The Bizarre Standoff
Before the bizarre standoff could drag on for even ten seconds, the herbalist came to a conclusion first.
"Ah, bandits, right?"
"......What?"
"You got robbed by bandits! I've heard there's been a gang wreaking havoc around Nordic Pass nearby lately. You must be some noble young master. Your hair color and skin aren't from around here."
I nearly lost my words in sheer absurdity.
Wrong. All wrong. I hadn't been robbed by bandits, and I sure as hell wasn't a noble young master. I was a calamity-class dragon who'd spent three days playing statue in a cave at the mountain's peak before coming down.
But.
......This is actually a pretty solid backstory?
A noble robbed by bandits. It perfectly explained why I was naked, and those golden eyes could be neatly packaged as a trait of an "outsider not from around here."
No need to fabricate lies myself—the other side was handing me a perfectly reasonable narrative on a silver platter.
There was zero reason to refute it.
"Hold on. Where'd you even put this?"
The herbalist rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a crumpled bundle of hemp cloth. It must've been what she sat on at the bottom of the bag—it reeked of grass, with herb juice staining the corners.
But to me right now, it was more precious than any luxury coat.
"Cover up with this. Walking into the village like that'll start rumors."
"......Thank you."
The hemp cloth was ridiculously inadequate to cover my whole body, but wrapping it from my shoulders down to mid-thigh and pulling it up over my head worked well enough as a hood to hide my face. I draped it fully over myself, taking extra care around my eyes.
The rough, prickly texture of the hemp scraped my skin, but it beat the cheap muffler I'd worn on my past life's 5 a.m. commute to work.
"Oh, that hides you pretty well. Bare feet can't be helped, though."
The herbalist glanced at my toes, clicked her tongue, then turned and started walking without a second thought.
"Follow me. The village is right down below."
It was so natural. Too natural—it was starting to make me uneasy.
Handing a single scrap of hemp cloth to a naked, golden-eyed mystery man and offering to guide him to the village? Had she skipped the part of her brain labeled "caution"?
But I had no other options. Clutching the cloth tight, I followed behind her.
Even while walking, I had to focus every nerve on my feet. Distributing my weight on the rocks had drained me earlier, but the hard-packed dirt was a relief by comparison. Still, every step left faint depressions in the soil between grass roots.
"What's your name?"
The herbalist asked cheerfully, eyes forward.
"......Bar."
I barely bit back the name that had risen to my tongue. Barkaion. I'd almost said it straight out.
A frontier herbalist probably had slim odds of knowing a calamity black dragon's name. But slim odds and needlessly inviting risk by voicing it were worlds apart.
"Bar? Short name. From the east?"
"Something like that."
"I'm Toti Brin! Rune Village herbalist."
Rune Village. The remote settlement at the foot of the Black Thunder Mountains, mentioned in the original story. Exactly where I'd aimed for.
Was I lucky, or was this woman unusually oblivious? Hard to say.
Toti kept chattering nonstop as we walked.
"Bandits around here have been a real problem lately. We hear about raids two or three times a month. The imperial guards patrol, but the area's so vast, there are gaps. Young master, you traveled without escorts? Reckless."
The "young master" title grated, but no reason to shatter her deduction.
"I had escorts, but things happened."
"Ah, figures. All dead? Or did they run?"
"......Closer to the latter."
I'd tarnished the honor of nonexistent escorts, but since they didn't exist, no harm done.
"Don't use formal speech. Noble talk is too stiff and uncomfortable."
If I were actually a noble, that'd be pretty rude. But honestly, it was a relief. Casual speech matched my past life's habits much better.
The village was close. Cresting the hill revealed wooden fences and thatched roofs. About fifteen houses, small-scale. A well in the center, and next to it, a modest inn-cum-pub. The quintessential frontier village from the original story.
But the moment I stepped through the entrance, something odd happened.
A hunting dog tied to the fence perked up at the unfamiliar presence. It was a big one. It bared its teeth, growling fiercely—until I took two steps closer. Then it stopped barking dead.
Instead, it rolled onto its back, flattening itself to the ground. Its tail tucked completely between its legs, whimpering sounds leaking out intermittently.
Dragon Fear.
