Pocket Dimension SSS-Rank Dragon Tamer

General Renier's jaw tightened.

"That's not an answer," the general said coldly. "I asked for your name, not a nickname whispered by half-dead soldiers."

Marek didn't move.

"I don't like masks," the general continued. "I don't trust shadows. And I especially don't trust boys who fight like trained war mages and then vanish into thin air."

He took a step forward, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"So I'll ask again," he said.

"Who. Are. You?"

Marek didn't speak. He just met the general's eyes beneath the mask.

General Renier's face darkened.

"You refuse to answer? Then you're not a hero. You're not a savior. You're a threat. You've shown that you're powerful, and you've hidden your allegiance. That makes you a possible enemy of Varex. A possible enemy of the crown."

Whispers rippled from the soldiers nearby. "The Judgement of White… a criminal?"

Renier stepped forward again, unhooking the sheath from his side.

"Do you want to settle this now?" the general asked. "You want to test your name in front of every knight here?"

Marek stayed still for a moment.

Then, calmly, he shook his head. "No."

The general's brow raised slightly.

"I'm not here to fight humans," Marek said.

"I'm here because the monsters don't care who you serve. They'll kill everyone. Rich or poor. Starless or ten stars. That's who I fight."

He took a step back.

"You want to chase me, go ahead. You want to name me a traitor, fine. But tonight, your soldiers lived. The wall stands. And you didn't pay a single coin for it."

Then, he turned.

"And next time," he added without looking back, "maybe you should focus more on what's outside the wall than what's under a mask."

And like that, he vanished into the smoke.

---

Marek moved through the dim streets of Valdren with his hood low and steps light.

Just as planned.

He ducked into an alley, checked behind him twice, then slipped through the back door of his family's home. Everyone was asleep.

He let out a long breath and locked the door behind him.

Upstairs, he entered his room, closed the wooden shutters, and dropped the mask on his desk.

His heart was still beating fast—not from the battle, but from the moment with General Renier.

He sat down on his bed, chest rising and falling. Velkaroth's voice came through immediately, snide and satisfied.

"Well? You gonna ask me how you did, or should I just give you the grade straight up?"

Marek smirked a little. "Was it… good?"

"Not bad," Velkaroth said with a chuckle. "That sword technique was clean. The mid-air blade summon was a bit stylish. The dramatic line to the general was a bit cheesy. But overall—seven out of ten."

"Seven?" Marek groaned and flopped back on the bed. "That was literally the most insane thing I've ever done."

"You didn't even pose after the explosion," Velk muttered. "Bro, that's like—basic masked hero etiquette. And you just walked away."

"I was trying not to get arrested," Marek mumbled, pulling a blanket over his face.

"Well, congratulations. You didn't get arrested. But you are now considered an enemy of the kingdom. So y'know."

Marek sighed. "Whatever… It was worth it."

He stared at the ceiling, thoughts still racing, but his body too tired to care.

In a few minutes, his eyelids dropped. The last thing he heard before drifting off was Velkaroth's voice.

"Sleep, oh mighty Judgement of White."

And Marek was out cold.

---

Inside the mayor's mansion, the atmosphere was tense. At the top of the stairwell, General Albrecht Renier stood across from Mayor Immelmann.

The mayor rubbed his temples with one hand and glanced at the paper in the other.

"Do you understand what you're telling me?" Mayor Immelmann said slowly, voice heavy with disbelief. "This boy—or whoever he is—wiped out an E-class monster raid alone. And now you're saying we should be worried?"

General Renier kept his arms behind his back and nodded. "Yes. Because we don't know who he is. Power without loyalty is a liability. And charisma without clarity is dangerous."

The mayor exhaled through his nose and tossed the paper onto the table. "So what? We start calling him a criminal now? The soldiers were cheering for him."

Renier stepped forward, voice steady. "Mayor, this is precisely how chaos spreads. First, a nameless man wears a mask and becomes a symbol. Then he vanishes, leaving questions instead of answers. People fill in the blanks however they want. Some will say he's a hero. Others… might say he's part of something worse."

"You think he's working with a group?" the mayor asked.

"I don't know," Renier admitted. "But it's possible. He could be a mercenary from another kingdom, a failed knight with a grudge, a puppet, or maybe something entirely different. But if we let this 'Judgement of White' grow into a myth, we'll lose control of the story."

There was a beat of silence.

