Supreme Bloodline Evolution System

For several long minutes, none of the seven women moved.

They remained on their knees where Max had forced them down, their weakened bodies trembling beneath the weight of their stolen mana while humiliation burned through them more painfully than any physical wound could have.

The distance between them and the crystal sofa was not great. Under ordinary circumstances, any one of them could have crossed it in several steps, yet the path now seemed impossibly long, stretching before them like a road built from every shattered piece of their pride.

Ilyndessa stared at Max from beneath the strands of golden-pink hair that had fallen across her face.

He was not even watching them closely.

He sat comfortably against the crystal sofa with one arm resting along its curved edge, his fingers tapping against the smooth surface while his gaze wandered toward one of the tall windows overlooking his growing capital.

That indifference made everything worse.

If he had laughed at them or openly enjoyed their humiliation, she could have dismissed him as another cruel conqueror drunk on newly acquired power. Instead, he looked as though he had already decided what they were worth and no longer considered their resistance important enough to deserve his full attention.

Xyranthia was the first to move.

Her palms pressed against the cold floor, and her silver pigtails slipped over her shoulders as she dragged one knee forward. Her arms shook beneath her weight, her body still struggling after losing so much mana at once, but fear pushed her onward.

"Xyranthia," Arissavel hissed, disbelief and accusation mixing in her voice.

The younger elf froze.

Her frightened eyes moved toward Ilyndessa as if she had committed some terrible betrayal and was now waiting to be condemned for it.

Ilyndessa looked at her for a long moment before closing her eyes.

"Go," she whispered.

Xyranthia swallowed hard and continued crawling.

The sound of her palms and knees moving against the crystal floor seemed unbearably loud in the silent hall. Every small movement stripped another layer from the dignity she had brought into the citadel, yet she did not stop until she reached the sofa and lowered her head before Max.

"I apologize for disrespecting you in your own home, King Maximus," she said, her voice shaking despite her attempts to control it. "Please forgive me."

Max finally lowered his gaze toward her.

"Was that so difficult?"

Xyranthia’s lips tightened, but she shook her head.

"No, King Maximus."

"Good. Stay there."

She lowered herself beside the sofa, her face burning as she remained on her knees near his feet.

The other women watched her in silence, and something shifted among them. It was not acceptance, nor was it surrender, but the understanding that Max’s threat had not been an empty display of anger.

He had destroyed their army. He had killed their emperor. He had captured Daerfaen and seized the surrounding elven territory before they had even understood how badly the war had turned against them.

If their humiliation was the price of preventing him from returning to finish what remained, then none of them could pretend their pride was worth more than every surviving elf.

Myrathien moved next.

Unlike Xyranthia, she managed to preserve the faintest trace of a smile as she crawled, though the expression looked strained now, its usual poison weakened by the effort required to drag her body forward.

Rosethae followed after her, then Aeravelle, each woman lowering herself before Max and offering an apology that sounded different in wording but identical in bitterness.

Arissavel resisted until Shaelvyn began moving, her murderous stare never leaving Max even as she placed her palms on the floor. The sight broke whatever stubbornness Arissavel had left, and soon both women were crawling toward him as well.

Only Ilyndessa remained behind.

She watched her sisters gather near the man who had conquered them, their proud figures lowered around his crystal seat, and the sight carved itself into her memory with such sharpness that she knew she would never forget it.

Then she placed both hands against the floor.

Her arms trembled as she crawled, but she refused to let her gaze fall. She looked directly at Max during every painful movement, forcing herself to remember his face, his posture, and the quiet certainty with which he had reduced seven of the most powerful surviving elven women to this.

When she finally reached him, she stopped between her sisters and slowly lowered her head.

"I apologize for disrespecting you inside your domain, King Maximus," Ilyndessa said, each word sounding as though it had been dragged through broken glass before leaving her mouth. "My behavior was unworthy of someone entrusted with the future of my people."

Max studied her for a moment.

"Better."

The black mist surrounding his fingers stirred.

Warmth returned to the women’s bodies as portions of their stolen mana flowed back into them, spreading through their limbs and lifting the terrible weakness that had kept them helpless. It was not everything he had taken, but it was enough for them to breathe properly and rise if they wished.

None of them did.

They remained kneeling until Max gestured toward the open space before him.

Seven crystal chairs grew from the floor, rising in a semicircle around a low table as smoothly as flowers pushing through soil.

"Sit," he ordered. "You came here because you wanted to negotiate, so let us negotiate."

Ilyndessa rose carefully and took the chair in the center, while the others arranged themselves around her. Xyranthia adjusted her dress with trembling hands, trying to hide the marks left on her knees, while Shaelvyn’s hand immediately returned to the dagger at her hip.

Max noticed but said nothing.

Aeravelle removed her glasses and cleaned them with a small piece of cloth, using the simple action to steady her fingers before placing them back upon her face.

"We represent the remaining noble houses of Aelvarith," she began. "Although the emperor is dead, the laws of succession allow the ruling houses to establish a temporary council until a new sovereign is chosen."

"No."

Aeravelle blinked.

"I have not yet presented our proposal."

"You already made the mistake of assuming a new elven sovereign will be chosen," Max replied. "There will be no new emperor, empress, king, queen, or whatever other title you intended to hide behind. Aelvarith belongs to me."

Arissavel leaned forward immediately.

"Daerfaen city has belonged to the elves for thousands of years. You cannot erase our claim to our capital merely because you won a single battle."

"That single battle erased your army, your emperor, and your ability to stop me from doing anything I want with that land."

"You invaded us!"

"You invaded the Wind Dragon Empire first," Max said, his voice remaining calm. "You marched your soldiers beyond your borders while your emperor arrogantly set out to become the ruler of the world. Do not stand in the ashes of your failed invasion and pretend you were innocent victims waiting peacefully beneath your trees."

Arissavel’s mouth opened, but no answer came out.

Ilyndessa lifted one hand before the argument could continue.

"We are prepared to acknowledge your military victory and offer compensation for the conflict. In return, your forces will withdraw from Daerfaen, all captured territory will be restored, and the elves will remain an independent people under the authority of a council chosen from the surviving noble houses."

"No."

Ilyndessa’s jaw tightened.

"You have not heard what compensation we are prepared to offer."

"It does not matter. I will not sell you land that already belongs to me, and I will not trade away tens of thousands of elves who are now under my protection just so seven noblewomen can return home and place themselves above them again."

Max scoffed, though he found the women amusing in a way. He had expected them to be pampered princesses, but not to such an extent that they had completely forgotten the simplest law of this world: the strongest fist made the rules.

"Under your protection?" Rosethae repeated, her crimson eyes narrowing. "You threatened to kill every one of them less than an hour ago."

"And that threat is the reason all seven of you are sitting here instead of trying to stab me."

Max’s eyes shifted briefly toward Shaelvyn.

Her fingers stopped against the handle of her dagger.

"A ruler who cannot inspire loyalty sometimes has to begin with fear," Max continued. "You understand that better than most. The difference between us is that I do not pretend my threats are acts of kindness."

Myrathien’s faint smile returned.

"Then perhaps we should discuss a union instead of independence. One of us could marry you, establishing a legitimate bond between your throne and the elven people. The elves would recognize you as their protector, while the bride would retain authority over Aelvarith."

"No."

Her smile twitched.

"Several of us, then."

"No."

"All seven?"

Max looked over them slowly, allowing his gaze to linger just long enough for several of the women to shift in their chairs before his lips curved into an amused smirk.