The Fall of the Pendragons

"You're late."

Zane Cromwell, sitting on the windowsill, spoke softly.

Max, hiding his surprise, put on a calm facade.

"Haha, my dear. I never expected a visitor at this hour. You must be Zane Cromwell, right? I've heard stories about you from Miss Emma several times." His response was dignified, as befitting a nobleman.

But Zane simply said what he wanted.

"You're the mastermind."

"... What?"

"You know, that group with the peculiar name? Pitch Black Fang, I think?"

Max frowned without realizing it. Until now, no one had discovered his connection to the Pitch Black Fang. It was a well-guarded secret, known only to the higher-ranking members of the organization.

Max suppressed the tremor in his heart and pretended to maintain his relaxed demeanor.

"Are you suggesting I'm involved in this? Do you have any evidence? Accusing the heir of the Pendragon family is a dangerous claim. Don't you realize this could escalate into a serious diplomatic matter between families?"

Zane, widely regarded as a loser in his own family, should have been afraid of causing harm to his household. But he simply waved a stack of papers in his hand, clearly uninterested in Max's threat.

"These came from your room. Orders from the Pitch Black Fang, detailing who to target and how to do it."

Max's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive.

"... I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you sure those are mine?"

As he spoke, Max began moving slowly toward the wall beside the door.

At that moment, only one thought filled Max's mind: *Shut him up.*

He had planned to deal with Zane eventually, maybe something discreet during training, but now... now there was no other choice. He couldn't let the Pendragon family's reputation be tarnished.

Finally, Max's hand gripped the sword hanging on the wall.

*Snap!*

Future plans started to form rapidly in his mind.

'I grabbed a knife out of instinct when I thought a thief was attacking me in the dark. By the time I realized it, it was Zane. It'll be easy to frame it that way.'

It would be the cleanest way to handle things.

Zane had come to Max's room by himself. With no witnesses, Max could easily claim he defended himself and accuse Zane of attempting to steal a family heirloom.

With his family's influence, Max would walk away unscathed.

He quickly drew his sword.

*Shing!*

A pure white blade emerged with a sharp sound—the famous sword Winterrun, given only to the eldest son of the Pendragon family.

Max took a deep breath and charged forward, yelling, "The only one you should blame is yourself, for crossing me!"

The swordsmanship of the Pendragon family, known for its elegance and precision, unfolded. Winterrun cut through the air, leaving a chilling white trail.

But then—*Clang!*

Max's blade came to a sudden halt with a sharp clash.

"...Blocked?"

Max blinked in disbelief. The renowned Pendragon swordsmanship and the famous Winterrun, all blocked by a simple, cheap dagger.

Before Max could react, Zane spoke again.

"... Oh, I just remembered something."

Zane's voice was calm, almost amused.

"The Pendragon name. That was the family that used to hunt down and execute people for sport in the old days, wasn't it?"

"What... what are you talking about?" Max stammered, confused.

But what happened next shocked him even more.

"Hmm, let's see..." Zane said thoughtfully, twirling his dagger. "I think they used to do something like this."

Zane's hand moved, and with astonishing precision, he replicated the very sword technique Max had just used—only softer, smoother, and far more powerful.

Max's eyes widened in disbelief.

Even as the heir of the Pendragon family, he had never seen their secret sword techniques executed with such finesse.

***

Old memories began to surface.

The beginning of the great war that would later be called the *Guillotine Crusade*.

Countless dead soldiers covered the horizon like a sea of bodies.

The allied forces of various races—humans, dragons, dwarves, fairies, and giants—fought bravely, but they were barely holding on, like candles in the wind.

Then, suddenly—

*Whoooosh!*

A single ray of white light burst forth in the midst of the swirling black chaos of war.

A unit of the allied forces began to advance.

A white dragon emblazoned on a shield, the flag of House Pendragon flying high, the knights clad in pure white armor cutting through the mass of undead soldiers.

"Mock the religious order! Deceive the people of the continent! The traitor who has made a mockery of our faith shall face our wrath!"

The head of House Pendragon led the charge, his white blade carving a path toward the heart of the enemy forces.

And standing before him was none other than Zane Cromwell, the great evil that threatened to bring ruin to the entire continent.

In that decisive moment, Zane stretched out his hand.

And then—*Rumble!*

The very fabric of the world began to twist and distort.

The sky, the earth, the mountains, rivers—everything started to turn black and rot away.

*Crack!*

The dazzling white light surrounding the Pendragon knights disintegrated and vanished in an instant.

The knights' armor rusted and crumbled, their swords shattered.

Their horses fell dead, and the once proud warriors collapsed.

The head of House Pendragon, undeterred, raised Winterrun high and charged once more.

"This ends here!" he cried, pouring all of his family's secret techniques into one final strike aimed at Zane.

But with a simple gesture, Zane decimated 90% of the Pendragons, their mighty legacy destroyed in mere moments.

Even the brave patriarch of the Pendragon family was reduced to dust, unable to withstand the overwhelming power Zane wielded.