Chapter 286: Traces (4)
Chapter 286: Traces (4)
Scenes of the past overlapped atop the ruined lair.
Fafnir muttered to himself as he gazed upon the wealth he had amassed over an immeasurable span of time.
[I need a successor.]
However, every other dragon had perished during the Great War.
Because they were the most powerful, they had fought at the very front; consequently, they were the first to fall under concentrated attacks.
Wary of the dragons' might, the Evil God had gone so far as to track down their hidden nurseries, slaughtering every single hatchling without exception.
Fafnir, who had somehow survived through his characteristically stubborn nature, was the last dragon remaining on the Eurelia Continent.
And he could never produce a successor alone.
No matter how powerful a dragon was, asexual reproduction was impossible.
There was a reason why encouraging childbirth had been a primary agenda of the Dragon Council. It was born from a sense of crisis—the realization that dragons were innately attracted to humans over their own kind, and if they weren't careful, the species might truly go extinct.
Regardless, if the dragon race was to end with him, how on earth was he to create a successor?
Curious, I continued to watch. Once again, time accelerated, rapidly showing Fafnir’s subsequent actions.
Though Fafnir greedily hoarded wealth, he seemingly had no qualms about spending it, occasionally indulging in luxuries.
But this time, he was spending money with a clear purpose.
He began scattering his mountain-like piles of gold to sweep up all sorts of rare materials.
For the nations just beginning to rebuild after the Great War, the appearance of such a "big spender" was nothing short of a godsend. They handed over supplies that had become useless now that the long war was over, receiving vast amounts of gold from his lair in return.
Having completed these preparations, Fafnir’s next move was to pillage other dragon lairs.
He wasn't after gold or silver—though those dragons had likely hoarded a fair amount themselves.
His goal was to steal the research records of dragons, each of whom was said to be the equal of an Archmage.
Making full use of the teleportation plaza in front of the Dragon Council, Fafnir thoroughly ransacked the empty lairs of the other ninety-nine elders.
In the process, some teleportation gates broke or malfunctioned after being injected with mana that didn't match their wavelengths... but since he only needed to travel through them once, he didn't care.
So that’s why they were all broken.
It also explained why nothing had been discovered in the last three hundred years despite all the dragon lairs being empty.
Fafnir had already stripped them bare...!
Having seized the magic of every elder-class dragon, Fafnir immediately embarked on a new study.
A mad endeavor: dragon cloning.
If there was no suitable successor, why not simply make one? If there was no mate? Then he would just clone himself.
It was a choice born of a truly deranged idea.
Naturally, every attempt failed.
At first, he couldn't even get past the embryo stage. Later, he managed to culture them to the level of a hatchling, but the moment they came into contact with him, their egos collapsed, leading to death or leaving them as empty shells.
So, he raised them while strictly avoiding all contact. This time, the problem was their lifespan.
Ten years.
For a dragon, the ultimate long-lived species, that lifespan was far too short.
Furthermore, because contact was minimized, the personalities of the clones began to resemble his younger self.
To put it bluntly, he was only creating ruffians.
Imagine creating a clone with the expectation that it would consistently hunt cultists and, should the Evil God ever be resurrected, become a hero like Rahim to turn the tide—only for that clone to one day hold its sword backward, claiming it wanted to conquer the world.
Even a Fafnir who had matured through various experiences would feel his blood boil.
Realizing his direction was wrong, Fafnir sought out the Circulating Life for advice.
The Circulating Life was the only deity remaining on the surface, having rooted an avatar known as the World Tree into the Eurelia Continent and claiming its interior as a sanctuary.
—You are mad, Fafnir.
Of course, seeking advice didn't mean he would actually receive it.
The World Tree, a tree so massive it could shroud the entire sky, shook its branches. It looked almost like a sigh.
However, the massive, scar-covered dragon did not bend his will.
[Circulating Life. Great arbiter of existence, mother of the elves... and my old comrade-in-arms.]
—Calling a divine being your friend. It is a remark typical of your arrogance, yet atypical of your foul temper.
[Do you know the future of this world?]
