Supreme Bloodline Evolution System

Chapter 203: No Room for Pride

The seven women all shot Max different looks, each reaction revealing more than they wanted him to see. Some were mesmerized for a brief moment by the sheer weight of his presence, while others looked terrified by what he had just said.

Their fingers tightened against their dresses, their breathing changed, and their proud faces struggled to remain steady under a pressure they had not expected from a man they had only known through rumors.

"Did you not clean your ears before coming to see me?" Max asked, his voice coming out low and eerily calm, quiet enough that it somehow felt colder than a shout.

"I said kneel and crawl to me. Now."

Ilyndessa’s fingers clenched around the fabric of her robes with enough force to wrinkle the delicate material, her knuckles paling as she tried to control the anger rising through her chest.

She had never knelt, not before nobles, not before generals, not even before her late husband, because she had always stood beside power rather than beneath it.

The thought of lowering herself to this young king in front of her sisters made something proud and ancient inside her twist with disgust.

Shaelvyn was not taking it well either, her fingers already inching toward the curved dagger at her hip, each movement small enough to seem like nothing more than tension to anyone foolish enough not to know her.

Her hand itched to close around the handle, to draw the blade, to cut open Max’s throat and end this madness with his blood sealing their freedom across the crystal floor.

But she waited, and so did the other five.

Rosethae’s lips pressed into a thin line, her crimson eyes moving between Ilyndessa and Max as if trying to judge which side of the room would become more dangerous first.

Aeravelle remained still behind her glasses, though her sharp gaze had already begun measuring the distance between Max, the doors, and the nearest guards.

Arissavel looked like fury had been carved directly into her face, while Xyranthia kept her head slightly lowered, breathing so softly that she almost seemed afraid the sound itself might offend him.

Myrathien’s usual smile still lingered at the corner of her lips, though even that smile had lost some of its poison.

Max’s eyes narrowed as he looked over them, and he could tell almost immediately that none of them respected or feared him enough yet.

Their bodies had stiffened, their breathing had changed, and some of them had reacted to his presence, but their loyalty, their fear, and even their restraint were still pointed toward the elf standing in front of them rather than him.

They were watching Ilyndessa first and him second, waiting for her reaction, measuring their own courage by the way she stood.

Even Shaelvyn, with all the murderous intent in her eyes, had not moved without first sensing Ilyndessa’s silence.

Max had to admit that the woman was striking, with her golden-pink hair, her beautiful face, and the proud set of her shoulders.

The way she carried herself, even in the citadel of the man who had conquered her empire, made certain ideas pass through his mind, some political and some far less proper.

But it also made one thing perfectly clear.

If the others were still taking their courage from her, then she had to be made into the first example, forced low enough for every other elf in the room to understand who was truly in charge here.

"I see." Max nodded slowly, his eyes moving over the seven women as if whatever patience he had first offered them had already begun to fade.

"You are a bunch of prideful hypocrites, thinking you can barge into my home and expect the same treatment you would receive in the elven lands just because you are beautiful women?"

He laughed, but there was nothing warm in it, only a low sound that made the air in the reception hall feel heavier.

"Do not fuck with me," he said, his voice rising just enough to make Xyranthia jump, her silver pigtails bouncing against her chest as she took half a step back before catching herself.

Max’s gaze shifted toward her for only a moment before returning to the rest of them, calm, cold, and far too steady for a man standing before seven women who clearly hated him.

"You are not even elves anymore. Not in the way you think you are. Your empire is gone, your emperor is dead, your army is buried, and the only reason any of you are standing in this room is because I allowed it.

Right now, you are assets to me, nothing more, so act like assets until you earn the right to be called elves again and treated like people instead of the leftovers of a conquered empire."

The words struck harder than any slap could have, making Rosethae’s lips part in disbelief while Arissavel’s face twisted with fury.

Aeravelle’s fingers tightened against the side of her dress as if she were holding herself back through pure reason alone.

Ilyndessa remained the calmest among them, but even she could not fully hide the anger flashing behind her eyes, while Shaelvyn’s hand drifted toward her dagger with a slow, murderous intent that made the nearest dragon warriors tense.

"You are just a lustful king. How dare you call us that?!" Arissavel raised her voice, her eyes shooting daggers at Max as if she wanted to tear him apart with her bare hands.

Max only extended his right hand forward.

That single movement was enough.

All seven women prepared for battle at once, their bodies shifting, mana stirring, instincts screaming that something terrible was about to happen.

They had come here expecting to seduce a foolish womanizer king, to smile sweetly, lower their lashes, and slowly slip poison into his rule until he became their weapon without even realizing it.

Yet the man before them had not turned soft beneath their beauty, had not lost himself in their curves, and had not given them a single opening to twist into advantage.

Black mist spread from Max’s palm.

It moved too fast for any of them to react.

One moment it was only a thin, dark breath curling around his fingers, and the next it swept through the room like a silent tide, slipping around their bodies, their limbs, their weapons, and the mana gathered inside them.

Their faces paled as all of a sudden every bit of strength in their bodies vanished like sand blown from an open palm by a violent wind.

They were left frozen in horror as the power they had trusted all their lives was consumed before they could even raise a hand against him.

"Sweet, pure mana. Not bad." Max smirked as he felt their power flow into him, the black mist curling around his fingers like a satisfied beast.

The stolen mana poured through his body in thin, delicious streams.

"It seems you have quite a lot of talent for magic."

"What did you do to us?" Ilyndessa asked, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, her voice did not sound as steady as she wanted it to.

Her fingers trembled at her sides, the small movement almost unnoticeable, yet terrifying to her because she could not stop it.

The fear that rose inside her was not the kind born from surprise or anger, but something deeper, something genuine, something that made her realize she was standing before a power she did not fully understand.

None of the women could move properly. Their bodies had become heavy, their limbs weak, their mana stolen so completely that even breathing felt like an effort.

One after another, their knees buckled beneath them, and the sound of seven proud elven women hitting the cold crystal floor echoed through the hall like a sentence being passed.

"I took your mana," Max said, walking forward with slow, unhurried steps.

"And I will take so much more from you until I am satisfied."

He stopped in front of Ilyndessa, his shadow falling over her as she struggled to lift her head.

Before she could speak, his fingers caught her chin and forced her face upward, making her meet his gaze whether she wanted to or not.

"That is right," he said softly, his smile deepening as he looked into her furious, frightened eyes.

"This is my domain, beautiful."

Then he let her go.

Ilyndessa’s weakened body dropped at once, her knees striking the floor again as a low groan of pain slipped past her lips before she could swallow it down.

The sound made Rosethae’s face tighten, made Xyranthia flinch, made Shaelvyn’s fingers twitch uselessly toward the dagger she no longer had the strength to raise.

"Good," Max said, his gaze moving over them with cold satisfaction.

"That is what I like to see."

He turned around and flicked his wrist, and in a single moment, multicolored crystal magic gathered near the far end of the room.

It rose from the floor in smooth, elegant layers until it shaped itself into a wide sofa fit for a king.

He did not even bother looking back at them as he walked toward it, his dark coat shifting behind him like a living shadow.

He sat down and leaned back with complete ease, one knee raised slightly while his back and neck rested against the curved crystal support.

It was as if this entire matter was nothing more than a small inconvenience interrupting his morning.

"I will wait," Max said, his voice carrying across the room without effort.

"If by evening not one of you has managed to crawl all the way here and apologize to me properly, I will go to the elven lands myself and wipe out every last elf still breathing there."

The words fell over them colder than the crystal beneath their knees.

For a moment, even hatred seemed too weak to survive in the silence that followed.