An Unwritten Story [Villainous Power Couple, LitRPG]

The disappointed couple had returned to where they had just landed with the dragon. Now, Noa, Vionette, and Elina stood in a tight triangle upon the grass.

“Elina, turn back into your dragon form again for a sec,” Noa said, his voice bouncing with restless energy.

Elina tilted her head, her amber eyes blinking in pure confusion as she smoothed out her dress. “Huh? Why would I do that? We just got here, and I was looking forward to a snack. A big snack. Maybe a big cake?”

“Just do it!” Noa urged, waving his hands around like he was trying to shoo a stubborn fly. “Trust me, it’s for a good cause! A very sharp, very pointy cause!”

“Okay, okay… geez. You’re so demanding. I’m starting to think I’m the only one doing any work here. Promise me a good meal later,” Elina huffed as she stepped into a clear patch of grass.

A blinding light erupted from her small frame, and for a second, the garden looked like a flashbang had gone off in a closet. When the spots finally cleared from Noa’s vision, a massive, crimson-scaled beast was leaning its snout toward him, her hot breath ruffling his hair.

“What now—” She suddenly shriek loudly. “Ouch! Ouch!”

The dragon’s majestic roar pitched into an undignified squeak. Noa had lunged forward and was currently yanking on a thick leg scale with the singular focus of a man trying to pry open a stubborn pickle jar during a famine.

“What are you doin—OW! IT HURTS! Stop it, you thief!” Elina shrieked, her massive tail thrashing against the grass in a rhythmic tantrum that threatened to uproot the nearby hedges.

Noa looked up, sweating from the exertion, and flashed the most painfully innocent, wide-eyed smile he could muster.

“Just two more, I promise! You’ve got plenty to spare! Think of it as a very aggressive spa treatment!”

Vionette stood back, covering her mouth as she giggled at the sheer absurdity of the sight. “Oh my, this is child abuse, you know? Or at least dragon harassment.”

“Child abuse, my ass!” Noa grunted, finally popping a scale loose with a sharp, satisfying crunch. He nearly stumbled backward from the sudden release of tension. “She’s older than the two of us combined! If anything, I’m the one getting a workout here!”

With a satisfied grin, Noa clapped the dust from his hands. “All done! You can shrink back now,” he shouted, tossing the disgruntled dragon a cheeky salute as he clutched his bag of freshly looted scales.

Then, his gaze snagged on something that made his playful smirk falter for a split second. “Hey… that wound is still there.”

He stared at the jagged gash across the dragon’s chest and the splintered base of her horn. Even though Elina’s human form didn’t reflect any damage, her true form’s injuries still lingered.

As Elina compressed back into her petite human form, she rubbed her leg and glared at him intensely. “Thanks to a certain someone, it got worse,” she muttered, her lip twitching downward into a genuine pout.

Noa’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he clutched the bag of scales, backing away slowly as if expecting a localized fireball to the face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about…”

Vionette stepped in, gently stroking Elina’s hair to soothe the simmering dragon-girl. “We’re sorry about that, sweetie. Let’s get you treated for those wounds first.”

As Vionette’s hand continued its gentle rhythm, the dragon-girl’s eyes drifted shut in pure bliss. The fearsome beast of war vanished; Elina leaned into the caress like an affectionate puppy, trying to snuggle against Vionette as if she were a plush pillow.

Vionette glanced at Noa, her expression morphing into a knowing, playful smirk. “I’ll get you to the shop. Go get that sword forged before the war starts.”

“War? Who? Where? Why? Is there food there? Do the enemies carry snacks?” Elina snapped back to reality, her head pivoting eagerly between them.

Vionette laughed, gently ushering the girl toward the castle spires. “I’ll tell you everything on the way to the infirmary.”

“Well then, I’m off!” Noa shouted, already halfway down the marble path with his bag of loot slung over his shoulder, his heart light and his sights set on the forge.

***

Noa moved through the streets of Arveth—Crimvane’s capital city—with the heavy bag slung over his left shoulder and his right hand buried in his pocket. The noon sun sat high and indifferent in the sky, pinning his shadow directly beneath his feet like a dark puddle of ink.

As he walked, he felt it: a distinct shift in the atmosphere.

“That’s him, right?” a hushed voice drifted from a nearby fruit stall.

“I think so…?”

“Definitely. Look at his eyes,” an old man whispered from afar.

Everywhere he went, the city was watching him. Gazes peered from behind half-constructed walls, through the steam of food stalls, and from the shaded interiors of houses.

On Earth, Noa was used to drawing stares—he was a creature of the spotlight. However, that attention had always been fueled by disgust, the clicking of tongues, and the hurried closing of doors. People used to avoid his path as if he were a walking plague.

But this was different. The air didn’t reek of disgust; it hummed with curiosity. There were no malicious whispers, only the hushed, breathless tones of a populace marveling at the young man before them.

“That’s the man from the rumors,” an old woman murmured.

“Her Majesty’s partner…”

“He looks so cool,” a group of children chirped, trailing him at a safe distance.

“Handsome, too,” a young woman added, her cheeks flushing as he passed.

The children watched his confident stride and saw a legendary warrior; the women admired his features and saw a romantic lead; the men noted the raw strength in his frame and set new benchmarks for their own training.

Noa had become the living myth of a kingdom that desperately needed something to believe in.

