Four Heavenly Kings: Ashumar (7)
“Hey, why on earth did you decide to befriend me of all people?”
Ashumar had once been an ordinary serf farmer. Back then, serfs were treated like livestock. Even now, he couldn't wrap his head around it. Why had that dragon chosen to befriend such a worthless serf?
“You're a lucky human.”
“Luck? First time I've heard that one.”
“I decided to befriend the first human I met after leaving my lair. That was you. So, you're a lucky human.”
“……Yeah?”
Ashumar felt deeply hurt. He'd always believed the dragon had chosen him because he was special. But the truth was, it had just been luck.
……It's because I'm nothing special. Fine then. I'll get strong. Strong enough to give Praxion a real reason for choosing me.
That was when Ashumar's obsession with strength began.
“Yes. I'll help you as much as I can. ……I wish you'd chosen the path of magic, but your swordsmanship is decent enough. No issues there.”
Fortunately, Ashumar had a talent for swordsmanship. He'd chosen it for one simple reason: if he'd gone with magic, he could never hope to match Praxion, a dragon. He just wanted to excel in something—anything—over his friend. That way, he could give Praxion a reason.
“You're the strongest knight! A knight who can stand against the demonkin……!”
Ashumar grew strong quickly, and his fame spread far and wide in the process. Praxion deserved much of the credit. The dragon had supplied him with all sorts of elixirs and even transformed into a human to teach him swordsmanship.
Before long, the worthless serf was gone, replaced by a proud knight. Wherever he went, he was praised. He bedded countless beauties, amassed wealth beyond counting, and even the king dared not treat him lightly.
And so, perhaps inevitably, Ashumar forgot his original resolve. Drunk on power and fame, his visits to the dragon dwindled. He indulged in every pleasure imaginable.
“Knight Ashumar! For daring to covet the king's woman, you shall pay with your life!”
Crossing the line was only natural in the end. He hadn't realized it, but Ashumar had long since risen above his station. Trouble was bound to follow.
Only when he became a fugitive did he seek out the dragon again.
“Please! Praxion! If you truly consider me a friend, help me!”
The dragon helped without a word.
“Very well.”
The colossal dragon appeared at the royal palace, issuing a single warning. Ashumar was no longer pursued. No one could stand against him.
He reveled in his reclaimed world. His original purpose faded entirely from memory, and he lived most of his life that way.
But life is short. All the more so for one as brilliant as his.
“Please. I want to live longer. You're my friend, right? Then extend my life.”
Praxion had always granted his requests without question. But this time, for the first time, Ashumar was refused.
“That's an impossible request, Ashumar. Only the Demon God can alter one's allotted lifespan. Regrettably, I serve the Goddess.”
Ashumar felt profound loss. Sensing it, Praxion stroked his head with its massive tail.
“Was your life enjoyable, Ashumar? I did my best. I wanted one human to experience a life of perfect fulfillment. If you're satisfied, that brings me the greatest joy.”
Ashumar couldn't accept it. A demigod-level dragon surely had the power to extend a mere human lifespan. He swatted the tail away roughly and snapped,
“My life is the product of my efforts. Don't delude yourself into thinking you made it all happen.”
“……I see. Is there nothing else you desire?”
“No. And don't expect me to come crawling back.”
Ashumar stormed out of the lair in a rage.
I don't need Praxion anymore. I'm not that serf from back then. I have enough power now.
But true immortality proved elusive. The only path he found was becoming a Death Knight.
……No wonder Praxion said the Goddess couldn't do it—only the Demon God could.
The catch: becoming a Death Knight meant subjugation to demonkin. The only workaround was killing the caster—but even Ashumar couldn't slay a demon powerful enough to turn him into one.
In the end, it's all about power. But a human body can never defeat demonkin. What now?
As he pondered, inspiration struck—courtesy of desperate humans.
“Please, Knight Ashumar! Slay the evil dragon Praxion that threatens countless human lives!”
Mana heart. If he could claim that—
He could become a Death Knight without demon subjugation.
This is it!
To get it, he had to kill the dragon. And that proved laughably simple.
“Sorry about last time, Praxion. But could you grant me one request? I've taken an interest in magic. Make me a grimoire even a human clueless about magic can use.”
“Very well.”
After about a year, when Praxion completed the grimoire, Ashumar returned and took it.
