Chapter 57: step by step (a message from a stranger to me)
Middle Fire Month, 18th Day, 600AGG
'Too convenient,' Tsaindorcus watched the Player finish dispatching the Minotaur aberration. 'And too unnatural.'
From under an overhang, he shivered in revulsion at the sheer wrongness emanating from the monster.
He knew who was responsible. He wished he didn't.
'Malvar never went this far,' truthfully, the destruction of one's soul was infinitely preferable to becoming a… thing like that distorted Player-kin. Thankfully, they could rest in oblivion now—their soul too damaged to return to the Cradle.
The tan-skinned 'human' with silvery-platinum hair draped in the robes of a traveling sage ventured forth from his position of observation, carefully adopting an expression suitable for one who had just experienced an earth-shaking event.
Though he had resolved himself to puzzle out the Player's true nature, it would be foolish of him to reveal his true appearance. Of course, there was the chance that his modified『Change Shape』was flawed and couldn't foil effects like『True Seeing』from a World Item holder, but he had a backup course of action prepared for that situation.
"Oh my God!" The six-winged Player saw him step out from his improvised shelter and flew over without a moment of hesitation. A trusting personality identical to the second-hand reports he read, but it was always good to double-check. "Anyone hurt?!"
Surrounding her was a pleasing aura of goodness, one that Tsaindorcus had learned long ago was tied to righteousness in an individual. However, righteousness came in many forms, and thus it would be careless to completely trust his senses.
"None here, but it seems I lost my supplies in the chaos," he faked a sheepish grin. That said, wasn't she too trusting? There was a chance that it was all an act to lower his guard before they dove in for a decisive strike—meaning previous impressions of her capabilities might have been purposely faked. "I traveled here to conduct a survey on behalf of my country, but it seems I was less prepared than I thought."
Tsaindorcus paused, trepidation crawling over his furrowed brows and downturned lips. "That monster you were fighting… are monsters like those a common occurrence in these parts?"
"Erm, I hope not?" She apologetically scratched the back of her head. "It's my first time flying here, so I'm not sure, but the Frost Giants said it was weird…?"
'Rhell then,' if it was a Minotaur that strong, it had to be from the Asterion Federation. 'Need to tell Rathiel to send more agents there. Can't sense its corpse anymore, so it must have been teleported away.'
"So yeah," she tapped the tip of one foot against the snow. "Um, I promised I would go check on the Giants. Do you want to come with? I could fly you to a safe spot too, if you want."
"It would be helpful to get acquainted with the natives here," Tsaindorcus accepted her offer. "I suppose a detour could prove enlightening."
"Cool, cool. Erm, just a second," she held her arms out, hands cupped together. "『Summon Angel Fourth』."
The mana of tier magic made itself manifest as light, light that solidified into the form of an angel—Principality Observation—that silently leveled its emotionless visored gaze at him. "Their village is pretty close by, so you won't have to deal with the ride for too long."
'She's not using her stronger summons?' He knew for certain that she had access to spells above the mere Fourth, and at this point the Player should know everybody else aware of her did as well. The fact she didn't employ higher tier summoning spells when her angels appeared to last indefinitely probably meant there was a daily-use restriction or a prohibitive mana cost. "Of course. I wouldn't dare complain about a boon from my savior."
Nodding her head, she flew up—sticking to a slower pace so the Principality carrying him could follow along. They glided through the ridges of a mountain pass, gaining elevation until a relatively flat evergreen plateau was within sight.
The Player and her summon descended, allowing him sufficient time to get off before a group of merry Frost Giants ran to welcome them.
"Feathered One!" A particularly large Frost Giant—the largest among them actually, probably their lord—uproariously laughed as he greeted her on behalf of his group. He was bedecked in a shirt of white dragonscale draped over hardened leather, various dragonbone weapons, and leather bags made from some sort of livestock. "We were wondering why you left so suddenly! Who is this friend of yours?"
"Ah! He's someone who's doing a survey of this mountain range and got up in the fight earlier," the Player looked at him with mild panic. "His name is, um…"
"Apologies, where are my manners?" Tsaindorcus smoothly bowed before the Player. They were either a better actor than he'd pegged them to be, or his modified disguise proved effective. It was also possible she was already used to people magically altering their forms given her proximity to young Oriculus. "I am Riku Aganeia, a sage from the far eastern reaches of the world."
The irony of choosing to use Riku's first name of all people didn't escape him.
"Yuriko Hanami," she stuck out her hand. "I'm a, uh… from the Draconic Kingdom! I think it's southeast of here, right?" She looked up at the Frost Giant for confirmation only to receive a shrug in return.
"Bjørn Helgson, Huntmaster of the Ævifjall," the Frost Giant was the last to introduce himself. "Today is a strange day indeed for us to meet two travelers from distant lands!"
