.
Lining both sides of the carpet stood hundreds of Harengon knights, their armor gleaming under the golden light filtering through the tall, stained-glass windows.
Their rabbit-like ears twitched slightly at his presence, but none spoke a word. The weight of the battle still hung over them, yet there was an air of triumph among them, an unspoken acknowledgment of their hard-fought victory.
Beyond the windows, the setting sun painted the sky in brilliant hues of orange and purple.
The distant sound of celebration drifted into the chamber—cheers, music, the occasional burst of laughter. Even with the losses suffered in the war against the demons, the tribe had emerged victorious, and the people embraced that hard-earned relief.
Keiran stopped at the foot of the throne's steps, his sharp gaze fixed on the man seated above him. Lord Segrand, ruler of this land, sat with an air of authority.
His long white hair cascaded over his shoulders. Despite his composed demeanor, there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes—proof of a ruler who had fought as hard as his people.
Standing behind him, Lady Elizabeth Harheim observed in silence. Her emerald-green gown shimmered subtly under the light, and her golden crown rested perfectly atop her head. Though she maintained a regal poise, there was warmth in her expression as she looked upon Keiran.
To her right, two familiar figures stood side by side. Felicia, clad in her usual battle-worn attire, carried herself with the same fierce confidence she always did.
Her black wavy hair was pulled back, though a few strands had escaped, framing her sharp features.
Beside her, Ismael, with his ever-present mischievous smirk, gave Keiran a knowing nod. Both siblings had fought alongside him in the war, and their camaraderie was evident in their easy smiles.
At the far corner of the chamber stood another figure, one who had not yet spoken.
Cecily, the third child of Segrand and Elizabeth, watched Keiran with quiet intensity. Unlike Felicia, who exuded toughness, or Ismael, who carried himself with a roguish charm, Cecily possessed a gentle and refined presence.
Her long, wavy black hair cascaded down her back, and she held her hands neatly clasped in front of her, the very image of grace. Yet her deep black eyes were locked onto Keiran as if searching for something within him.
The room remained silent for a moment, the weight of the occasion settling over them. Then, with a measured movement, Segrand rose from his throne. His deep voice carried through the chamber, filled with both solemnity and gratitude.
"Lord Keiran Graywood," he said, his tone unwavering. "You have my deepest gratitude for helping us in this war, despite our initial rejection of your aid. We could not have won without your assistance, especially in defeating the demon commander."
His words carried a rare humility, a recognition that even a lord could not deny the debt owed. The knights standing along the carpet did not move, but there was an undeniable shift in the air—respect, admiration. Keiran had proven himself beyond any doubt.
Keiran spoke in a monotone voice, his expression unreadable. "You also have my gratitude for the warm welcome."
Segrand nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Expect that your kind action will be returned with even greater gratitude. You deserve such... Harengon or not." His tone carried both respect and curiosity, as if he were evaluating Keiran beyond just his race.
Keiran responded without hesitation. "Okay."
Segrand leaned back on his throne, resting his chin against his knuckles. His gaze remained steady, his voice carrying an amused edge. "I also heard you proclaim yourself as a hero. Forgive me if it sounds like I doubt you, but that word is thrown around too often. I can't help but be curious—what made you a hero? Is it power? Influence? Or the nation you just built?"
Keiran answered without delay. "I am chosen by Bequeathal."
Segrand's eyes narrowed slightly. "Really?" He studied Keiran for a long moment. "And I assume that your visible level and mana signature are just a way to conceal your true strength."
Keiran gave a simple confirmation. "Yes."
Segrand's curiosity deepened. His interest was now fully piqued. "You're not even trying to hide the truth," he noted.
Keiran met his gaze. "Do you want to see it? My full mana?"
For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed Segrand's face. His eyes widened slightly before he composed himself. He turned his gaze toward the others in the room, gauging their reactions. Some shifted uncomfortably, while others seemed caught between awe and uncertainty. Then, he looked back at Keiran, his expression unreadable.
Segrand narrowed his eyes, his expression a mix of curiosity and unease. "Can you do it? Are you allowed to?"
Keiran met his gaze without hesitation. "The only reason I am not releasing it is I don't want my mana and level to scare the people around me. But allowing them to show won't hurt."
