Ex rank talent Awakening: 100% Dodge rate

The Dwarf King's brows furrowed in utter disbelief as he watched the girl—no, the woman—before him radiate with a calm yet sinister power. He could hardly reconcile the image of the sweet, innocent child who once clung to her father's cloak with the ruthless executioner that now stood in his hall. Her eyes, once filled with warmth and wonder, now shimmered with icy malice, void of mercy.

Still, he couldn't deny it. Deep down, he knew this day might come. Watching her father die, then being hurled through a rift into a world that tore her apart, was more than enough to twist anyone's soul. But what irked him, what truly clawed at his pride, was that she blamed him. Him, who had no hand in her father's demise.

"She should be after the real bastard who killed him," he grumbled inwardly, fingers twitching with restrained irritation.

"Rebecca—"

"Don't," she said, her voice low, cold, and cutting. "Don't speak. You'll only anger me… and trust me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Her words struck harder than a slap. The Dwarf King's face turned red with indignation. He, a sovereign of steel and stone, was not accustomed to being silenced—especially not by someone he once saw as a child underfoot. His mouth opened to respond, to unleash the fury bubbling within him.

But he never got the chance.

With a sudden surge of movement, Number 6 launched at him like a phantom. The Dwarf King barely twisted his body in time, stumbling back as the enormous axe narrowly missed cleaving him in two.

"Damn puppet!" he cursed, scrambling out of the strike zone. His fingers dove into his deep side-pocket, retrieving five metallic spheres, each no larger than a plum. With a practiced flick of the wrist, he hurled them into the air.

Mid-flight, the orbs clicked, shifted, unfolded—tiny mechanical marvels crafted by centuries of dwarven ingenuity. They transformed into floating cannon blasters, humming with elemental energy.

Each fired a different power: arcs of lightning cracked through the air, blazing fireballs roared from one muzzle, razor-sharp shards of ice shot forth like bullets, a blinding beam of pure light tore forward, and compressed wind blades sliced the very air around them.

Number 6 was forced on the defensive, his twin axes a blur as he parried, deflected, and withstood the storm of elemental fury. The air shimmered from the heat and static, while shards of ice exploded on impact, forming a chaotic tempest of elements.

Rebecca stood unmoving, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a blank expression.

But Number 6 wasn't just a mindless servant. He moved with brutal grace, switching to a one-handed stance, his left hand hurling the spare axe like a spinning crescent moon. It whirled through the storm of energy, carving a path as it struck the cannons one by one in a precise arc. Sparks and metal fragments filled the air as the weapons fell in pieces to the ground.

The Dwarf King gaped, stunned by the sheer precision. "What in the—"

But he didn't have time to marvel. He snapped out of it, thrusting his hand back into his coat and retrieving six small mana bombs. Three nestled between the fingers of each hand, primed for detonation. He shifted into a throwing stance.

Only for his body to freeze… then slump.

A sharp sound followed—a wet, sickening thunk.

The Dwarf King's knees buckled. His hands went limp, the bombs tumbling to the ground, bouncing harmlessly across the stone.

His head, now severed, rolled forward, his eyes still wide in confusion as if his mind had yet to realize he was already dead.

Rebecca didn't flinch.

The source of the strike revealed itself: Number 6's axe had not simply fallen to the ground after destroying the cannons. It had vanished—sucked into a shadowy portal mid-flight, then reemerged silently behind the distracted king. And with surgical precision, it had cleaved his head from his body.

The dwarf's corpse thudded beside his head, lifeless and still.

Rebecca stepped forward, her boots clicking gently on the stone floor. She stared at the remains with a cold, measured gaze, before stretching a hand over the body. Darkness swirled. In seconds, the Dwarf King's corpse rose, eyes vacant, a puppet like the others.

"Another one down," she muttered softly.

She turned away, her voice flat. "Let's go. It's time for the dragon."

Meanwhile, in the Distant Peaks…

The Dragon King lay in peaceful slumber within his lair—an ancient cavern carved into the highest mountain, veiled in enchanted fog and surrounded by jagged cliffs like a crown of fangs. His massive body curled around a pile of ancient treasures, bones of long-forgotten foes scattered like trophies among gold and crystal.

But the peace did not last.

Footsteps echoed faintly, delicate yet unwavering.

His massive eyes snapped open, molten gold slits glowing with primal authority. He rose slowly, each movement deliberate, shaking dust from his crimson scales.

"You finally arrive," he rumbled, his deep voice vibrating the mountain walls. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd show yourself."

A small figure stepped into the light—Rebecca, her cloak fluttering behind her, her presence oppressive despite her size.

"I had a few pests to clean up first," she said, eyes locking with his. "Your kin. Every dragon in this territory. They all took part in the fall of my people."

The Dragon King's brows drew together, a low growl escaping his throat. "What did you say?"

"I said… they're all dead." Her words were smooth, cruel. "Burned, stabbed, drowned in shadows. Big reptiles, really. You all weren't that hard to kill."

"You… you dare?" the Dragon King snarled, flames building in the back of his throat. The fury in his eyes was unrestrained now—equal parts grief and rage. The idea that she had wiped out his entire kin without him noticing shook him to his core. "How… how did you—?!"

"You're angry. Good," Rebecca said, slowly removing her gloves. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't."

Earlier…

Before entering the lair, Rebecca had hovered high above the mountainous terrain, surveying the clustered dragon dens. The largest peak loomed in the center, towering like a sentinel over the others. She knew the Dragon King was inside—untouched, isolated.

She had debated whether to kill him first or last.

But in the end, her logic was clear. Like the Titans, the dragon race had risen against humanity during the great conflict. Blood for blood. None of them would escape her justice.

She raised a hand.

From her palm, a sea of blackness spilled into the sky. Shadows wrapped the central mountain like a cocoon, sealing it in a void-space cut off from the world. The Dragon King would be alone, unaware, unable to interfere.