"Thank you for the warm welcome, Huntmaster," he politely shook the Player's. "And again, for your aid as well."
"No big deal," she weakly smiled. "Just glad you weren't caught up in the fight. It got a little messy for a bit."
"An understatement!" Bjørn roared with laughter. "You should've been there to see it, Aganeia—the Feathered One bringing low that foul mockery of life! I tell you, it'll be a tale passed down for centuries!"
"Truly? I regret not being able to see the whole duel with my own eyes then," he seamlessly lied. "Was that what the tremors were?"
"Ha! I'm surprised they didn't bring the wrath of the mountain down on our heads!" Bjørn directed a fierce grin at the sheepish Player. "But enough of that! The cold open is no place for wanderers like you two. Follow us!"
'Player… What thoughts?' Tsaindorcus wondered as he trailed behind the band of Frost Giants and his quarry.
Now was the best chance to find out for himself. With the angel almost always at the side of the Draconic Kingdom's queen, there hadn't been an opportunity in the past to interact with them for a prolonged period of time—not without arousing Draudillon Oriculus's suspicions.
When Tsaindorcus heard that the Vahasi Republic had submitted to the Draconic Kingdom as a vassalized state, he had been shocked. Truthfully, his expectations were that they would be wiped off the face of the World.
Perhaps he was being too unkind to young Oriculus and her Player companion. That being said, it was imperative that he confirmed the Player's true nature sooner rather than later, and if need be, lay them to rest should their intentions prove destructive. He hoped the situation wouldn't devolve into that though.
'An inheritor of our primordial birthright collaborating this closely with one of the beings that were birthed from its corruption,' the Platinum Dragon Lord mused as he focused on less sobering thoughts. 'I don't believe this has happened even once in the past six-hundred years.'
With these facts in mind, along with his observations and what he knew of the Player's character, Tsaindorcus had decided to trail the angel on their solo journey. Additionally, in the case that he was discovered, the chances of a confrontation were unlikely.
It would have been much simpler if he chose to employ his puppet armor, but that ran the risk of seeming excessively combative; furthermore, the strength of the puppet didn't fit the scenario he had in mind for the interaction. For the time being, the Dragon Lord saw no need to test how much disbelief the angel was capable of suspending.
"Bring out the beer!" Bjørn goodnaturedly bellowed to the curious villagers. "Friends have come into our midst, and slain a mighty foe on our behalf! Let today be known as a day of feasting!"
The settlement immediately burst into a hub of activity; Giants ranging from warriors to herders and farmers and craftsmen hurried to prepare for the unplanned festivity.
"Feels a little scary," he side-eyed the Player. "Having people this big stomping around."
'That's more accurate than you think,' Tsaindorcus silently agreed. Most residents of this world were painfully 'small' compared to the 'giants' who could upheave their lives without sparing even an afterthought. "They're still people. Only ones larger than what you're used to."
"That's true," she was quick to agree, though was unable to continue her reply as they were ushered to the largest and centermost building of the village, excitedly welcomed in by busy Giants hauling various materials over.
Long trestle tables filled the longhouse in rows, wood creaking under the weight of the food and plates laden upon them. Savory aromas melded in the air, imparting a homely aura to the foreign dwelling.
Tsaindorcus glanced at the Player. Their eyes were wide open, overwhelmed by the hectic celebration. 'They've only been in this world for… a few months at most going by Aftershock cycles. It's natural for them to be unused to scenes like this.'
"A verse, a verse!" Bjørn called out over the din of the feast. "Skald Bodin, would you leave our savior unpraised?!"
The old white-beared Giant grumbled, but heartily belched out an impromptu poem complete with wild gesticulations and affected tones. He could only understand the gist of the performance thanks to prior exposure to other Frost Giant groups, but the Player appeared utterly lost.
'Auto-translation doesn't apply to recitals like these,' Tsaindorcus idly noted, watching his fellow invitee frantically ask a neighboring Giant about the meaning of the poem. Artforms rooted in language weren't covered by Mother's 'gift.' 'Even if it did, I doubt she'd understand anyways. There's a certain degree of familiarity one needs to have with their history and culture.'
"Sit here, friends," a heavily scarred Giant plopped two stools on top of the bench by the head of the table. "We were not expecting such an eventful day!"
"Thank you…?" The Player offered a hesitant smile.
"Helge Gunnarson," the warrior Giant lightly patted her shoulder, a comical sight considering the size differences between the two. "Just wait, Feathered One—some of these were hunted by me!"
"Neat," she put on a polite smile. Now that he paid more attention, there was a heaviness in the way her shoulders were set and a sort of weariness to her golden eyes. "Looking forward to it."