An unintentional smile began to form on Noa’s lips—a genuine, soft curve. Surprised by the unfamiliar sensation, he stopped mid-step, lifting a hand to his mouth to check if his muscles were truly betraying his neutral mask.

He stood there for a long breath, basking in the warmth of the city’s gaze, before closing his eyes and letting the smile bloom fully.

As you said, Vionette, building a kingdom really might not be so bad. He raised a hand and gave a sweeping wave to the civilians, watching as the crowd erupted into a flurry of excited cheers and returning waves.

For a fleeting moment, Noa—the man who had just razed a city for the sheer entertainment of it—felt like a black flower that had suddenly bloomed pristine white.

…

Deep inside the city’s industrial district, Vionette’s mental voice guided him toward a building that stood like a bastion of progress.

The forge was a titan of brick and reinforced concrete, nearly twice the size of the surrounding structures. Its walls were etched with glowing runes explicitly designed to contain the ferocious heat generated within. Above the heavy, iron-bound door, a simple sign swayed in the wind: ‘Blacksmith Marnok.’

Noa stood before the entrance for a long moment, hands on his hips. His grin widened as he felt the rhythmic thumping of the forge vibrating through the soles of his boots, before he pushed the door open, and the atmosphere instantly changed.

The scent hit him first—the metallic tang of burning iron intermingled with the sweet, dry aroma of sawdust. The interior was a veritable forest of steel. Weapons, shields, and suits of armor hung from the walls like the trophies of a hundred wars. Yet, the space was meticulously clean, vastly larger and far more organized than the cramped, soot-stained hovels Noa had envisioned.

The sound of a hammer striking steel hit like a physical shockwave, rattling Noa’s teeth.

“Who are you? What do you want?” a gruff voice barked from the depths of the shop.

Noa turned toward the intense heat. There, perched beside a controlled waterfall of molten lava cascading into a stone basin, stood a dwarf. He was no taller than Elina; his cream-colored hair was tied back, and a long, intricately braided beard cascaded down to his chest with goggles that flickered with the dancing reflection of the flames resting above.

Exactly the kind of guy I expected, Noa thought, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“I want you to forge a sword!” he stated simply.

Marnok shifted his attention to the young man, looking him up and down, his critical gaze lingering on Noa’s frame.

“Tsk. Just a sword?” the dwarf spat, clicking his tongue in blatant disappointment. He felt his initial curiosity, piqued by the stranger’s confident entrance, instantly deflate. “Whatever. Dump your materials over there and come back in two days—”

“Hey, old man,” Noa interrupted, his voice booming over the roar of the forge, forcing Marnok to pause and look back. “Can you even work with these?”

With a grunt, Noa swung the bag off his shoulder. As it slammed into the stone floor, its contents spilled out in a magnificent heap. Crimson dragon scales clattered against the ground like coins of the damned, and in the center lay a massive, severed horn—a dark, spiraled monolith that was almost larger than the dwarf himself.

Marnok froze mid-turn. His eyes bulged, his brown irises vividly reflecting the dark luster of the draconic materials. For a brief second, time seemed to stand still as the master smith processed the sheer, impossible quality of the harvest laid before him.

“I’ll say it again,” Noa smirked, his dark purple eyes glowing with an abyssal density that seemed to swallow the ambient light of the lava. “Forge me a sword. A god-killing sword.”

A feeling Marnok thought had died years ago erupted in his chest: the fire of true inspiration, the very thrill Vionette had promised him. His heart hammered wildly, his lips curling into a wide, jagged grin as excitement rushed through his veins like liquid magma.

“Ah… a man with fire in his heart,” Marnok whispered reverently. He stepped toward the horn, running a trembling hand over its jagged base. “So… she really was telling the truth.”

“So, you want to do it or not?” Noa grinned, fully aware that the answer was already written in the dwarf’s manic expression.

“Hell yeah! Let’s forge that sword!” Marnok roared back.

Without another word, the dwarf aggressively cleared his workbench, sweeping his current project—a half-finished blade—straight onto the floor as if it were worthless scrap metal. The blistering air between the two men crackled with a shared, reckless ambition as they prepared the forge.

…

The struggle began immediately. Rhythmic strikes echoed through the chamber as Marnok attempted to soften the crimson scales using his standard forge-fire, but the intense heat of the royal coals was a mere joke against the dragon’s natural hide. The metallic scales didn’t even glow; they remained completely cold and defiant, mocking the blacksmith’s heavy strikes.

“It’s not enough,” Marnok grumbled, sweat pouring down his brow in thick rivers, his braided beard soaked with sweat.

Noa, sitting on a nearby wooden crate with his head tilted curiously, watched the futile struggle. “What isn’t enough?”

“The heat! It’s not bending! This damned material hasn’t even realized it’s in a forge yet!” Despite his blatant failure, Marnok was laughing aloud, his eyes blazing with the ecstatic joy of a challenge that finally matched his master-class skill.

“Heat, huh?... Heat…” Noa’s eyes glazed over for a split second before snapping back into focus with a sudden realization. He remembered a specific heat—a chaotic flame that had evaporated a city. “If we’re talking about flames, I’ve got just the thing.”

“Yes! I knew you were the man for the job! Alright then, bring it here right away!” Marnok shouted, jabbing a thick finger toward the door.

“Yes, sir!” Noa leaped to his feet, exiting the shop in a blur of motion. His own heart pounded with anticipation for the legendary weapon yet to be born.