Even suppressing my emotions to the max, it seemed animal instincts couldn't be fooled. No matter how much I compressed into human form, my existence's rank hadn't changed.
A calamity's intimidation had to seep through faintly to their senses and wild acuity.
The problem wasn't just the dog.
As we entered deeper, villagers' reactions grew subtly off. Someone spotted the tall man draped in hemp and halted. The woman beside him hesitated, then quietly edged to the roadside. No screams or flight. Instead, baffled expressions as they instinctively backpedaled.
They'd glance over, then hastily avert their eyes if contact seemed imminent. Like ignoring a calamity passing by.
This much is a relief, I guess.
The hemp hood over my eyes was a small mercy. Exposing the golden slits would've escalated avoidance to outright flight.
Through it all, Toti Brin strolled casually beside me.
"Rune Village is small, but there's an inn. Food too. Better fill your stomach first, right?"
"......Not hungry."
"Come on, you've starved for days. No need to act tough."
It's not acting—I'm really not hungry.
A calamity dragon's metabolism defies human common sense. But no explaining that, so I shut up.
Toti prattled on relentlessly. Herb prices, local mountain terrain, the village chief's picky personality. She ignored the villagers slinking away from me.
Or maybe she hadn't noticed at all.
An old man carrying firewood froze in front of me, nearly dropping his load as he yielded the path. Toti waved and greeted him cheerfully.
"Hey, uncle! Found a guy robbed by bandits!"
"Found" is a bit much.
The old man glanced under my hemp cloth instead of replying, nodded stiffly with a hardened face, and hurried off. More intimidated by my presence than any bandit story.
No dogs barked as we crossed the village center. Tied or loose, they all flattened ears and bellies to the ground at my approach. Playing cats vanished without trace.
Toti was the sole exception. Completely, utterly unaffected.
Is she the weird one, or am I?
The original story noted individual variance in humans' susceptibility to Dragon Fear. But total immunity like this? Unheard of.
Dense? Iron-willed? Probably the former, nine times out of ten.
"Here we are!"
Toti stopped in front of the village center's two-story building. A weathered wooden structure with a crooked sign. Looked like "Haneulmae Inn," but half-erased letters made it half guesswork.
Pushing the door revealed a spacious first-floor dining hall. Past lunchtime, half the tables empty, the rest occupied by eaters and drinkers.
But the moment I crossed the threshold, the noise peeled back a layer.
Snap.
A man at the nearest table froze mid-sip of beer. Two diners at the next set down forks quietly. Corner card players flipped their hands face-down unconsciously.
Conversations hushed cautiously. Eyes flicked my way, then scattered hastily.
Stay calm. I forcibly quelled my emotions' surface. Tension breeds emotional waves, waves stir the Fear.
"Auntie! Got seats?"
Toti bellowed across the counter.
A plump middle-aged woman appeared, wiping hands on her apron. Her gaze swept over me beside Toti. Brows furrowed subtly, but knowing Toti, she didn't chase me out.
"......Corner's empty."
Her voice was noticeably small. Puzzled by it herself, her face went blank.
Toti marched to the corner table briskly; I followed, drawing stares from all sides.
We reached the spot. rickety wooden chair. Normally, I'd sit without thinking—but this body turned everyday acts perilous.
Gently.
Like stepping on rock, I focused every nerve on weight distribution. Clutching the cloth with one hand, I gripped the table with the other and lowered my butt very slowly.
Crack.
An ominous snap from the chair leg. I instantly lifted my weight, but too late. The left front joint split, tilting the chair sideways.
Losing balance, my mass plunged to the floorboards, which groaned low and dented slightly.
All eyes in the dining hall locked on again.
"......Sorry."
I froze in an awkward perch on the listing chair. Standing would wreck more; staying put might shatter it entirely.
Ah, damn it.
"Heh, chairs here are kinda worn anyway."
Toti peered at the leg, muttering casually like it was routine.
The innkeeper sighed deeply and approached. I eased my weight onto the table, rising very slowly. In the gap, she removed the broken chair and slid over a sturdier-looking bench—head turned to avoid eye contact.
The bench creaked on sitting, but held. Thick wood saved it.
