Dragons Have Filthy Tastes
The Tiranus Empire was the only nation on the continent that bore the title of empire.
Having crushed its neighbors by force and swollen its borders, Tiranus held the widest territory in continental history. Naturally, the nations it had broken ground their teeth for revenge—yet not one of them dared lay a hand on the empire. More precisely, none of them even dared to try.
Bloated by conquest, the empire's military might was overwhelming. Above all, the three great knight orders known as the Manticore, Fenrir, and Aquila were walking calamities in their own right. Wherever those three orders passed, nothing remained—like a swarm of locusts—and they became symbols of pure terror.
Even with three such orders already under his command, Emperor Kazan Lukedecion was not satisfied. He founded a fourth.
The Bahamut Knights.
Where the others took fierce beasts—lion, wolf, eagle—as their emblems, Bahamut claimed the strongest creature on earth: the dragon. And why a dragon? Because the new order's commander, Sylvia Leonhardt, was a Dragon Rider who had bound her soul in contract to one.
Citizens of the empire poured into the founding ceremony plaza like storm clouds, eager to celebrate the birth of a new hero and the launch of a new knight order. At last the moment arrived for Sylvia Leonhardt, commander of the Bahamut Knights, to appear upon the dais.
But—
"Where in the world did she go?!"
The master of ceremonies hissed at his subordinates, cold sweat running down his face. Find the guest of honor—now. Sylvia was nowhere to be seen. In the end the trembling man dragged his shaking legs up onto the platform alone.
"Ahem! First, allow me to offer my deepest gratitude to all the distinguished guests who have honored this occasion despite your busy schedules…"
He rambled on, stalling for time as best he could—but the longer he talked, the colder the expression grew on the wrinkled face of Emperor Kazan Lukedecion seated in the place of honor.
I'm dead. I'm finished. There's nothing for it—I'll have to tell the truth…
Just as the master of ceremonies steeled himself to confess Sylvia's absence, a massive roar of cheers erupted from the citizens packed into the square.
"L-Look over there! A dragon!"
"It's the Dragon Rider! That's the commander of the Bahamut Knights—Lady Sylvia Leonhardt!"
"Waaaaaah!"
Seraphina the dragon swept into view, red scales gleaming, circled the air with elegant ease, and touched down softly near the dais. Sylvia vaulted lightly from her back and scrambled up onto the platform.
"Could you not arrive on time for once? I nearly lost my head out there!"
the master of ceremonies whispered through clenched teeth.
"Hehe, sorry. Something came up."
"Ahem! Everyone, please welcome with warm applause the inaugural commander of the Bahamut Knights—Lady Sylvia Leonhardt!"
And so, by the skin of its teeth, the founding ceremony managed to reach its end.
Crowned as the head of a brand-new knight order, Sylvia spent her days too busy to catch her breath. Drafting new regulations and keeping the knights in line was exhausting work. Without the secretaries assisting at her side, she would have collapsed from overwork long ago.
After clawing through a hellish mountain of duties, she finally rose from her chair, hoping for even a brief tea break to catch her breath. From beyond the corridor drifted a familiar voice.
"I'm telling you, our commander only got that seat through pure dumb luck."
A very familiar voice. A massive man with a smooth bald head and a great scar carved across his face—Vargan Toros, vice-commander of the Bahamut Knights. Blissfully unaware that Sylvia was listening nearby, he pressed on with mounting swagger.
"The commander's just a girl barely past her coming-of-age. She only got the hat because her house is powerful and she happened to contract a dragon. If I'd had a dragon, I'd be the commander—obviously!"
"But I've heard rumors that the commander is a Sword Master…"
"That's obviously a load of rubbish! Since when is Sword Master some dog's name you throw around? How does a woman who just came of age become a Sword Master?!"
Vargan cackled. Sylvia's face went ice-cold.
The name Leonhardt she had inherited was that of a ducal house—blood second in nobility only to the imperial line itself. And thanks to the title of Dragon Rider, whispers had already begun to spread that she had seized the commander's seat despite lacking true skill with a blade.