He pretended to cast a spell from it, shrugged, and said,
“Mind giving a demo? Transform into a powerless human with Polymorph first.”
“Very well.”
The moment Praxion polymorphed into a human and reached for the grimoire—
Ashumar stabbed its heart from behind.
A dragon's most vulnerable moment: mid-polymorph. And death came the instant its heart took any damage. The mana heart couldn't tolerate even the slightest anomaly to maintain that massive presence.
All information courtesy of Praxion itself.
“Regret it? Choosing me?”
“No regrets. Teaching you the sword. Becoming your friend. Ashumar, you may not know it, but from the day we met, I've never once regretted it.”
Ashumar cackled. He'd anticipated this, but snagging the mana heart so easily? Unbelievable.
“Then at least die in your true form. I need your corpse.”
“…………”
Whether out of resignation or honoring one final request, Praxion died in dragon form.
Ashumar butchered the corpse, extracted the mana heart, and became a Death Knight as planned.
Afterward, his existence grew tediously dull. As a Death Knight, the pleasures he'd once adored lost all appeal. Near-eternal life rendered everything joyless. The only thrill left: battling the strong.
That's why he hunted them relentlessly, pushing himself to grow ever stronger.
But now—
Ashumar sometimes wondered: Why did I even seek strength? There was a reason, I swear.
Thud.
Ashumar snapped back to reality. He was lying on the ground, staring into Sisilia's eyes—transparent droplets falling from them.
“Why…… are you crying?”
“You're an idiot. Trash like you reflecting on anything? As if.”
Sisilia was looking down at him, but her gaze felt strangely distant, fixed somewhere far beyond.
“!”
In that instant, Ashumar realized his mana heart was moments from being torn away. He thrashed wildly, scrambling back across the floor.
“What…… what trick did you pull?!”
Terror-stricken, Ashumar retreated. Stealing a heart with just a look? Only the Demon God came to mind.
“You bastard! What are you?!”
He gripped his sword again.
It's fine. She can't pierce my armor anyway. She just caught me off guard. Take it slow from the start, and I can win.
He charged at Sisilia—but froze, feeling unnaturally light. Glancing down, he saw his trusted armor was gone.
Then it hit him: the memory from before he blacked out.
—If Gallerhead hadn't opened that gap, a mere twig wouldn't have done it.
A gap. The tiniest one Gallerhead had created.
Sisilia had precisely tapped it with the twig. An immense mass of wind burst from it, flooding his armor.
The unbreakable armor became poison. His body was pulverized into dust hundreds, thousands of times by the wind—only to reform via the armor's power. Eventually, the Demon God's armor shattered under the strain, and Ashumar lost consciousness.
“……A…… hu……man…… won……?”
Shock. No—this was terror beyond that.
His will to fight shattered. He stumbled back. Sisilia now glared at him coldly, her white cape billowing in the wind. Her presence swelled enormously. Ashumar hiccuped, collapsing in dread.
He couldn't even look at her, head bowed low. Pure instinct.
“A month ago, I found a grimoire in some dragon's lair.”
Ashumar's head jerked up.
“……A grimoire?”
“It said it was made for a dear friend, with a message for that friend.”
Ashumar's eyes widened, hanging on her next words.
But they weren't what he expected.
“Riu.”
Whoosh—!
Wind Shear's gales gathered one by one, enveloping Ashumar. Fixed rigidly in midair amid the closing curtain, he asked,
“……What did the grimoire say?”
Sisilia smiled faintly, raising one hand.
“Secret.”
And in her hand gleamed a massive blue gem.
Ashumar's eyes bulged in horror.
“G-Give it back.”
That was his heart. No—Praxion's mana heart.
“It's mine now. That's my heart—!”
Ashumar flailed desperately. He yearned to snatch it back.
Crunch—
The more he struggled, the tighter the wind's bonds crushed his bones.
Ashumar murmured blankly,
“Am I…… really dying like this?”
Sisilia tucked the mana heart into her subspace with a what-kind-of-dumb-question-is-that look.
“Undead don't die just because their heart's gone, do they?”
Ordinary undead could survive without hearts, sure. But Ashumar was sustained by his mana heart.
“No, undead can live without hearts. The name means 'deathless,' after all.”
She promptly debunked it.
“Besides, we haven't even started yet. Can't have you dying early.”
Sisilia turned and walked away. Wind Shear's barrier descended.
And in that instant—
Golden light flooded the world.