Mostly an Intelligence Problem: Livestock
Most of it came down to an intelligence problem. Livestock—that is, animals raised at home. At first glance it might sound like humans ruling over beasts, but the moment you learn the truth, you can’t help but laugh. You have to feed them, put them to bed, nurse them when they’re sick, and chase them down when they run off. It gets to the point where you can’t tell who’s actually the slave. Those brainless lower lifeforms think they’re “raising” magic beasts? Don’t make me laugh. Creatures that had been devouring one another only two days earlier weren’t going to turn into a happy little family just because someone slapped up a wooden fence.
“I wonder when the first accident will happen…”
Which is why this grand self sat perched on the personal rock at the village center, waiting in perfect leisure. For what? Chaos, obviously.
“Heh heh…”
Just imagining it made the corners of my mouth curl upward. Electric sheep zapping the warriors with lightning. A massive longhorn suddenly going berserk and smashing straight through a hut. Or a fire wolf sinking its fangs into a human’s nape in the dead of night! Ah, the mere thought sent a thrill racing down my spine. Then I would stroll over at my own pace and deliver a single line:
I had the whole speech prepared already. Come on, beasts. Reveal your true instincts. You are bloodthirsty predators. You were never meant to be tamed by mere humans!
“……”
I waited.
“…………”
I kept waiting. All the way until the sun climbed to its zenith and then began sliding toward the west.
Baaaa— An electric sheep peacefully offered its ear to a human girl’s fingers. Crackle— A weak current flowed.
“Eee, that tickles!”
The cows lounged inside their pen, calmly chewing their cud. When one of the tribesmen patted a cow’s flank and whispered something, the cow flared its nostrils and gave a little nod. It almost looked like they were having an actual conversation. Just my imagination. Please let it be my imagination.
And then there were the fire wolves. Those vicious magic beasts that spat roaring crimson flames. Want to know what they were doing right now?
“Go on, Flame! Round up the sheep!”
Woof woof—! A fire wolf breathed flames while chasing after a flock of electric sheep. Baaaa! Startled by the fire, the sheep bunched together in perfect formation. They had become herding dogs. Fire-breathing herding dogs.
“The fire wolves turned into fire dogs!”
That wasn’t all. On cold nights the wolves would station themselves in front of the huts and spew flames to start bonfires. When the hunting parties set out, they ran alongside the warriors and helped bring down prey. In the evenings they sat right beside the chief, wagging their tails. Pant pant!
“Good boy. You worked hard today too.”
The chief stroked the wolf’s head. The wolf rolled over, belly exposed in obvious delight. More, more.
“Where did you throw away your pride as a predator?! Feel shame for those fangs!”
Woof! The wolf reacted to my voice. It immediately wagged its tail, rolled over in front of me too, and wriggled on its back. Whine whine—
“Insolent mutt! You dare demand head pats from a dragon? You’re wolves! Howl! I told you to howl at the moon!”
Yelp— The wolf scrambled backward in fright. Yes! That was the reaction I wanted! Fear this grand self!
The retreating wolf immediately hid behind the red-haired chief’s leg.
“It’s all right. Don’t be scared. The Divine Dragon is not frightening,” the chief said, gently stroking the wolf’s head.
“He is terrifying!!”
Calm down, Yumitas.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Time to analyze the situation with cold logic. Why had the magic beasts been domesticated so quickly? Where had their wild instincts gone?
…Ah. Could it be because of me? Because I was here? Because a dragon had planted himself squarely in the middle of the village and they were all too scared to act out?
“Gaaaah!”
I clutched my head. As the sun rose and set again and again, the tribe had expanded like crazy. Once hunger disappeared, the children stopped dying. Once the children stopped dying, the population grew. Once the population grew, there were extra hands. Once there were extra hands, people had time for work besides hunting. Shepherds appeared. Cattle drivers appeared. Craftsmen who specialized in beast bone and hide appeared.
