“I’m not going to just obediently go along with something that’s already been decided… I’m not doing that crap.”
[I didn’t expect you to comply so easily anyway.]
Despite Luce’s blunt reply, there was no ripple of agitation in the ancient dragon’s telepathic voice.
[Yes… I gave the same answer once, too.]
Grrrnnn. A low rumble came from the dragon’s throat, like claws scraping the ground. He was laughing. His massive jaw trembled slightly, parting as if reminiscing on an old memory. Moss and grass that had grown over his white-scaled torso swayed with every laugh. The wind blowing through the hill stirred the grass in rhythm with the dragon’s breath. His enormous white form, set against the vivid blue sky, created a mystical sight.
Soon, the dragon stopped laughing, and his voice returned in a subdued tone.
[I won’t force you. But one day, without even realizing it, you’ll find yourself joining the flow of this world.]
“…And exactly which part of that isn’t coercion?”
To unknowingly fall into the current of the world—That was the very thing the young dragon hated most. As if to vent that emotion, a chill began to waft from Luce’s brown eyes. Even so, the ancient dragon merely lowered his heavy eyelids slowly, unfazed by the shift in atmosphere.
Meeting the young dragon had stirred up long-buried memories in the elder’s mind.
His first playtime. He still vividly remembered the thrill of polymorphing into an elf and shooting his first arrow.
Working as a librarian at the royal library, reading human history—how fascinating the dragons described in those stories had been.
When he had enjoyed games in the body of a bird. When he had become the companion of a brilliant mage and witnessed the founding of his academy. When he had served a tyrant ruler and seen firsthand the web of schemes and conspiracies—All those lives. Repetitive, long… but undeniably entertaining.
With a great puuuhh sound, the dragon exhaled deeply through his nostrils and maw. Though it was his breath, it no longer carried the vivid vitality of life.
Indeed, the ancient dragon no longer had time for sentiment. He had once seen all the world’s brilliance and filth, but now his clouded eyes saw nothing. Slowly, he closed them beneath the weight of his heavy lids.
[Now that I’ve told you what I must, my role ends here. All that remains is to wait for eternal rest and peace.]
Hwoooosh. The giant dragon’s breath settled heavily on the earth. Eyes closed, he was preparing to sleep.
“You… So your plan was to dump all this on me and then just die?”
Only then did Luce finally understand why the ancient one had summoned him. His expression drained completely. This was the first of his kind he’d met since opening his eyes in this world. There were tens of thousands of questions he wanted to ask.
And yet, here this old dragon was—wearing that serene expression, like he could just pass on with a smile despite knowing all the world’s secrets.
It was maddening. Luce ground his teeth. He couldn’t let him go like this.
“I won’t let you.”
Luce’s quiet voice blended into the wind rolling over the hill.
“Recovery.”
At that moment, his golden eyes shimmered as mana surged around him in waves. Realizing what Luce intended, the old dragon blinked slowly and murmured:
[It’s no use, I told you.]
“Shut up.”
Luce stretched out his hand toward the dragon. His radiant blond hair whipped wildly in the mana-charged wind. In response, his luminous eyes flared with brilliant intensity.
But the outcome remained unchanged.
No matter how much mana he poured into the spell, the dragon’s body refused to absorb it. On the contrary, more mana leaked out than went in.
Luce’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
He didn’t care if it took all the mana in this entire region. He would bring this ancient dragon back—no matter what.
He thrust out his other hand.
A sharp biting sound came from his lips, but Luce paid it no mind. He pressed both palms flat against the dragon’s scaly hide, desperately trying to force the stubborn mana into his flesh.
“Open your eyes!”
He slammed his forehead against the dragon’s cold, rough scales as he shouted.
Mikhail struggled to keep his eyes open through the storm of raging mana. Luce was clearly trying to revive the ancient dragon. But from where he stood, it didn’t look like anything was changing.
The dragon’s body continued to reject the flow of mana. Still, the one who knew best that this was a futile effort—was Luce Fennigan himself.
Eyes closed, Luce muttered under his breath:
“…You think I give a damn about this shitty world? Not a chance in hell.”
The dragon no longer responded to Luce’s muttering. He was slowly drifting into eternal slumber. Sensing that, Luce curled one corner of his lips into a cold smirk. For a noble being like a dragon, it was an unusually bitter smile—one that bordered on cruel.
“Even if everyone dies, I don’t care. Fine—if everything’s already been decided, then there’s no point in staying alive, is there?”
From the corners of Luce’s eyes, something began to rise. His skin started to crack apart into fragments. Black scales. It was the manifestation of a corrupted soul—his tainted emotions clouding the spirit of a dragon. Mikhail, shielding himself from the wind with his arms, saw it happening and called out his name.
“Luce… Luce Fennigan!”
But Luce didn’t seem to hear Mikhail’s voice. He kept his palms firmly pressed against the ancient dragon’s scales. His head remained bowed, muttering something in a low voice.
But it seemed Luce’s wish—to extend the ancient dragon’s life—was not aligned with fate’s design. At last, the sound of the dragon’s final breath reached Luce’s ears.
Shhhhhh—Like the wind sweeping across the soft dunes of a desert.
The ancient dragon had entered eternal rest. Feeling it fully through both hands, Luce let out a cold, mirthless laugh. Yes, this too had been predetermined. But he had no intention of just sitting back and watching it end like this.
Even though the dragon had died and there was no longer a living being to receive healing magic, Luce continued summoning all the surrounding mana beneath his palms. He had never revived the dead before… but maybe now was as good a time as any to try.
“Luce!”
Mikhail took a step toward him, but the fierce wind raging around Luce forced him to stagger back. Still, he didn’t give up. Gritting his teeth, he stepped again and shouted:
“Snap out of it!”
And then—Luce, who had kept his head bowed low, suddenly raised it in a sharp motion. His eyes glowed white, like a pale moon in the middle of the day, staring directly at Mikhail.
Mikhail froze at the uncanny sight, but unlike before, he didn’t retreat. Luce stared at him intensely, and then slowly pulled his hands away from the ancient dragon’s body.
“…Right. You’re still here. Mikhail.”
“……”
Facing the wrath of a dragon, Mikhail bit his lip. Around Luce’s eyes, black scales clung tightly.
The moment their gazes locked, a chill like ice raced through Mikhail’s veins, his whole body breaking into goosebumps. The prince’s eyes, sluggish and hesitant, flicked subtly toward the base of the hill. He was checking whether the massive iron gate they had passed through was still there.
The gate stood open, revealing the dark evening sky of the world beyond.
“Why?”
Luce noticed the glance immediately and gave a slow, crooked smile. His lips curled, but his eyes remained dead cold—a chilling, soulless grin.
“Suddenly feel like running away?”
Sharp as ever, weren’t you.
The dragon’s remains, now lifeless, began to scatter like sand in the wind atop the hill. Where his massive body had once lain, only the giant white bones remained—just as they’d first seen when stepping onto this hill.
Luce glanced at it with an unreadable expression, then tilted his head.
“……!”
Mikhail’s crimson eyes trembled.
A suffocating killing intent surged and engulfed him in an instant.
Click. The sword of Fellen Deeps, hanging at his waist, gave a metallic cry.
There had been no wind, and yet it moved as if of its own accord. But Mikhail, locked in a stare with Luce, didn’t notice the sound.
And then—again. Click. Clack.
As though rebuking its dull-witted master, the sword shifted in its sheath once more, more violently this time. Only then did Mikhail realize something was off. His gaze dropped to his waist.
The sword of Fellen Deeps gave one last, deliberate clang, as if demanding his attention.
Mikhail slowly reached for the hilt.