In truth, Sylvia had expected envy and jealousy from the moment she accepted the post. She was young, and above all she was a woman. She knew exactly how she would look in a knight order that was a man's world. Still, she had believed that if she simply did her duty in silence, the knights would come to acknowledge her in time—and she had been prepared to endure a certain amount of gossip.
But if the vice-commander who was supposed to help lead the order was the one spearheading the slander, that changed everything.
I was going to let it slide… but he's crossed the line.
The man meant to serve as a bridge between commander and rank-and-file was openly driving a knife into his commander's back.
This is the chance to settle the hierarchy once and for all.
Sylvia decided she would not brush this aside. She would turn the incident into an opportunity—prove her skill and tighten the order's discipline in one stroke.
"Is that so? Did my seat look that easy to take?"
Having overheard every word of the backbiting, Sylvia stepped into view and answered in a low voice. At her sudden appearance Vargan and the knights flinched and hastily straightened their postures.
"Hm? Vargan."
"V-Vice-Commander Vargan!"
At Sylvia's call he snapped out his rank and name. He was not entirely without sense; realizing his commander had heard every scrap of his abuse, cold sweat beaded on his brow.
"Your pride in your swordsmanship must be considerable—enough to openly scorn me."
"N-No, Commander! That is—we were only talking casually and I misspoke for a moment. I have committed an unforgivable offense!"
"Spare me the excuses. I am asking for your true feelings. Do you sincerely believe you can best me with a blade?"
Sensing the situation had already spun beyond salvage, Vargan exhaled hard and spoke with a to-hell-with-it resolve.
"…Haa. Yes. Frankly, Commander, you only just held your coming-of-age ceremony. I, on the other hand, am a veteran who survived ten full years in the terrifying Manticore Knights. In pure swordsmanship alone, isn't it only natural that I would come out ahead?"
At Vargan's bold claim the knights beside him stole cautious glances. They dared not openly agree, but their eyes already sided with him.
"Fine. If you're that confident, how about a light spar with me?"
"…Pardon?"
"I mean a duel. Don't tell me you're afraid."
"…I must decline. Please forgive my mistake. I will never again speak lightly of the Commander."
Despite an appearance that called to mind a savage barbarian, Vargan was surprisingly cautious. He took pride in his blade, but winning a spar against the commander would gain him nothing. It might even cost him her favor—and with it the vice-commander's post itself.
"Even if you win, I swear there will be no private retaliation using my rank. You have my word. Or better yet—simply clashing swords would be dull. Shall we put a small wager on it?"
"A… wager, Commander?"
"Yes. If you beat me, I'll grant you one wish—anything you want."
"A wish, you say?"
Sylvia's lips curved in a peculiar little smile. She leaned in close to Vargan's ear and whispered something intimate.
"That's right. If you win, I'll spread my legs for you right then and there."
Vargan's eyes flew wide.
Sylvia was a beauty enough to make a man's head spin. Night-black hair that shimmered like the evening sky, a sharply defined nose, features in perfect harmony. A lean, athletic body honed by relentless training—smooth, without a scrap of excess—and long, clean limbs that made her look almost like a living doll. Her chest might have been a touch modest, yet that very slimness lent her a unique allure.
To Vargan she was a noble star in the night sky, something he could only ever gaze up at from below. And that woman had just volunteered to open her legs beneath him. What man alive would refuse?
"Very well! Those words you just spoke—I'll make certain you regret them!"
And so the duel between Sylvia and Vice-Commander Vargan was set.
Word of their duel spread through the entire knight order in an instant. The rumor reached not only the Bahamut Knights but the empire's other three great orders as well, and before anyone could blink the training grounds were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with spectators.
Among them stood the commanders of the three great orders themselves: Gareth Anselm of the Manticore Knights, Hakan Bark of the Fenrir Knights, and Lucas Corvus of the Aquila Knights. Acquainted with Sylvia from her ducal house, the three men made no effort to hide their interest.