I swallowed a sigh of relief, keeping my back ramrod straight without leaning.
Toti, across from me, ordered without glancing at a menu.
"Two breads and potato soups, auntie!"
"I'm fine."
The hemp had slipped toward my cheek while sitting.
"Fine my foot. Your face is pale as a ghost—bluish, even."
That's my natural complexion. No explaining, so silence.
Toti set her herb pouch on the table and sorted her haul. Skilled hands sniffed and classified each leaf.
"Oh, right. Shouldn't you contact your family? No messenger birds around here, but the chief knows the imperial guards' patrol routes. We could ask them—"
"Not yet."
"Formal speech again."
"......Not yet."
Family? Contacts? Adding to a backstory that didn't exist would make it unmanageable.
Time to change topics.
Naturally.
I slid my gaze around the dining hall. Something to check the date. Calendar, official notice.
Finally, my eyes caught the opposite wall.
I parted the hemp edge slightly with a finger for a view. A paper in a wooden frame—an imperial document stamped with the crest, calendar pinned beside it.
Even in a frontier village, the empire's bureaucracy ticked on.
My heart pounded. I suppressed emotions. Racing pulse catalyzes Fear.
Mechanically, coldly, I read the text.
Imperial Calendar Year 497, Green Wind Month
Imperial Calendar Year 497.
The original The Oath of the Silver Rose storyline kicked off at Lucivia Liester's coming-of-age Rose Festival. That was Imperial Calendar Year 498, Rose Month.
I cross-checked numbers, gauged the gap from Green Wind to Rose Month.
About a year.
Roughly a year left until the original start. Lucivia wasn't of age yet; Harwen was just rising as a knight order vice-captain. And the original Barkaion should still be slumbering deep in the Black Thunder Mountains.
My awakening alone deviated from canon.
But a year was more generous than expected. Ample time to hide my identity, grasp the plot, find a perfect route to dodge subjugation.
I couldn't tear my eyes from the calendar.
497. Green Wind Month. Those two markers became my survival anchor.
"—You listening?"
"......Yeah."
"Ah, you weren't. What're you staring at?"
Toti followed my gaze to the wall calendar, then tilted her head like it was nothing.
"The date? Got an appointment?"
"No. Just forgot what day it was."
"Must've lost some memory getting beaten by bandits."
I'd never been beaten by bandits, but by now, the setup was growing convenient.
Soup arrived. Hearty wooden bowls with potatoes, onions, unidentified roots simmered thick. Bread looked tough but steamed fresh.
Toti blew on her soup and dug in. For appearances, I picked up a spoon.
Hemp still hooding my eyes, I lifted the dangling edge to my mouth.
Careful. Can't snap the spoon.
Gripping with minimal force in my fingertips, I scooped and sipped. Lukewarm, bland taste spread.
Not bad. Surprising my dragon taste buds worked, but human form seemed to fully engage human senses.
Not hungry, but could taste? The world wasn't that stingy.
Then, whispers from the next table caught my ear.
"—Third time in days. Magic beast packs coming down."
"Heard Black Thunder Mountains beasts are stirring for real."
"Guards upped patrols, but who knows. Don't know the root cause."
"Something woke in the peaks? If beasts are fleeing habitats—"
I kept spooning steadily, face unchanged.
But not a syllable escaped me.
Magic beast surge. Something awakened in the Black Thunder Mountains.
That something's me.
Three days ago, stretching in my cave, fake-coughing, heavy sighing. Those vibrations likely upended the range's ecosystem.
A calamity dragon rousing after centuries—nearby magic beasts panicking downslope was a natural chain reaction.
I'd done nothing, yet ripples had begun.
"What's that about?"
Toti glanced at the next table while tearing bread.
"Magic beasts coming down more lately. Gotta be careful foraging in the hills."
Should I warn her off as dangerous? Brief hesitation.
But meddling after barely an hour together felt forced.
"Yeah."
Short reply, then I looked up. The wall calendar reentered view.
Imperial Calendar Year 497, Green Wind Month. Just a year-ish left, but enough to prepare.
I set the spoon down quietly. Very carefully, no wood cracks.
Then lowered the lifted hemp, burying my face deep again.