Memories from my previous life floated up. The conditions for the birth of civilization that I’d heard about while dozing through world history class. Surplus food appears… population increases… labor divides… Had I somehow stepped on every single trigger?
“…This grand self only sat down to watch the show.”
Rumors spread quickly. From beyond the mountains, across the river, on the far side of the forest.
“They say that tribe commands magic beasts.”
“They say it’s the tribe blessed by the Divine Dragon.”
“And they don’t starve?”
Smaller tribes began to gather and join them. Some knelt of their own free will. Others came after they could no longer endure famine. The result? The village that had consisted of barely twenty huts when I first found it had become a massive settlement with hundreds of buildings and thousands of people.
Fine. I’ll acknowledge what deserves acknowledging. There had been one tiny, very minor positive change.
“Divine Dragon! We offer today’s tribute!”
The red-haired chief bowed deeply and held out a wooden tray. On it lay meat that had been meticulously prepared. Gulp. Saliva slid down my throat.
But I am a majestic and terrifying dragon. I could not show myself getting emotional over a single dish.
“Do you truly believe such crude scraps of meat could satisfy this grand self’s refined palate?”
“Of course we know it is lacking! However, thanks to Your Divine Majesty’s grace, the magic beasts have grown docile and the quality of the meat has become remarkably tender. If you would at least take a single bite…”
“Tsk. Your sincerity is admirable, so I shall specially taste it.”
I took a bite. Chew.
“…!”
It was tender. With every chew, rich juices flowed out. This wasn’t the tough, stringy meat of wild animals that had spent their lives running around; this was beautifully marbled with fat from creatures that had eaten well and rested well. The gamey smell unique to wild meat had vanished, replaced by a clean, savory flavor that melted across my tongue.
Another bite. Chew chew.
…And another.
By the time I came to my senses, the tray was empty.
“Shall I bring more?” the chief asked, eyes sparkling.
“Hmph. Well… it was at least chewable.”
The chief hurried off and returned with a second tray.
“However, it is still far from satisfying a dragon’s palate!”
Chomp chomp. Third tray.
Chomp chomp chomp— Fourth…
“Burp.”
A dragon-sized belch slipped out. Of course this had merely been the official duty of inspecting the quality of the tribute. Inspection result: unsatisfactory.
“It is still lacking. Work harder! However, since tribute inspection is absolutely necessary, prepare more for tomorrow as well.”
“Your command is received with utmost reverence, Divine Dragon.”
…It was strictly inspection.
Now I must speak of something rather serious. About horns.
Horns. The crown, the throne, and the scepter of a dragon. I genuinely love the elegant cream-colored curves that rise so modestly atop my head. Among all the many parts of a dragon’s body, the one that should inspire the greatest reverence is neither the wings, nor the fangs, nor the tail. It is the horns.
Horns pierce the sky. Horns rule. That is the pride of a dragon.
Checking the angle of my horns in a puddle was one of my most important daily routines.
But then—
“Hold on.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Red-haired Chief. What is that hideous thing sitting on your head?”
The chief wore a crude helmet carved from beast bone. The problem was its shape. Two horns jutting out sharply to either side.
“Ah, you mean this?” The chief stroked the horned helmet with open pride. “All the warriors of our tribe carved them from beast bone in an effort to emulate Your Divine Majesty!”
“What?”
“We have realized! The horns that grace Your Divine Majesty’s head are the very truth of this world, the symbol of power itself! Therefore our tribe shall henceforth revere horns as sacred and cultivate a culture of horns!”
“…!”
They dared imitate my horns! Mere lower lifeforms!
When I looked around, it wasn’t just the chief. Adults and children alike all wore large or small horn ornaments on their heads. Some wore horns as necklaces. Some huts even had horns driven into their roofs. Horns, horns, horns. The entire village had turned into horn central.
One little kid held branch horns to his head and chased after his friend.
“I am the great Divine Dragon!”
“Eek! The Divine Dragon has appeared! Run!”
The kid being chased ran away laughing brightly.
“Tsk tsk. Ignorant fools.”