"So that little brat grew up like this, eh?"
"She takes after the duchess—turned out remarkably beautiful. Fortunate she didn't take after the duke."
"Vargan's swordsmanship is the real thing. I'll vouch for his skill myself. Sylvia might get hurt."
Gareth, commander of the Manticore Knights where Vargan had once served, propped his chin on his hand and muttered. The three commanders watched the spar with the air of men ready to intervene at the first sign of real danger, while the knights crowding around them swallowed hard and ringed the dueling ground.
"When did this many spectators show up?"
"Commander, forfeit even now. You hold the title of inaugural commander of the Bahamut Knights—would it do to be humiliated the moment you begin? Of course, the wish remains valid either way."
"My, spare me the useless fretting and just come at me."
Sylvia smiled gently and adjusted her grip on her sword.
"As promised—no mana, and no dragon's power?"
"Of course. So you can stop worrying about losing your life."
With mana she could have crushed Vargan even more effortlessly, but this duel was a pure contest of swordsmanship, and they had agreed not to use it. Sylvia shed her cumbersome armor and took up a slender rapier in nothing but a thin shirt. Even for a spar, discarding armor entirely was a blatant provocation—and an insult. A blue vein bulged roughly across Vargan's brow.
"I'll make you regret this!!"
Vargan swung his greatsword in a massive arc and charged. It was a heavy, crushing cut that proved every one of his ten years tempered in the Manticore Knights. Sylvia simply extended her rapier—light, elegant. Against the bastard sword's brutal weight, the delicate blade in her hand looked ready to snap the instant they touched.
It did not.
In the split second the swords met, Sylvia gave her wrist the slightest twist and sent the bastard sword's trajectory skidding harmlessly outward.
"Urgh—!"
Vargan lost his balance and tumbled ignominiously across the dirt. Laughter exploded among the onlookers.
"Kahaha! Vargan, what the hell was that?!"
"All that dust on your bald head—I thought you'd finally grown some hair!"
Mockery poured in from every side. Vargan's face went scarlet; he surged back to his feet, grinding his teeth.
"Raaaaagh!"
With a snarl of pure rage he flailed the greatsword in savage arcs, but Sylvia never so much as shifted her feet. She turned every blow aside with nothing but the finest snap of her wrist, toying with the giant as if it were child's play—skill bordering on the divine.
In the end the duel reached its anticlimactic close with almost insulting speed. The greatsword clattered noisily across the ground. A silver rapier rested beneath Vargan's chin.
"Well? Do you concede?"
"…I lost."
He bowed his head beneath crushing humiliation.
"From now on, you'll listen carefully when I speak."
"Kh… Y-Yes, Commander."
As Sylvia's back receded, a venomous light gathered in Vargan's eyes.
"Seraphina. Where on earth have you been?"
Seraphina, nowhere to be seen throughout the entire duel, finally slunk into view. Sylvia fixed her with a look.
"Nowhere special. I got a little bored, so I dropped by a brothel."
"A brothel? You can't have gone to buy a woman."
"Obviously I went to sell myself."
At Seraphina's matter-of-fact reply, Sylvia pressed a hand to her forehead and let out a long, deep sigh.
"No! Why would you go out of your way to do something that insane?! What if your identity gets exposed?! What happens if word spreads that the dragon contracted to a knight commander is working in a brothel?!"
"I put a magical disguise over my human form. No one will ever find out. Relax."
"That is not the point! Why—why would a being like a dragon go around playing the whore?! If you want a man that badly, just pay for one!"
"Hmm~ But then where's the thrill?"
Sylvia glared at her. She knew perfectly well she could never change Seraphina's tastes, so in the end she simply turned away and stalked into her room.
Watching Sylvia disappear, Seraphina ran her tongue slowly across her lips.
"You bound your soul to mine. Sooner or later, you'll understand this pleasure too."