Chapter 63: A Family's Reckoning
By the time the sun hung high in the midday sky, the Lord had gathered all the parties involved in the incident.
The comrades from the Special Monster Extermination Party. The captain and his successor the navigator, along with the executives from the Queen's Handgun. And, whether his bastard son had simply forgotten them or abandoned them as unimportant, even Adamanthon's two lovers, still locked away in isolation.
Moriba and Mindina lay prostrate on the ground, their hands and feet humiliatingly bound. But Nidroga's name was absent from the list. Whispers from the dragons who'd come to watch suggested the Lord had deliberately left her out.
···Rumor has it she hasn't left her room since the day before yesterday, except to eat and use the bathroom, with the door locked behind her. I had my suspicions why, so I didn't pry further.
Of course, I'd been summoned by the Lord too. The gathering spot was on the opposite side of the beach where we'd been resting. There stood a massive harbor, a wide landing field, and a grand marble building.
"Dragon's Gateway."
The ancient script carved above the entrance was illegible to me, but the elf Nenya read it aloud. Reni added in admiration,
"It's the main gate, inspection post, and reception hall for guests—all in one. Without the explanation, I'd have mistaken it for a giant temple."
"A main gate and reception hall combined. Is it really okay that none of us came through here?"
"Of course, protocol calls for passing through here, but for ships as riddled with holes as ours, they make exceptions. Besides, one latecomer arrived on a chunk of shattered wreckage, didn't she?"
Reni gazed pityingly at the haggard Florica, who was gasping for breath. Her eyes then shifted to the two hefty backpacks in my hands.
I dropped them with a thud. Even on the sand, the heavy thump echoed.
Reni's eyes widened. "What in the world did you bring in those?"
"Rocks."
"···You filled them with stones? Planning to throw them at someone?"
"Just finishing my morning workout. Essential stamina and strength training for any porter."
Farmer's Walk. True to the name, it was simply carrying a load and enduring the weight as you walked. A magical exercise where strength drained exponentially with distance. Even with Porter Aptitude, sweat poured down relentlessly.
I needed to burn off the power and the sweat. My mind was too crowded—I wanted to run.
How could I face that family again? And what faces would they make seeing me?
"Bilena said the same. With a backstory that complicated, it's no wonder. I get it. Old comrades you were tight with, but also the parents of the perpetrator."
Reni patted my back in comfort. Then she winced at the sudden shout.
"You filthy wretch. Planning to greet a noble Hero house in that lowborn body soaked in dirty sweat?"
Mindina snarled at me viciously. The dragon guard yanked her ropes in panic, but she dragged along, her eyes still blazing with venom.
"Arrogant porter scum, Tan Bantai! Think that flimsy disguise artifact fools the world? I told Adamanthon everything. Now everyone will know your perverted tricks!"
Among mages, Mindina was born with Attribute Imbuement Aptitude. Artifacts were just intricate devices enchanted by ancient magic. She'd apparently pierced through my disguise with her sharp mind.
But so what? After banging the Lord's daughter, money or crossdressing scandals barely registered anymore.
"I've never once been corrected on my attire by Hero Manselrion."
"What about the supreme Dragon Lord? You think it's fine to show up drenched and rude before her?"
The dragon guard in his palm-tree shirt gawked down at Mindina in disbelief. Even the distant Lord wore the same simple farmer's garb from when she'd welcomed us. The only ones here minding dress codes were the prisoners, bound like convicts: Mindina and Moriba.
I kept it short. "Sweat is my effort. Effort is my formal wear."
"Bullshit!"
Reni, who'd been listening quietly, scratched her ear and tilted her head. Then she stepped between us.
"Hey, lady."
"Lady? Lady? You pint-sized bitch, what did you just—"
If there's anything less refined than calling someone "lady," it's the sound of a boot shattering a jaw. The metal-reinforced boot slammed into Mindina's face mid-sentence, sending her crumpling unconscious.
Even the dragon guard flinched, gesturing to push Reni away—like a referee halting extra blows after a knockout.