The two visitors sat in the center of the cheerful din, occasionally answering questions and making small talk with the many Frost Giants that rowdily came up to them. From time to time, the Player grabbed a piece of fruit or bread off the table to slowly nibble on.
'May as well,' Tsaindorcus followed her example and took a pear-shaped fruit for himself. 'This tastes familiar.'
Most things did, anyhow. It was pleasant enough, and he was there primarily to observe the Player anyways.
More roasted meat stacked on huge platters was brought out, carrying a painfully familiar scent with it. Helge quickly cut two thick slices with a dexterity that belied his size and laid them on the plates in front of Tsaindorcus and the Player.
'Dragon meat,' Tsaindorcus poked the slab of steak with his knife. He bore no ill will towards those who consumed the flesh of his kind—chromatic dragons usually made themselves many enemies—but he wasn't in the habit of doing so himself. 'In a region as isolated as the Azerlisias, it makes sense they would make use of every part—scales and bones for armor and weapons, skin for bags and clothing, and of course flesh for consumption.'
All in all, it was a rather primitive lifestyle that implied the Ævifjall didn't receive much in the way of visitors. 'The Baharuth Empire and Re-Estize Kingdom are rather close, aren't they? And then there's the demihumans who reside in Tob along with… the dwarves.'
Guilt washed over him in waves at the reminder of the stoutly built humanoids. Once upon a time, he had traveled with a dwarven ruler to slay otherworldly monsters. They had been a grim but reliable ally, only joining with the band of heroes to avenge his fallen family and besieged kingdom.
That person was the Runesmith King, the last royal of the dwarves of Azerlisia. Someone Tsaindorcus had called a friend during those tumultuous years.
A friend whose people he had abandoned and tried to forget—willful inaction brought forth by the demons of paranoia and overcaution. Would it truly have been difficult to check up on them after the king's passing? Was his excuse of refusing to directly intervene in the affairs of the masses just that: an excuse?
"Oooh!" The Player's excited cheer pulled him out of his ruminations as a variety of dishes were brought forth and laid upon the tables. "What's this?"
"Dragonflesh!" Helge proudly proclaimed. For earthbound beings like them, even slaying young dragons must be a troublesome affair. "It's not fresh from the hunt, but I can speak for its quality! Ha!"
"A-Ah," excitement was replaced by queasiness while the Player nudged the plate away from her. Did it remind them of young Oriculus? Tsaindorcus thought it a tad oversensitive; the Dragon Queen was more human than anything else. "I… I think I'll pass. Everything else looks really g-good though!"
"Hrm, I suppose there are those who refuse to eat meat," Helge accepted her explanation, slight misunderstanding aside, and took the plate away before replacing it with another stacked with fruits, vegetables, cheese, and bread. "But with your magical prowess, it is understandable."
'Spellcasters with some ban on eating meat?' Tsaindorcus half-heartedly sampled the rest of the spread, the flavors barely registering on his tongue. There were a few other types of meat: yeti and a type of mutton, along with some cattle-like creature. 'Wouldn't be the first time; although, I haven't seen any of them around aside from their bards—skalds I suppose they call them.'
"What's this?" He poked a slice of roast with a scent evocative of beef, hoping the question would distract him from his mournful introspection. "It doesn't taste quite like anything I've encountered before."
"Veturku," the Giant said through mouthfuls of food. "Wild one we ran into a week ago."
"The six-legged bulls outside? I recognized the Nuks, but I'm afraid to admit I don't know of the others…"
"Those are the ones," Helge confirmed. "We hold cows in pens for their milk, but the bulls are too aggressive to keep. Nuks are fine all around though."
"Interesting," he kept an ear open to the Player's conversation with Bjørn. Something about the village's relationship with the local Frost Dragons. "You know, I've seen a few mountainfolk domesticate massive worms instead of cattle."
"I'll admit, we have not run into any worm monsters," Helge sandwiched a hunk of meat and cheese between two loaves of bread. "Though I cannot speak for the other clans living in the Azerlisias."
"How spread apart are all of you?"
"We tend to stick to our own mountains," the warrior shrugged. "Traders will come by every now and then, skirmishes occur occasionally, but everyone usually keeps to themselves."
"Understandable. It must be difficult navigating foreign territory with terrain as perilous—"
"I'm gonna go get some air," the Player quietly excused herself from the table and hopped off the stool, then the bench. She stopped before the towering doors, taking in a deep breath as she tried to shove them open—and failed. "Um." Her face broke out in a furious blush. "Can someone help me open this?"
A Giant who happened to be standing next to the entrance wordlessly held it open with one hand, allowing the vicious chill to creep in and the flustered and dispirited Player to stalk out.
