“I can’t accept this.”
Carlo clenched his teeth, eyes blazing. The situation was hopeless, yes—but his desperate longing to change the fate of the continent hadn’t died yet. That’s why he couldn’t accept what the dragon called defeat.
Just wait a little longer. This isn’t over. You can still give me more time.
“…”
The dragon’s golden eyes fixed on the man before him with a blank, indifferent gaze. He said nothing, yet his mere presence exuded a crushing pressure. Standing before this pure, ancient being, Carlo tightened his fists.
He had grown far more accustomed to the human form of Luce Fennigan during their time together. But now, as he stared at the golden motes of mana illuminating the dark room, it struck him once more—Luce Fennigan was never human to begin with.
The dragon, shrouded in golden mana, tilted his head slightly, expressionless.
“Are you trying to bargain with me now?”
It was phrased like a question, but there was no question in his tone. Damn it. Carlo cursed internally at Luce’s face, which showed not a shred of mercy.
“…Luce.”
He called the name of the one who had silently stayed by his side for more than a decade.
Seven years had passed since he first owed his life to Luce in a dark dungeon—and in that time, he’d torn down the decaying kingdom. Carlo squeezed his eyes shut. Acrid black smoke, a crumbling manor, and the corpses of countless people flashed before him. The once-proud Inehart family, steeped in tradition and wealth, had collapsed overnight amid the power struggles of noble houses surrounding the dungeon. All because of the so-called treasure rumored to “change the fate of the continent.”
But in the end, it wasn’t the treasure that gave Carlo a second chance—it was the dragon.
From the very beginning, the plan had been nothing but a fantasy for someone from a fallen house with limited resources. Without Luce joining him, it would’ve been impossible—utterly impossible. After overcoming so many hardships together, the reality that his companion would now leave was unbearable.
“Luce… Please. I’m begging you. Stay with me a little longer.”
Carlo forced himself to calm his trembling lips as he opened his mouth. A man born into noble blood, who had never once pleaded in his life, now begged the being before him with desperate sincerity.
In the Kingdom of Rustavaran, where they now stood, the power of the dragon was essential.
“You know me. You know me better than anyone. Can’t you grant me at least this much?!”
“I know you?”
This was the same man who’d trained until his body gave out every day at the training grounds. Even after ascending the throne, he never once skipped his practice, no matter how busy royal duties became. The dragon used to watch him casually from afar as he swung his sword at dawn each morning.
Rustavaran was not the mightiest military power on the continent, nor did it possess the most land. And the young king’s authority was still shaky. That’s why Carlo had wanted to become the continent’s mightiest force himself.
Hmm. One corner of the Gold Dragon’s handsome lips curled faintly.
“Let me correct your delusion. The seven years we spent together? To me, they were no more than a one-night play.”
With a faint frown, he ran his fingers through his hair lazily, as if explaining all this was bothersome. At the same time, the wound on his wrist, which he had inflicted himself, bled more fiercely. Crimson blood gushed down his forearm.
Drip.
Only the dragon could hear the sound—the parched soil of the human realm crying out in joy as it tasted the blood of a noble being.
“So no matter how you beg me… it won’t change my decision.”
“…Ah.”
Aah—Carlo’s expression crumbled as he closed his eyes, his body shaking.
Hahaha… Slowly, he fell to his knees. Wrapping his arms around himself, he lowered his head. It had only just dawned on him—how deluded he had been.
He had believed that this great being had recognized his potential, acknowledged his abilities, and chosen to stay by his side because he was special. That foolish self-deception now scorched him with shame.
“Drink.”
At the dragon’s dignified voice, Carlo instinctively raised his head. In front of his red eyes, the dragon extended his arm. Carlo slowly parted his lips, dazed. The golden eyes watching him softened slightly, glinting.
This had always been how it would end.
Gulp. Gulp. The human drank the dragon’s blood greedily.
