An S ranked Danger

The great study of Viscount Malthion Dremoor was dimly lit, the flickering light of a single candelabra casting long shadows on the richly decorated walls. Malthion leaned back in his armchair, a cruel grin tugging at his lips as he swirled a goblet of wine.

"She's gone mad after losing her husband," he sneered. "Hiring B-ranked adventurers to protect her and her brat? Desperation makes fools of us all."

He banged the goblet down, spilling wine on to the desk. His grin twisted into a snarl. "We killed her husband to shut him up, but she also just as stubborn as him."

Draven, the former S-ranked adventurer, sat opposite him, his scarred face half-hidden in the shadows. Leaning forward, he smirked, his voice calm and measured. "Her strongest guard is Garran—an A-rank at best. Those adventurers she hired? B-ranks. I'll bring you their heads as a bonus."

Malthion's fingers tapped in rhythmic motion against the polished mahogany desk. "Don't be so sure. Kael's endorsement troubles me. Those two might be more skilled than their rank implies."

Draven chuckled darkly. "They're still B ranking kids sir, I've faced worse."

Malthion's grin twisted into a snarl. "She cannot reach the capital. If she does, everything unravels—, and I lose my seat of power . Kill her, kill her brat, take that documents and kill anyone who gets in your way. Success means wealth and power for you and your guild."

Draven stood up to his full height, his shadow looming over the viscount. "She won't make it halfway."

Malthion raised his goblet in a mock toast, his smile cold and cruel. "To the end of the Valtoria line."

...

The training ground was tense with tension as knights and adventurers formed a loose circle around the center of the duel. Tavin, the burly knight, stood with his sword raised, his face a mask of determination. Across from him, Ronan stood relaxed, his sparring blade resting on his shoulder, a faint smirk on his lips.

"Let's see if this 'protector' is worth anything," one knight muttered, loud enough for Ronan to hear.

Garran stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Begin!"

Tavin rushed forward, swinging his sword in a heavy arc. But before it could land, Ronan was gone, moving like a breeze. The crowd froze, searching for him—to see him standing behind Tavin, his sword still resting casually on his shoulder.

"Too slow," Ronan said, his tone calm but mocking.

Anger flushed Tavin's face. He spun around and attacked again, his strikes wild and desperate. Ronan stepped aside with ease, his movements smooth and controlled, each dodge and parry a masterclass in precision.

"Is that it?" Ronan taunted, his blue eyes sharp with amusement. "No wonder you're stuck with the grunts."

Tavin growled and swung with all his strength. Ronan countered with a single blow, his sword slamming against Tavin's, sending it flying across the training ground.

Tavin stumbled back, his hands empty, sweat dripping from his face. Ronan lunged forward, placing the edge of his blade lightly against Tavin's throat.

"You've lost," Ronan said softly. "Yield, or regret entering this circle."

Tavin froze, then dropped to his knees. "I… yield."

Garran stepped forward. "Winner: Ronan."

Silence hung over the training ground before whispers spread through the crowd. Ronan ignored them, sheathing his blade with a practiced motion and walking toward Aurelia, who stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

"That's how you deal with bullies," Ronan said with a sly grin.

Aurelia rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Show-off."

Before she could say more, Ronan ruffled her hair, dodging her quick swat with a laugh.

From the sidelines, Garran watched, his sharp gaze narrowing. This boy… he's more than what he seems. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

Later that evening, as the last rays of sunlight faded, Garran approached Ronan and Aurelia in the manor courtyard.

"We owe you an apology," Garran said, his tone formal. "The knights misjudged you. I did too. Your skill is undeniable."

Ronan glanced at Aurelia. "Not my apology to accept."

Aurelia crossed her arms, making an exaggerated pout, but let the faintest hint of a smile creep through. "Accepted. But just remember that's the only way this ever happens again."

Garran nodded firmly. "It won't." With no more words, he walked off.

The next morning, activity filled the courtyard. Horses neighed, armor clinked, and hay and leather scents saturated the air. Carriages groaned with the loads of supplies ready to head to the capital, Solara.

Seraphina stepped out of the manor house, her young son Cedric holding onto her hand firmly. She approached Ronan, her gait steadfast despite the fatigue in her eyes.

"Did something happen with the knights yesterday?" she asked, her voice calm but full of curiosity.

Ronan met her gaze. "An honorable duel, Lady Valtoria. Just something that had to be done. It's taken care of.

Her gaze lingered on him as if weighing the truthfulness of his words. That comment from the night by Garran reverberated in her head: "They are not ordinary adventurers, my lady. Far more able than they seem."

Finally, her face smoothed out. "If Garran trusts you, then so do I. Don't give me reason to regret my decision."

Satisfied, she led Cedric to the waiting carriage.

"Trust, huh?" Ronan muttered, watching her walk away.

From a distance, a female knight observed them, her sharp eyes focused on Ronan. Something about him unsettled her.