"I'll check on her. We'll return shortly," Tsaindorcus said apologetically, swiftly leaping off the table and easily opening the tall doors with a light tap. Footsteps should still be visible if the snowfall was only this heavy, but that was assuming they didn't fly—ah, they chose to walk.
He tracked them down a steep pathway that crossed a small evergreen woodland and led to a ledge where the Dragon Lord found the Player sitting on the edge of.
His 'boots' crunched against the snow as he eventually came to a stop next to them, pondering why he bothered rushing after them in the first place.
Between them was a distance fraught with silence. At the very least, his presence didn't seem unwelcome.
They stood there for a few minutes more 'til the Player saw fit to speak. Or maybe, like many others, she could not tolerate the presence of such horrid loneliness.
"The dragon they were eating," her murmur broke through the howling wind. "They were telling me how Frost Dragons would pick off their kids, ambush them when they were alone."
Tsaindorcus waited for her to finish the thought.
"It made me think—" She halted. "I really don't know enough about anything to judge anyone, do I? But even when I know that, I just keep… keep messing up. Keep thinking that I'm strong enough to push on."
Snow accumulated on blonde and platinum hair alike, uncaring of the distinctions in their existences.
"It was like this back at my old—home," the Player's finger aimlessly traced the snow-covered ground. "Never getting things right. Always feeling as if I need to hold everything in. I don't wanna be a bother, y'know?"
"How so?"
"So, my um—how do I say it—the person I'm courting! Yeah, the person I'm courting, her name's Draudillon," The Player mulled over their next words. "Draudillon… I, well—I know she'd listen to me. I know she'd do her best to understand and be patient and kind and, and everything, but…"
She cast her gaze out towards the summits of the Azerlisias. "I want to feel better. I can tell that me being all mopey is eating her up inside, and I hate that. I hate making her have to worry about me all the time, I hate seeing her look all sad when she thinks I'm not watching, I-I hate how I just—just can't feel better!"
Tsaindorcus side-eyed the sniffling Player. Wet droplets flowed from her eyes and froze as they descended to the white-covered surface of the ledge.
"S-Sorry," she apologized, slightly mystifying the Dragon Lord. Was it really something worth apologizing for? "It's probably weird for some stranger to dump all their—their problems on you."
"Listening is the least I can do for my rescuer," he politely accepted the unnecessary apology. "Then, if it's not too presumptuous of me to ask, why don't you tell her?"
"H-Huh?" The Player wiped her eyes. "Tell her what?"
"What you told me just now," Tsaindorcus patiently clarified. "It appears that the two of you are rather close to each other. Wouldn't it be better if you let her know what you're feeling?"
"I guess… but I don't wanna make her even more stressed—"
"You not informing your partner is certainly placing a heavier burden upon them," a hint of exasperation crawled into his tone. "She likely feels as if you find her unworthy of your trust and despises herself for it. Is that your intention?"
The hypocrisy of the statement did not escape the Dragon Lord as a self-deprecative grin crossed his face.
"No!" The Player vehemently denied. "I, I do trust her! I really do! I just don't wanna make things harder when she's already so busy—"
"Then tell them."
In the name of all the souls he governed, Tsaindorcus never would've believed that he would be helping another Player with relationship problems. Honestly, it reminded him of the way Riku turned into a stuttering wreck whenever that High-Elf girl was nearby…
Nostalgic, in its own way. His time with the 'Thirteen'—more, countless more—Heroes was filled to the brim with similar experiences only he and a few others still remembered.
'One day, Rigrit and the rest will pass too. Though it's not impossible they'll end up surviving me,' he forlornly thought while the Player perused some papers in the absence of conversation. Was it work entrusted to her by young Oriculus? How odd, that a Player would end up heeding the words of someone so much weaker than they. Although, the seal did look familiar… 'Ah. Rhell did use that symbol, didn't he?'
It felt like a bad joke, even from his estranged comrade. Did the Seven Colored Dragon Lord dictate Ordelia use that as their royal seal in a moment of careless absentmindedness? No, it couldn't be—the Draconic Kingdom's seal had been different in years of its inception: shortly after the advent of the Demon Gods.
'So, what? He was following protocol?' The very idea was ridiculous to the Dragon Lord. 'Is this all some tastelessly constructed joke? An experiment testing this region's reaction to the sigil used by one of our own?"
"Is there something on my face?" Her question startled him out of his contemplation. "Ugh, sorry, I'm a total mess—"
"No. Just that seal on the papers you're reading," Tsaindorcus pointed at the symbol. "It reminds me of one from some historical records I've had the pleasure of perusing."