Then the general reached into his coat and unfolded a parchment. He laid it down on the table between them.

The mayor leaned in.

"Is this…?"

"Yes," Renier said. "An official bounty. Approved by military command, signed this morning."

The mayor's eyes widened as he read the fine lettering at the top.

BOUNTY NOTICE – SUBJECT: 'THE JUDGEMENT OF WHITE'

Threat Level: Unknown. Behavior: Highly skilled, armed, and masked.

Reward: 50 Gold Pounds for capture, dead or alive.

"Fifty gold?" Immelmann muttered. "That's enough to hire a dozen mercenaries from the Eastern Border…"

"Exactly," Renier said, his voice flat. "We need eyes everywhere. In every district, every tavern, every outpost. If he's real, someone knows something. And if he's a ghost, we'll still stir enough noise to force him out."

The mayor's jaw clenched.

"People already started talking," Renier added. "There's a rumor that he killed a man. One of the mercenaries that got caught in the chaos from last night."

"What?" the mayor sat up.

"It isn't confirmed. It could be nonsense. But that's all it takes for one whisper to twist a crowd. And by tomorrow, that bounty will be pinned to every wall in Valdren."

"And the other kingdoms?"

"They'll hear of him soon," Renier said darkly. "And not all of them will wait for answers. Some of them might offer more than gold."

The mayor slowly sank back into his seat.

"And so the hunt begins," he said softly.

Renier nodded once, then turned to leave.

"And if we catch him?" the mayor asked.

Renier paused in the doorway. "Then we decide whether he's a soldier… or a threat worth erasing."

---

By the time the sun rose above the walls of Valdren, Marek was already out and about, carrying a heavy cloth-wrapped package over his shoulder.

He had done this a dozen times before.

The package clanked with each shift of weight—inside were polished blades, custom-forged daggers, reinforced leather, and two full sets of armor.

His father, Emrik Draganov, had spent the last week finishing them all, hammering late into the night.

And now, like always, it was Marek's job to make the rounds and deliver them.

Same streets, same stops, he thought, passing the bakery where he used to meet Lucas on cold mornings. Back when I just tagged along and let him do the talking.

He smiled faintly.

He dropped off a short sword at a guard post, a shield at the outer stables, and two armguards to a bald man who barely acknowledged him.

Just as he folded the list to check the final address, he stopped in front of the gates of a large, white-bricked mansion.

The nameplate at the side read:

Maison de Lorraine.

His eyes narrowed. Wait... Lorraine?

He walked to the door and gave three short knocks.

Moments later, the door creaked open.

Standing there, with her arms crossed and hair slightly damp, was a girl wrapped in a white bathrobe.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then, she blinked.

"…Marek?"

He froze. "Romaine?"

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "No way. You're the delivery boy?"

"I—I'm not just—" He held the package awkwardly. "I'm here for an important task, alright?"

She snorted, arms still crossed. "You haven't changed at all. Except maybe your face got a little more mature or something."

"You're seriously answering the door like that?" he said, glancing down at her robe.

"Oh, sorry," she said flatly, completely unfazed. "Let me go back in time and guess you'd be standing here, five years after ghosting me like a coward."

Marek flinched. "I didn't ghost you—"

"You absolutely did." She leaned on the doorframe, smirking. "I wrote letters. You never wrote back. I asked your mom. You 'got busy.' What were you doing, practicing how to carry swords around a city?"

"I was training," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "A lot happened."

"I can tell. You still blush like a boiled tomato when a girl opens a door."

He didn't even try to argue.

She stepped aside. "Well? You delivering or not?"

He handed her the package, and their fingers brushed for half a second. She didn't say anything more, but her smirk never left.

As he turned to leave, she called out behind him, "You still owe me a rematch, by the way."

"For what?" he asked without turning.

"The duel you lost when we were nine."

He let out a groan. "You cheated."

She laughed.

He walked away, shaking his head.

Velkaroth's voice buzzed in his mind a moment later. "Bro. You got cooked."

"Shut up, Velk."

Just as Marek reached the edge of the walkway, he heard her voice call out again.

"Marek—wait."

He stopped and turned around. Romaine was now leaning out of the doorway, one hand resting casually against the frame, the other holding the bundle of weapons he had delivered.

"There's something I forgot to tell you," she said, stepping down barefoot onto the stone path.

Her voice lowered.

"I spoke with Lucas."