I clicked my tongue. The horns themselves are not what is great. It is the horns of a dragon—specifically the horns of this grand self, Yumitas—that are great. No matter how many beast horns a lower lifeform sticks on its head, it’s nothing but cosplay. Did they really think wearing cow horns or deer antlers would bring them one step closer to a dragon’s majesty?
“They can’t even tell the difference between real and fake. Truly, this is what people mean by the limits of intelligence.”
I reached a conclusion. This tribe was stupid. There was a structural defect in their brains. Their amygdala responsible for recognizing fear must have atrophied, or the brain lobe in charge of worship was abnormally enlarged. Whichever it was, the disability was beyond treatment. In other words, trying to teach these people the majesty of a dragon would be as pointless as preaching to a wall.
“It seems this grand self must find lower lifeforms intelligent enough to properly understand my greatness.”
What I needed was not brainless admiration but calculated, rational terror.
I strode toward the central plaza. Warriors stood in formation as the chief came running.
“Pardon? Divine Dragon, what did you just…”
“It means this grand self is leaving to find higher-class bugs that can properly understand my greatness… no, that can tremble in proper fear.”
The chief’s eyes widened.
“Y-you are leaving?”
He slammed his forehead to the ground. The tribespeople rushed over and prostrated themselves all at once.
“The Divine Dragon embarks on a holy pilgrimage! May the great wind blow!”
Holy pilgrimage, they called it. I didn’t like the sound of that. Pilgrimages were for emperors, not dragons. Dragons conquer. Conquer!
“Please return safely!”
“May blessings follow you wherever you go!”
“Flamey says he’ll miss you too!”
Woof woof—! The fire wolf—no, the fire dog—looked up at me with sorrowful eyes, tail drooping.
“Enough with the blessings! Double the quality of the tribute by my next visit. No, triple it!”
I spat the order, transformed into dragon form, spread my wings, and shot into the sky. The village grew smaller and smaller beneath me. I could see thousands of tribespeople waving their hands.
“…Hmph.”
They really were nothing but a nuisance. Still… I could always come back later to steal more meat.
I glided above the clouds. I crossed mountain ranges. I flew over rivers. I traversed forests. The world was wide, and there were plenty of lower lifeforms. Surely there were smarter ones than the hunter tribe. Smarter ones would fear this grand self properly. The higher the intelligence, the more accurately a threat could be perceived. Fear is fundamentally born from “knowing.” If you don’t know, you aren’t afraid. The reason those stupid hunters didn’t fear me was ultimately because they didn’t understand just how terrifying I was.
In that sense—
“Oh?”
A dragon’s eyesight caught an interesting settlement on the ground. Where the mountain foothills met the river. A village. It was clearly different from the hunter tribe’s crude collection of huts. For one thing, the buildings had proper structure. Walls neatly stacked with earth and timber. Roofs sealed tight with vines and resin. Even doors fitted with wooden latches carved from logs.
I lowered my altitude and observed more closely. At the village edge, several humans were doing something systematic. They gathered plants and fruits in an organized fashion, sorted them, and laid them out on drying racks. On one side, people twisted fibers from tree bark into rope. Next to them, others meticulously chipped stone to create tools. Not weapons—tools. Instead of spears and axes, they made needles, hooks, and mortars.
“Oho…!”
This was different. Definitely different. If the hunter tribe was muscle, these people were brains. They survived through skill rather than brute strength.
Smart lower lifeforms!
If they were smart, they would look upon this grand self’s overwhelming presence and reach the perfectly rational conclusion: “Ah, this is truly a horrifying calamity.”
“Heh heh!”
An evil chuckle escaped me. Good. Let’s go.
“This time for sure…!”
I folded my wings and began a steep dive. The village’s central plaza came into view. Landing point selected.
“This time I shall grant them proper fear!”
BOOOOM—!
I landed, kicking up a cloud of dust. I spread my wings wide, raised my horns high, and struck a majestic pose.
“GRROOOOOOAAAAARRRR!”
Every human in the plaza froze and looked up at me.