"You must really like history," the Player remarked in a weak effort to carry the revived conversation. "Coming here to research, knowing about some old symbols…"
"It's one of the few things I have left," Tsaindorcus couldn't completely keep the bitterness from his voice. "Somebody has to 'like' it lest it be lost forever."
"Oh," she awkwardly turned her face away to where the edge of dawn tread the horizon. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bring up something bad."
"Change is natural," he humorlessly chuckled. "It's me who simply can't let go of what once was."
"Is that bad? It's not like all changes are good."
"It doesn't matter if a change is good or not once it's happened," Tsaindorcus shook his head. "It's more important to focus on how you plan to address it."
"What if I'm the one changing?" She whispered. "If I change to, to something terrible, then a lot of people get hurt, right?"
They took a second to cover a poorly concealed sniffle before continuing. "I don't wanna d-disappoint everyone, but I don't know what I should do."
'Who does?' He considered their curled up form. 'Who can say for certain that they know the indisputably correct course of action?'
She was no omniscient god; she was a false numen who presided over a miniscule portion of an insignificant race. Her divinity, a lie bestowed upon her by the masses. The admiration and awe she received, a herald of dreadful history repeating itself as it did every hundred years.
Then, was it not strange that the few people who knew the truth trusted and loved the Player even more than those who worshiped her in their ignorance?
Was there something to learn there? Tsaindorcus felt doubtful; he had already given friendship a try, but it was so very tiring. Rigrit, Rathiel… were there even ten among their number? He saw his fellow Dragon Councillors more as colleagues than confidantes, and the other leaders he collaborated with weren't much different.
Maybe the Player was fortunate. Lucky in a way he wasn't.
Tsaindorcus didn't fault them: hadn't he received innumerable chances over his long life? Perhaps the Eight had won in the end after all—broken him and his brethren on a level their corruption could not.
"It," he began. "Is far easier to give yourself over to evil than it is to hold onto good. Your struggles, your guilt—these feelings that plague you so—never forget them."
"Forever?"
"You wouldn't be the first person who would have to."
The Azerlisias were cold, but never had they felt as chilly as they did now.
"Guess not," the wind whipped the Player's hair, golden strands covering whatever expression she wore. "Forever's a long time."
"Without a doubt," he readily agreed. "Yet there are those who must keep watch throughout the long eons nonetheless."
"Maybe. I dunno," the Player laughed: a sad, pathetic thing that died at its conception. "I'm not cut out for what you're saying."
"Even if it all seems meaningless, even if the sum total of your works amount to naught but dust in the wind, stride onwards," What did she envision for herself in the far-off sky? "Then when the end comes, you might be allowed to close your eyes with no regrets."
"Easy to say," she muttered while kicking a pebble off the ledge and watching it fall down the mountain. "I'm not that strong."
"Find yourself an anchor. A reason to struggle in the face of the many sorrows you will surely continue to witness. It can be an object, a place, an ideal, a person, a mere memory—but whatever you choose, never turn your back on it."
The Dragon Lord's mind drifted off into the sea of recollections: friends long gone, vistas ravaged beyond repair, cultures and history lost to the cruelties of time, the fundamental nature of his world irrevocably changed. Ideals he once held twisted and warped by his own excuses.
But even so—
"When all else is lost, whether it be by your own hands or others'," he suddenly noticed that his hand was reaching for the stars and quickly pulled it back. "You will at least have that weight reminding you of who you are."
"What's yours?" The Player held her windswept hair away from her face and turned to directly look at him. "Your 'reason,' I mean."
What was his? Friendship had become a rarity for him, true comrades a luxury rather than something to fight for, the nations he managed he did so out of responsibility and practicality rather than any sort of real devotion, his memories filled with a double portion of tragedy—really, how could a question exhaust him this thoroughly?
"I suppose…" Tsaindorcus slowly pieced together his answer. "Home. That's my reason. Home."
A home that felt less like one with each cycle of the sun and moon.
"I get that," she nodded with the most enthusiasm he had seen her display today. "Dunno how to say it—but I get it."
"Is that so? I'm glad to hear it," like Riku, it seemed she was also an outsider who had chosen to side with the World. Like Riku, she would suffer as a result of his actions and inaction. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, but…" Guilt consumed the Dragon Lord, putting an end to the stream of worthless words spewing from his mouth.
"You have to go, right? Want a ride down?"
'Don't smile,' he thought to himself. 'Not like that, and not to somebody like me.'
It was a painfully nostalgic image. An image evoking a happier time soured by his decisions. He didn't deserve to be a recipient of heartfelt concern, not anymore.
"I think I'll take my time," he reciprocated with an equally forced smile. "It's been a while since I've been able to appreciate a view like the Azerlisias."