Scarlet streaks, whose origin was now uncertain, trickled down from his mouth. Carlo’s crimson eyes dulled instantly—a sign that the dragon’s potent mana was spreading throughout his body. Now that this blood had mingled with Carlo’s own mana, it would be far easier for him to produce sword energy than before.
Well, his descendants might suffer later. But that wasn’t the dragon’s concern.
Urgh. Carlo gagged, pressing a palm against his mouth as blood surged up from within him. But red liquid still trickled through his fingers. The clash of mana would cause him to cough up blood for some time.
“So? How does it feel… to finally get what you so desperately wished for?”
He slowly lifted himself from where he had collapsed and raised his head toward the face of the man standing before him—a man so hauntingly beautiful it was almost inhuman. Carlo’s blood-red eyes, as vivid as the streaks trailing from his lips, burned with resentment as they locked onto the other. But the golden eyes that looked down on him only curved into a faint, mocking smile.
Carlo glanced down at his own right hand, now soaked in blood. As if checking the mana within him, he slowly clenched and unclenched his fist.
A Swordmaster had been born.
Anything touched by a dragon always bore fruit more grand and glorious than anything mankind could ever hope to achieve.
To the dragon, this too was just another trivial affair.
***
Warm honey-colored eyes flashed, shining sharply. It felt as though the atmosphere of the Rustavaran royal palace kept dragging his body back into long-forgotten memories. Adrian unconsciously extended his arm to the side, then, with a faint furrow of his brow, stretched it farther until it touched the side table.
As though trying to wash away the remnants of last night’s dream, he slowly poured water into a clear glass and brought it to his lips. The cool liquid snapped him fully awake. After carelessly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his expensive nightwear, he slowly rose to his feet.
“I need to return to Basamiel as soon as possible.”
What happened to humans—how they lived or died—was none of a dragon’s concern. Last night, at dinner, Alix had mentioned something about “black mana.” The idea that Rustavaran might fall because there was no Swordmaster—just another one of those bothersome, trivial details he wanted no part of.
Closing his eyes, he imagined the Kevish trees flourishing back in Basamiel. And the herbs sprouting beside them. Unlike humans, who acted on whim and impulse, dragons were different. He could feel the turmoil inside him slowly settling.
Where was Mikhail?
He drew up a bit of mana and located Mikhail’s position within the palace, then without hesitation, began striding down the castle halls. He hadn’t needed magic to guess where the man would be.
The training grounds.
Even at this early hour, Mikhail was alone, swinging his sword in the empty field. Without pause, Adrian picked up a sheathed sword lying on the ground and walked toward him. The slicing sound of steel cutting through wind grew louder by the second.
Clang!
A harsh, jarring scrape rang out. Mikhail’s blade had slammed into the scabbard Adrian had just picked up, producing an unpleasant screech.
Huff, huff.
Mikhail’s broad chest swelled and fell as he gasped for air. With the sword and scabbard between them, their eyes locked in direct confrontation. Unlike Mikhail, whose breath came in ragged gasps, Adrian’s expression remained serene, unshaken, holding the scabbard with a steady hand.
Adrian could read his thoughts easily—what Mikhail was thinking now was painfully obvious. With a calm, composed tone, Adrian spoke to the young man brimming with urgency.
“Calm down.”
Swish.
He twisted the scabbard sideways, preventing the sharp blade from piercing in. Mikhail stared intently at Adrian, gradually steadying his breath. Then, after taking a final breath to collect himself, he slowly withdrew his sword and slid it into the sheath.
Grinding his teeth, Mikhail muttered under his breath.
“Calm down?”
“…”
“You expect me to stay calm after hearing this kingdom might fall?”
“We don’t even know the cause yet. Just do what you can for now and wait.”
Adrian watched Mikhail for a moment, then tilted his head slightly and continued.
“So let’s go back. To Basamiel.”
His firm voice echoed through the vast training ground.
It rang out like the divine pronouncement of an all-knowing god.
