After the awkward meal had ended, Adrian found himself walking alone through the corridors of the royal palace.
Something suddenly caught his eye. Through the slightly ajar door on his right, he glimpsed a large hall—something like a banquet room. Covering one wall of the room was a massive mural.
Adrian, who had been about to continue down the hall, abruptly turned on his heel and approached the door. Almost without realizing it, he pushed the door open and walked toward the mural, one step at a time. Lifting his head, he took in the entire painting.
He briefly glanced at the magical seal drawn on the floor, but didn’t hesitate to step closer to the wall. After all, such protective enchantments meant nothing to him.
That was when he sensed someone entering the hall. Adrian curled his lips slightly and took three steps back from the mural.
A steward who had just entered noticed the guest eyeing the mural intently and approached with a polite tone of caution.
“Ah, there you are. Please observe the piece from a bit of a distance, if you would. There’s a security spell cast on it that will trigger an alert.”
“Ah, right. I’ll be more careful.”
Adrian responded absently, his gaze still fixed on the stunning painting. The steward smiled as if he understood—there hadn’t been a single guest at the palace who hadn’t been captivated by the mural.
“You must like the legend of the Founding King.”
“………It’s a beautiful piece. Hard to look away.”
Unable to honestly say he liked the myth of the Founding King, Adrian opted for an objective assessment instead. The skilled brushstrokes and balanced colors captured the atmosphere of that day with striking clarity. The steward followed his gaze upward, toward the upper portion of the mural.
It depicted a blond man presenting a vial filled with a red liquid to Carlo de Inehart, the Founding King.
“To this day, there’s much debate over what kind of relationship existed between Carlo de Inehart and the Archmage.”
None at all, really. But Adrian didn’t comment—he kept his eyes silently fixed on the mural.
“The most widely accepted theory is that a dragon descended into the human realm and aided King Carlo. Have you heard the legend that the blood of a dragon flows through the Rustavaran royal line? According to the tale, that dragon was so entranced by the king’s beauty that it broke the sacred Law of Amusement—which forbids interference with the mortal world—and offered its blood.”
The vial held in the dragon’s hand in the mural represents that legend, he explained, clearly aware that Adrian was a guest of Prince Mikhail and speaking with a subtly proud tone.
“There’s quite a resemblance, wouldn’t you say? It’s no wonder there are rumors claiming Mikhail Luce Inehart is the reincarnation of King Carlo. Don’t you agree?”
Humans always thought they were the special ones. Hmph. Adrian smirked, curling only the corner of his mouth hidden from the steward’s view.
Reincarnation, huh.
“……That’s absurd.”
“That’s an unusual reaction. Most people find it rather romantic.”
Adrian didn’t respond to the steward’s small talk. After all, a Gold Dragon had never belonged to the group labeled as “most people.”
If reincarnation truly existed, then it would be nothing short of a nightmarish hell. To live with the same souls, making the same choices over and over again… This already dull world would only grow more tedious.
***
This is a problem.
Golden eyes turned toward the world beyond the palace walls. Though only a bleak, ominous sky was visible from the high windows, far more information flooded into the dragon’s senses.
A scruffy-looking boy sat crouched against the outer wall of the palace. In his arms, a tiny infant struggled to breathe, each breath coming in shallow gasps.
Then it happened. Waaaah! The baby in the boy’s arms suddenly burst into tears. The boy, his thin arms barely able to support the bundle wrapped in cloth, looked like he was on the verge of tears himself. Yet rather than dwelling on his own sadness, he gently lifted a small hand to pat the baby’s back, trying to comfort it, eyes brimming with unshed tears. But the baby, as if it could feel the despair in the air itself, refused to stop crying.
The dragon’s brow furrowed. There was something he had overlooked.
The situation of these humans was entirely different from that of El Mer, who had long since accepted the fate of annihilation.