"How about an angel to go with you?" The Player insisted, her expression one of genuine worry. "Bjørn told me it's really dangerous around here—"
Tsaindorcus raised a hand, silencing her misgivings. "It was only the Minotaur monstrosity that caught me off-guard. You needn't trouble yourself; the natural obstacles of this range are within my abilities to traverse and avoid."
"If you're sure… See you later then?"
"One day, should our decisions allow," that was if Rhell didn't slaughter her first. After seeing the Player with his own eyes, he knew that they lacked the experience and mindset to properly contest against the millennia old Dragon Lord. 'Another life thrown into chaos because of our errors.'
The Platinum Dragon Lord rose to his feet, conscience and soul heavy, even more so than usual. Did he tell them what Rhell had in mind? Should he spit upon the lengthy history shared between him and an old once-friend?
"There is no grand destiny awaiting you, Yuriko. No intricate fate or foretold future," Yuriko Hanami—he etched the name into eternal memory before making his way to the settlement, leaving the ruminating angel behind with one last reassurance. "Your choices are your own."
In the end, it seemed he was still the same craven deceiver he'd always been.
"…" She opened her mouth only to close it again when she was unable to find something to say. Tsaindorcus waved one last time, leaving Yuriko alone with her thoughts on that desolate ledge.
'I came here to test their mettle but ended up advising her instead,' he was relieved she was a clear departure from the Greed Kings, but pained at what he knew awaited her. 'I've achieved what I needed; now to pay a visit to the Dwarf Kingdom—"
"Friend!" He looked up at the Frost Giant who had accosted him. "How does the Feathered One fare?"
"She's in the middle of figuring things out," it was no longer his place to intervene. Doing so would be denying her the chance to grow as a person. "I'm sure she'll eventually return to the feast, but in the meanwhile, I have unfinished business in the depths below the Azerlisias. I don't think I'll be able to rejoin all of you, unfortunately."
"What business could take you so far then, Riku Aganeia?" The Huntmaster curiously inquired. "And will you brave these mountains on your own?"
"Relatives of an old friend," Tsaindorcus vaguely answered. "I've already imposed enough on you and your hunt, but thank you for your concern."
Bjørn bellowed with laughter. "Truly, you aren't as simple as you appear! Far be it from me to obstruct your journey then. Go in peace and know that you will always have a place at our hearths."
He dipped into a deep bow and headed towards the path leading to a secluded grove—
"Oi, Aganeia!" Bjørn tossed him a large haversack. "Take this! Wouldn't be caught unprepared in a place like this, eh?! Haha!"
Tsaindorcus gracefully accepted the bag of various survival supplies and returned the Huntmaster's wave. There was some measure of morbid humor to be found in how they ate dragons yet were giving provisions to another, but he was long used to such absurdities.
With the village out of sight, the Dragon Lord contemplated the next step in his outing. He knew dwarves lived in the general vicinity: the descendants of the people one of his companions once ruled—a people who, like many others, had suffered in the wake of the Demon Gods.
In spite of his shame, Tsaindorcus knew there would be no simple solution to the dwarves' problems, just as there wasn't for Yuriko. As a keeper of the balance, he had to take countless factors into account when directly intervening in any situation.
Even so, it curdled his blood to consider doing nothing at all, not when it was so bluntly shoved into his face. He wanted to avoid drastic measures, but… No, he was getting ahead of himself—needed to get there first before drawing any conclusions.
'Feoh Raidho. One of the Dwarven mining cities that had withstood the cataclysm two centuries ago,' he made up his mind. 'Or have they reclaimed and repaired their capital? Seems unlikely with dragons around.'
Thunderous industry resounding in an underground city full of life, masterpieces of artifice and runecraft found at every corner, a sturdy stronghold built to weather whatever storm came its way—until it didn't.
'The legacy of the Magic Craftsman, the Runesmith King,' he shouldered the Frost Giants' gifts and converted a portion of his soul into essence, calling forth the image of an ancient and mighty fortress half-buried in a mountain. 'Friend, forgive this fool for having abandoned your people for so long.'
He couldn't explain why he was bothering. Did he think disrupting the natural order to save a miniscule, insignificant kingdom would absolve him of his sins? Did he think he'd be forgiven for rescuing some but not others?
'One person can only do so much,' the excuse felt weak, even to himself. 'Attempting to protect everyone will only result in the safety of nobody.'
"『World Teleportation』."
One task at a time. He'd accomplished one today; there was still time for another. And after that… Tsaindorcus didn't know.
By the time the Feathered One returned to the Frost Giant village, all traces of 'Riku Aganeia' had vanished from the vaunted heights of the Ævifjall.
"I'm surprised these many adventurers signed on, Your Majesty," Martin said without a trace of astonishment. "They're usually too free-spirited to consider tying themselves down in the way your offer demands."
