Weapon seller in the world of magic

Each shot spaced, controlled, deliberate, turning the machine gun into something closer to a sniper’s tool, ten rounds in total, each one striking, testing, measuring.

Then she switched to Shotgun.

The blast spread wider, heavier, the force different, pressing against the general’s defenses rather than piercing cleanly, forcing him to brace harder, his shield shifting slightly with each impact.

Then...

It finally shifted to the Grenade Launcher.

Four of them were launched in sequence.

Each explosion rolling over him, fire and force crashing against his defenses, dust and debris swirling around his figure, obscuring him for a brief moment.

When the smoke cleared, he still stood, but with small wounds marking his body.

Kiara lowered the weapon slowly, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself a thin, strained smile, one that barely held together under the quiet weight of her own awareness.

It had not been perfect.

Not even close.

Her arms still felt the aftershock of recoil, a dull ache running through muscle and bone, and she could still remember the slight loss of control, the wasted rounds, the deviation in aim, yet none of that showed on the surface.

Because no one here saw it that way.

Because the man standing ahead of her was no ordinary soldier.

He was the General of the North.

A peak six-star rank expert.

A fighter path Spirit Warrior known for his endurance.

If he had fallen, if he had truly been injured, then fear would not have spread through the crowd; it would have consumed it whole, and so, in the strange balance of expectation and reality, what had just happened felt... impressive.

More than enough.

Serestia Phoenix did not see the flaws.

She saw the result.

Her eyes burned with a sharp, restless light as she stepped forward, her voice steady but edged with impatience.

”Now,” she said, glancing at her mother, ”it’s my turn.”

There was no hesitation in her tone, only a stubborn certainty that refused to bend, and when Callista Frost gave a small nod, it was not approval alone but acceptance of that stubborn will she knew too well.

Serestia moved step by step toward the spot where the general stood.

Kiara, meanwhile, had already turned away, her back facing them as she crouched slightly near the weapon, her fingers moving with practiced rhythm as she began reloading.

The magazine slid in and locked.

Her breath slowed.

Behind her, the crowd shifted faintly, whispers rising and falling like distant waves, their attention still fixed forward, still drawn to the demonstration, to the princess.

And that was when it happened.

At the very edge of the crowd, two figures leaned closer to each other, their bodies half-hidden beneath plain cloaks, their faces lowered just enough to avoid attention, their voices barely above a breath.

”She is alone now,” one of them murmured, his tone tight, controlled, carrying the weight of a decision already made.

”We will not get another chance.”

The other did not speak immediately.

His gaze swept once across the field, measuring distance, counting positions, noting the distractions, the blind spots, and then he gave a small, sharp nod.

That was enough.

They moved with a sudden burst of speed, their feet pushing off the ground with force, their bodies low, their intent hidden until the very last second.

No one stopped them.

No one reacted.

Because no one expected it.

Because in a place guarded by a peak six-star general, a royal princess, and Kiara herself, danger felt impossible.

And that illusion held... until it broke.

”Queen Consort—!”

General Calden’s voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent, his eyes snapping toward the movement as his instincts finally caught up with reality.

”Moth—!”

Serestia’s scream followed, her body twisting mid-step as she turned, her breath catching in her throat, her heartbeat spiking as she saw them.

Two figures.

Already too close with their daggers drawn.

And in the center of it all—

Callista Frost stood still.

She looked as if she didn’t care at all.

Just then, Kiara turned.

Her eyes caught the motion, the shift, the danger, and in that instant, something inside her snapped into place, her thoughts clearing with terrifying speed.

As if her body moved first before her mind thought of it, she muttered, ”Activate, Absolute Freezing.”

In the next instant, a surge of ether exploded outward from her, sweeping across the ground in a fraction of a second, racing through air, through space, through everything within its reach.

10000 EP vanished in the blink of an eye from her core.

However, as a result, the world around her had stopped.

Frost erupted from the ground like a silent storm, ice spreading in jagged veins across stone and soil, climbing over boots, over fabric, over skin, locking everything in place before the mind could even process what was happening.

The assassins froze mid-stride with their daggers raised

The crowd turned into statues.

Expressions of shock, curiosity, fear—all preserved in perfect stillness, as if time itself had been carved into ice.