Until now, the dragon had played only the roles dictated by the Law of Amusement. As a former mercenary leader, he had accepted suspicious requests. He had turned a blind eye to the political strife of nobles behind those requests—because that was the fate of a mere mercenary commander.
But in the dungeon, the dragon had broken the Law of Amusement himself. Luce Fennigan should never have revived Carlo de Inehart. Therefore, the dragon who had defied the law bore the responsibility of setting things right.
Humans could cry. They feared the end of their brief lives with a depth of terror unimaginable to others. The baby’s shrill, ragged wail pierced the dragon’s ears. Even without trying to listen, the sound lingered, refusing to fade.
Standing alone in the center of the dark room, the Gold Dragon could hear with piercing clarity every desperate wail and anguished groan of the humans echoing from every corner of the palace.
And he knew all too well that he was the one who had brought this despair upon them. In the darkness, the dragon clenched his eyes shut and let out a low, bitter groan.
He wasn’t the only one tormented by inner conflict.
The war, which everyone had expected to end quickly, dragged on far longer than anticipated. When the messenger brought grim news, Carlo questioned him again.
‘How much supply do we have left?’
‘…It’s hardly worth calling it a supply, Your Majesty.’
The messenger lifted his gaze toward Carlo, his voice laced with desperate hope, as if clinging to a final sliver of salvation.
‘What about the Archmage…? Is he still… not ready?’
‘……’
The king said nothing, pressing his palm against his temple. He alone knew the truth—that the one posing as the Archmage within the palace was, in fact, the Gold Dragon. But the dragon had told him plainly: he would not interfere in this war.
Sigh… After mulling over the report for a long while, Carlo stood before the door to Luce Fennigan’s chamber.
‘Luce, are you inside?’
He knocked politely, but there was no reply. Puzzled, he murmured, “Pardon the intrusion…” and reached for the doorknob—only to freeze in place.
Shaaah… As the door creaked open, a cold, eerie wind swept past Carlo’s entire body—fast yet strangely slow. But it wasn’t the chill that made him instinctively uneasy.
Floating in the center of the dim room, suspended just a hand’s breadth above the ground, was a lone figure.
‘…Luce?’
Carlo called out to the Gold Dragon standing motionless in midair.
The sound of his voice filled the quiet space—and then suddenly,
Flash— Luce’s eyelids snapped open. Carlo, who had been staring intently at his face, instinctively stepped back in awe.
It was as if two suns had burst into that small room. If gods truly existed, they must radiate with this very same divine presence. Bathed in the golden glow of his own eyes, Luce Fennigan looked otherworldly—overwhelmingly unreal.
His lips, tightly sealed until now, slowly parted.
‘Carlo.’
The voice—noble and resonant like a god’s whisper—called out the name of a mere mortal king.
‘Back then, we made a wager. I’ll now tell you the result.’
‘……’
At the word wager, something flickered in Carlo’s eyes.
He knew exactly what the dragon meant—more than anyone. In that dungeon, Carlo had owed a life. He had declared boldly that he could change his fate—no, the fate of the entire continent.
‘If you’re willing to admit defeat—’
The Gold Dragon locked eyes with Carlo and spoke firmly.
‘I will help you bring this war to its end, right now.’
‘……’
Shhhk—
The dragon’s immaculate claw dragged a clean line across his wrist. Red flesh split open, and a stream of vivid blood slid slowly down his pale arm. Carlo’s eyes widened. Somehow, he couldn’t move. He swallowed hard.
‘Why… why are you ending the wager now? There should still be time left.’
Carlo’s low voice echoed softly through the room.
‘There’s no point in waiting anymore… You’ve lost.’
As cold as the message was, the voice matched it in chill.
Drip. The dragon’s sacred blood hit the floor.
With his arm extended slightly, the dragon waited for Carlo’s answer.
The bleak landscape outside the palace walls was the result of their wager. Carlo had failed to change the continent’s fate, just as he had failed to become a Sword Master by his own strength.
Understanding that, a tremor ran through Carlo’s crimson eyes.