"A bit of easy money, a strong guarantee of safety, some 'respect' and praise," the nib of her quill dug into the parchment as Draudillon bitterly replied. "And they'll come barking like stray dogs chasing after scraps."
If only adventurers had collaborated more closely with the Crown, if they had some more loyalty to people other than themselves, the Draconic Kingdom may not have suffered so many casualties or lost the cities, towns, and villages they did.
'A unified Humanity. Is that too much to ask for? Even the damn beastmen collaborate better than nations of the west. Their heroes don't run about indulging in excesses to the exclusion of their homeland's wellbeing.'
If they'd chosen to become more than mercenaries for hire, Yuriko might not have had to bear the burden of guilt weighing upon her conscience.
'It's unseemly for a ruler to blame others for their own shortcomings,' Draudillon harshly chastised herself. 'Everything that befell the kingdom—Yuriko—is because of me.'
"There's Crystal Tear, no?"
"Very funny," she dryly commented, mind moving from one unpleasant topic to another. "Next you're going to say that Cerabrate's foremost interest was protecting the kingdom."
"He certainly had his own motives," the Prime Minister agreed.
"Your cousin and that cleric are tolerable," Draudillon conceded with a sigh. "However, those two are exceptions rather than the norm. When the invasions got bad, well…"
She left the rest unsaid. By this point, both of them understood the sentiment the other held without it needing to be vocalized. They silently read through more appeals, Draudillon thankful that the topic had been dropped until Martin said something that chilled her heart.
"Does Lady Yuriko know?" He casually asked.
"About?" She didn't have to ask for clarification. It was clear what the Prime Minister meant.
"Cerabrate, Your Majesty," Martin looked deathly serious. "She's yet to mention him and his companions, so I could only assume she doesn't."
"She knows of Crystal Tear," Draudillon equivocated. "And it's not as if that man and I did anything together."
The dragon queen wondered what expression the angel would wear if they knew. Disappointment? Disdain? Disgust? Yuriko had overlooked so many of her failings already—what if this was the one to push them past the edge?
How laughable, that she expected the angel to communicate their woes to her when she brushed her own shameful deeds under the carpet! How detestable, that she still harbored the hope of being forgiven nonetheless!
"Forgive me for stepping out of my place, but does Her Majesty not think it would be for the better if they were made aware by your words instead of another's—"
"Where's the alcohol?" She asked Martin with closed eyes while pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Your Majesty entrusted all of it to Lady Yuriko a couple of weeks ago," Martin primly answered. "A surprising decision at the time, I must say."
"Of course I did," Draudillon self-derisively scoffed. Her hand blindly sought out the inkwell only to accidentally knock it over. "Fuck."
"I could go procure a bottle if Your Majesty so desires," he offered in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, as if she was some fragile piece of glass set to shatter with a touch.
Maybe she was. What other explanation could there be? She had n-nothing to complain about, no impending disasters knocking on the door, so wasn't it ungrateful for her to feel this way?
"It's not that," she tiredly stared at the puddle of ink spreading over the desk and dripping over the sides. "I'm just—"
Something inside her snapped.
"I'm tired," Draudillon's voice shook. "I'm so fucking tired. Even after the beastmen aren't a problem anymore, I'm still so tired. Does that make any sense? Does it make sense to not feel content even when all your problems are being fixed? Martin, are you listening? You're listening, right? You're not just tuning me out, are you? Hey. Have you ever taken something innocent and good and tainted it with your own hands? Have you? No, of course you have. We both have. How many people have I sent to their deaths? How many people would still be alive if I worked a little harder? How many people have to live with waking nightmares for the rest of their lives because of my incompetence? You think I'm crazy, don't you? It'll be weird if I didn't go crazy after the past few decades. Maybe I've been going insane this entire time. Maybe Yuriko's just some fever dream my brain is concocting before I get eaten. That'll be funny wouldn't it? That I'm somehow coming up with something so utterly inane before dying. Besides, maybe it's better if it's all just a delusion. At least it'll mean I didn't fuck things up so badly. I apologized. Gods know I did. She forgave me—of course, what did I expect?—but I don't feel any better. Is that normal? Is it normal to still feel this guilty even after you've been forgiven? She's too soft, offering forgiveness to me of all people. Hey, did you know that she never killed anybody until she came across me? She was so, so happy just being able to see stars in the sky. Could you believe that? Can you believe being overjoyed by something so trivial? And guess what? It's not like that anymore. Her eyes don't sparkle, she doesn't laugh—I've sent her out for a vacation, but everyday she comes back just as tired and miserable. Forests, lakes, mountains, all these things she used to get excited over haven't been cheering her up ever since we got back from Kruurat. I ask all the time, but she never, ever tells me about how she's feeling anymore, not truthfully. Gods, she doesn't even remember the last time she's eaten. Ha! My first time being courted, and this is how I treat my partner. You think I don't know what the other kingdoms say behind my back? You think I don't know why none of them have ever sent any betrothal offers in the past? 'Hag,' 'Mongrel,' 'Beastman Chow'—would anyone be happy being constantly called that all the time? Do you think hearing that makes me happy? Do you think it made me happy, having to, to prance around like some brat just so I could get a few more people to fight for our cause? Do you? I don't know why the kingdom hasn't already ousted me yet. I don't know why you still put up with me. Y-Yuriko's the only person not from the Draconic Kingdom who likes, loves me for some godsforsaken reason, and I pushed her into a fucking war. I, I just want to see her smile again and—hic—not that fake one she puts up to try and make me feel b-better—hic. She was so much happier before, before she met me. Martin, do you know how it feels to ruin—hic—someone you l-love? Do you have any idea—?!"