Even the soldiers.

Even the general.

All of them locked in place, their bodies trapped, their breath halted, their movements stolen.

The entire training ground became a frozen tableau.

Except...

Serestia Phoenix stood untouched.

And so did Callista Frost.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

No one spoke.

Even Kiara’s own breath caught slightly as she took in the scene before her, her eyes narrowing just a fraction, confusion slipping through the cracks of her otherwise controlled expression.

”What?”

Serestia stared.

Not at the assassins.

Not at the frozen crowd.

But at Kiara.

Her mind struggled to catch up, to understand what she had just witnessed, her voice trembling slightly as it escaped her.

”That power...”

Her gaze sharpened, disbelief creeping in, layered with something deeper, something more unsettling.

”That is the bloodline power of Frost Dragon, the Absolute Freezing.”

She took a slow step forward, with her thoughts racing.

”That is not ordinary ice magic. How... do you have that power, Kiara?” The Princess couldn’t help but question aloud.

Kiara did not answer.

Because in that moment, her attention had shifted toward Callista.

Their eyes met.

And what she saw there... it made her heart skip.

Callista, who seemed to be unaffected by the freezing, had her expression changed.

The calmness she had maintained so far was cracked.

”Kyra...”

The name slipped from her lips like a whisper.

Kiara’s breath hitched when she heard it.

A sharp, silent realization struck her, cold and immediate, her thoughts racing faster than her body could react.

”She knows... I did suspect it, but didn’t expect it to be true. But how was she immune to my Bloodline magic, when she was a plainfolk?”

She turned inward, questioning, demanding answers from the system, and as usual, the system is quick to clear her doubt.

[Ding! Bloodline skills don’t affect individuals with the same bloodline.]

[Ding! Divine-grade artifacts may also resist such effects.]

”I see.”

The second line gave her an excuse.

A shield.

Something she could hide behind.

But the first...

The first lingered.

She looked at Callista again.

At the tears forming in her eyes.

At the way her gaze refused to leave her face.

Kiara let go of the weapon, leaving it where it rested, her body straightening as she turned away from them, her voice calm, controlled, as if nothing had happened.

”They will remain frozen for thirty seconds,” she said aloud, not looking back and without answering Serestia’s question. ”What you do with them is your concern.”

She took a pause and then added, ”Let’s end it here.”

She began walking.

Step by step.

Toward the exit.

”Wait.”

Callista’s voice then followed her.

Kiara did not stop.

”Kyra—wait.”

The name struck again.

Harder this time.

Kiara’s chest tightened, but she forced herself to keep moving, each step deliberate, each breath controlled, until finally she stopped.

Just for a moment.

Then she turned slowly.

By then, her expression had already settled into calmness and distant

”Queen Consort Callista,” she said evenly, her tone carrying just enough confusion to feel real, ”My name is Kiara, not Kyra.”

She held her gaze for a second longer, then added, ”You must still be shaken by the sudden assassination attempt, but don’t need to thank me.”

A faint, polite smile touched her lips.

Then vanished.

She turned again.

And this time, she did not stop.

She walked out of the frozen field, out of the moment, leaving behind a mother with trembling hands...

That day...

The store did not open again.

And far from the noise of the city, on the still waters of a quiet lake, a small boat drifted slowly, carrying only two figures.

Callista Frost.

And Serestia Phoenix.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sound of water against wood, the gentle sway of the boat echoing the unrest in their thoughts.

Finally, Serestia spoke. ”Tell me, Mother.”

Her voice was steady, but beneath it, tension coiled tightly. ”Who... is Kiara? And why do you call her Kyra?”

Callista did not answer immediately.

Her gaze rested on the water, her reflection trembling with each ripple, her thoughts dragging her backward through years she had tried not to revisit.

Serestia leaned forward slightly.

”She has the Frost Dragon bloodline,” she continued, her brows knitting together. ”She looks like you. And you seemed visibly shaken in her presence... and the way you called her...”

Callista closed her eyes briefly.

Then opened them and finally spoke. ”If you want the answers...”

Her voice softened, heavy with memory.

”Then I must start from the beginning.”

A slow breath left her lips.

”From the day the Frost Clan was destroyed...”