—The future is the future because no one can know it. This holds true even for a god.
[Have we not all felt poignantly that gods are not omnipotent? Rather than that, I wish to borrow your wisdom. How can I complete the Chimera Dragon?]
—It is impossible. A dragon's strength comes from an oversized ego coupled with a special physical body. However, the ego of a clone can never become that strong.
[...They collapsed because they could not accept the fact that they were my clones.]
—An ego sprouts by distinguishing 'me' from 'you,' and it blooms by embracing uniqueness. It is extremely difficult for a being whose distinction from others is blurred and who lacks uniqueness to become an Archmage.
[And a dragon only truly becomes an adult by becoming an Archmage. I see. They were children who could never grow up from the start.]
Fafnir nodded calmly. Perhaps he had already known.
He had likely come to the Circulating Life just to seek confirmation.
The leaves of the World Tree drooped at Fafnir’s reaction. He seemed like a pile of burnt-out ash, the flames from his days of rampaging on the battlefield completely extinguished.
It was as if the tree were grieving for the changed state of an old comrade who had fought alongside it for so long.
—...There is one way.
[What is it?]
—Dragons are special. A race that naturally reaches the level of an Archmage just by aging could never be ordinary. That is why they cannot be easily imitated.
[You make it sound as if other races are different.]
—Not necessarily. Elves, beastkin, dwarves—all three races have their own unique characteristics.
[What about humans? What are humans like?]
—There may be special humans, but humanity itself is not special.
It was a riddle-like statement. But it seemed sufficient for Fafnir, as he bowed his head slightly.
[...My thanks.]
With those final words, Fafnir turned to leave. The Circulating Life stopped him.
—Wait.
[What is it?]
—A moment ago, you asked if I knew the future of this world, Fafnir.
[I did.]
—I have heard stories that you are traveling around learning the magic of other dragons. If you make the magic of all the elders your own... even if you cannot open the doors of the Dragon Council, you will be able to understand many things.
[Mm.]
—Fafnir. The Black Calamity. The Last Dragon. And my old comrade. This time, I shall ask.
[Speak.]
—Do you know the future of this world?
[......]
After a brief silence, Fafnir replied in a calm tone.
[I do not believe in prophecies.]
—Then...!
[However, predictions are a different story.]
At those words, the Circulating Life gasped.
It felt as though she had much to say, but because there was so much, nothing could actually leave her mouth.
If I could feel it, Fafnir must have felt it too. Yet, he did not wait for the Circulating Life to organize her thoughts.
Without a word, he turned his back and immediately teleported toward his lair.
After hearing the advice of the Circulating Life, Fafnir shut himself in his lair and began to focus on a new line of research.
The research process itself was visible to me, but it was so complex that at first, I couldn't tell what he was trying to do.
However, before long, the moment Fafnir—having established his own hypothesis—embarked on his first experiment, I realized everything.
This crazy dragon had gathered the knowledge of the Dragon Council to collect information on the entire continent, and based on that, he had created a magic capable of calculating the future.
If it was possible to create a non-existent space and impose specific rules upon it, then seizing an already existing space and analyzing it should be possible.
...Of course, that was easier said than done.
If he hadn't acquired all the knowledge of the Dragon Council, if he hadn't been Fafnir—a being who had grown even more powerful than other dragons through the long Great War...
And if he hadn't hoarded all those rare materials and consumed them like water...
Fafnir would have failed. No, anyone else would have failed.
A predictive magic that bordered on prophecy. It was an astounding feat, but for Fafnir, even this was just the beginning.
He began to run simulations over and over, searching for a path where the world would not be destroyed.
Failure, failure, failure, and failure again.
The Good Gods either perished or became new Evil Gods; mortals, regardless of race, became the playthings of the Evil God; and in the end, nothing remained.
No matter what variables he introduced, the world rushed toward destruction. As if that were the destiny of this land.
And yet. Even so.
Fafnir still did not give up. He couldn't. This was all he had left.
How much time had passed? By the time Fafnir’s lifespan—which was already effectively a terminal sentence—was significantly depleted...
Fafnir finally found the way.