"Your Majesty," Martin fell to one knee. "I cannot pretend to understand the full weight of your crown, nor can I fully comprehend the experiences you have undergone—but even so, please remember that I, along with the rest of Your Majesty's subjects, have entrusted our lives to you."
Draudillon remained silent, hands covering her surely unsightly face as he carried on. "You've led the Draconic Kingdom through decades of raiding and warfare. You've found us an unimaginably powerful ally to champion our causes. Even now, your wisdom guides us to an unprecedented golden age. I, for one, do not believe for a moment that Your Majesty is the lowly person she thinks herself to be."
Martin stood up and pulled out a handkerchief from the chest pocket of his jacket. "I refuse to cry alongside Your Majesty, if only because I believe my tears are of no worth to both you or the kingdom, but if Her Majesty chooses to stubbornly strive as she always had," he wiped away the spilled ink. "Know that the entire kingdom is yours to command. Where one person falls short, the many might persevere."
"H-Haha," Her body shook, unsure of whether to release a laugh or sob. "Is that really any way to speak to your queen?"
"I apologize for my impertinence."
"There's nothing to forgive," Draudillon said after calming herself with a series of slow, shuddering breaths. "I should be the one apologizing for showing you such an embarrassing sight. Let's just… get back to work."
"Very well," the Prime Minister smoothed out his clothing and returned to his seat. "Your Majesty's generals have questions about some of the proposed restructuring…"
For the next few hours, she did her best to concentrate on the planning and policy-making that still needed to be done, but found she couldn't quite take her mind off her more intimate troubles.
'When she comes back, I'll ask,' a spark of determination surged through her veins, almost chasing out the vestiges of humiliation from her earlier display. 'No more tip-toeing around it; what did Martin say, 'stubbornly strive?' Yes, do that. Stop being so worried and pathetic, and just ask—'
Someone knocked at the door. Martin glanced towards the sound and then back at her before getting up and bowing. "It appears we have a late-night visitor, Your Majesty."
"You think?" Draudillon muttered. She knew who it was before they were even visible.
He walked to the wooden entryway, pushing it open as he greeted the person on the other side.
"Lady Yuriko. Please, come in," Martin stepped out of the way while shooting a meaningful look back at the dragon queen. "Her Majesty is free at the moment if you need something."
"It's okay. I didn't mean to interrupt you guys," her beloved was at the door. Draudillon had made up her mind, but now that Yuriko was at the door… "I can come back later—"
"We wrapped up our business a few minutes ago," Martin firmly nudged them into the room and closed the door behind him. "Take your time; there's no pressing matters for the rest of the day."
"Wait!" They spun around only to find that he had already left. "O-Okay. Um," Yuriko gave an awkward wave. "Hi. Sooo…"
'Now. Confront her now.'
They were so far away: a mere room's width worth of separation that seemed as unapproachable as the earth must have felt when it looked at the stars.
So she reached out to the stars. Her Star.
"Draudillon—" "Yuriko."
They stared at each other for the briefest of moments before the angel broke eye contact. "Y-You can go first."
"Ahem," Yuriko looked about as nervous as the dragon queen felt. That made her feel… better? Apprehensive? Either way, there was only one way and that was forward. "I know that you've been going through a lot as of late, and I apologize in advance if I'm being too presumptuous, but can we…"
'Tongue, don't fail me now,' she pushed through her fears. "Can we try figuring these problems out—together?"
"Oh," Yuriko's voice was filled with relief, a solace that mirrored itself in both their postures. "I actually was about to ask the same thing."
"Great. I mean—yes, great," Draudillon nodded and suspired deeply, getting up from her chair to sit on the sofa with a poise she could only maintain thanks to long years of practice as she gestured at the empty spot next to her. "Let's talk."