Without another word, Keiran removed the concealment that masked his true power.
A pulse of energy surged through the room, rippling outward like a shockwave. The air itself seemed to tremble as an overwhelming force burst forth from Keiran's body. His mana erupted, forming into a massive dark tornado that swallowed everything in its presence. The violent swirl of power howled through the space, its presence undeniable and suffocating.
The tornado was so immense that it extended far beyond the building, rising high into the sky. It stretched so far that it became visible across the entire forest of Fiora. People from distant towns and villages looked up, their eyes widening in horror at the sight of the ominous storm. The sky darkened as the swirling vortex of mana crackled with raw energy, distorting the very atmosphere around it.
Inside the room, chaos broke out immediately. Screams filled the space as sheer terror overtook everyone. The knights, clad in their polished armor, collapsed onto their knees, their weapons slipping from their trembling hands.
Their faces, once filled with discipline and pride, were now twisted in pure fear. Some clutched their chests as if their hearts might burst under the pressure of Keiran's overwhelming presence. Others covered their heads, unable to bear the weight of his mana pressing down on them.
The civilians outside were no better. The streets of Harheim erupted into panic as the people mistook Keiran's power for yet another demonic assault. Only this time, it felt far worse than anything they had ever experienced.
"It's another attack!" someone cried. "Run! This one is stronger than anything before!"
Families clung to each other, their voices drowned out by the wailing winds of the colossal tornado. Shops were abandoned in an instant as merchants and customers alike scrambled for shelter.
The entire city became a sea of panic, with people shoving past one another in desperation.
Priests from the temples fell to their knees, whispering frantic prayers to the gods.
The elderly trembled, their hands shaking as they recalled the horrors of latest invasion. Children wept in confusion, their tiny hands clutching at their parents as if holding on for dear life.
Back inside the room, the desperate cries of the knights and nobles echoed off the walls. "Please! Stop this!" one of them begged, his voice cracking. "We cannot take this pressure!"
Others could barely form words, their lips quivering too much to speak. Their bodies were drenched in cold sweat as the immense aura suffocated them.
Keiran remained still, his expression unreadable. He had expected a reaction, but their sheer terror was almost amusing.
Seeing no reason to prolong their suffering, Keiran finally concealed his mana signature. The oppressive force vanished in an instant. The room fell into silence, save for the labored breathing of those who had collapsed.
Yet, even with his mana signature hidden, one thing remained—his real level.
And that alone was more than enough to remind them that the true monster was standing right in front of them.
[Super Rare: Hero — Level 133.]
Segrand knelt as all of his energy was drained. His breathing was uneven, and his arms trembled from exhaustion. His hair, usually tied back neatly, was a tangled mess, strands sticking to his sweat-soaked forehead. His hands rested on his knees, barely supporting his weakened body.
He looked up at Keiran, his vision slightly blurred but still sharp enough to take in the young man standing before him. Keiran's posture was relaxed, his expression calm as if he hadn't just accomplished something unimaginable. The faint glow of power that had surrounded him moments ago had already faded, leaving only the natural confidence that seemed to radiate from him.
Segrand's lips curled into a tired but genuine smile. His voice was hoarse, but his admiration was unmistakable. "You really are a hero. I am grateful to be alive to see the day the second hero appears on Eteria."
Felicia and Ismael stood a few steps away, their eyes locked on Keiran. They had already looked at him with admiration before, impressed by his skill, his composure, and the way he carried himself in battle.
But now, after the revelation of his true nature, their admiration had deepened into something closer to awe. Their gazes lingered on him, as if trying to fully grasp the magnitude of what had just happened.
Felicia's hands were clenched at her sides, her nails pressing into her palms. Her usual sharp and analytical demeanor had momentarily faltered.
She had suspected Keiran was special, but this was beyond anything she had imagined. The weight of what he had done, of what he was, settled heavily in her mind.
Ismael remained silent. His dark eyes flickered with respect, a rare expression for someone as proud as him. He had fought alongside Keiran, had witnessed his strength firsthand, but now he understood that there was something far greater behind that strength.
Keiran, however, seemed unaffected by their reactions. He simply shrugged, as if everything that had happened was nothing worth dwelling on. His voice was casual, almost dismissive.
"No big deal."