Reni toyed with her sword hilt, her face terrifyingly cold. Silent Moriba quickly averted her eyes.
"Watch your mouth, delicate-like. Weren't you the ones who tried to cut our throats?"
"Hey now! Let's not! Even if you're our saviors and heroes of the Dragon's Nest—"
The guard, easily ten times her age, pleaded with utmost respect. Reni raised her hands.
"These women are still castaways in name. Until the Lord judges and sentences them, no harm comes to them!"
"My immaturity got the better of my emotions. My apologies."
Reni backed off. Nenya, staff raised ready to join in, sighed and calmed at Reni's pat on the back.
"Let's head in now."
"I don't get it. Why's that kid acting up?"
"That bitch Nenya? She's lost it, obviously. Can't deny the charges, clings to someone for support, but her only pillar—the Hero—ditched her amid terrifying dragons. Then spots our porter, an old comrade, and tries dumping her mess on him to shift the disadvantage."
"That make sense? In the woods, trash like her would've been dirt long ago."
"Sadly, human society seems far kinder to idiots. My knight academy had enough moron cadets to fill ten wagons."
Reni eyed me with pity. "Doesn't sound like your first time getting dumped on. Am I right?"
"Guess I had spare strength back then. Already hauling heavy loads, plus their tantrums."
"Don't anymore. If she pulls that, slap her silly."
"After that front kick? Think I could even try?"
I whined playfully, and Reni chuckled.
"Maybe I asked too much. Ah, here they come. Let's see if the Hero house is as rude as that rabble mage."
"Our seats are front row. This way."
A dragon approached with the sun at its back, landing lightly on the field. A man leapt from its back and, the moment his feet hit the marble of the Dragon's Gateway, dropped to his knees and prostrated.
Chillingly, he slammed his head into the stone, cracking it.
Even Captain Tomco shuddered back a step.
"Bantai. That guy's···who I think?"
"···Yes."
My voice carried endless unease to my ears. His disheveled state screamed he'd mobilized every transport available. Hair a tangled mess, clothes stained from hardship.
I couldn't know what Adamanthon meant to him. I'd never been a father, let alone a moron's dad.
But maybe there's little difference between a normal father and a fool's. A sore finger's still a finger.
With resolve to do anything for that finger, the man raised his head high again.
Just before his second self-inflicted blow, the Lord spoke softly.
"Enough."
Manselrion Storm's head halted mid-air. Blood streamed from his forehead toward the Lord—grave wound by any measure.
The Monica sisters gasped, instinctively reaching for tourniquets, but Esen's restraint steadied them; they bit their lips.
"Your son tried recreating the legend of the old 'Dragon Slayer,' and now you defile this land with blood. Shall I let it flow more?"
Not the welcoming tone from before. We swallowed hard against rising fear.
But Manselrion was a true Hero—not just aptitude, but one all called "bold, if not always prudent."
"This ignorant commoner lost his parents young, never properly learning the world's ways or etiquette. Yet even I know better than to face the mightiest sovereign without tribute."
"Oh? And what have you brought?"
The Lord's tone dripped disinterest. Then, one of Storm's retinue who'd dismounted drew a sword with a shing.
Meteorite gleam on the blade. A Hero Sword.
Onlooker dragons surged forward like guards in fury. The Lord waved them back.
Thankfully—or predictably—the sword-bearer didn't foolishly charge. Instead, he raised it high... and laid it across Manselrion Storm's neck.
"···What are you doing?"
"A wayward kin's sins can only be atoned by the father who failed to guide him right. What Storm blood has wrought can only be repaid in Storm blood."
What?
"Great sovereign, quench your wrath with this old neck."
"Stop, stop! Damn it, Manselrion! Cut it out!"
Regret hit instantly. Not my place to speak. I'd planned to stay shut.
But still.
The would-be executioner flinched at my shout. Manselrion looked up, stunned.
"Tan?"
"Chop your head off for that bastard Adamanthon? Makes no sense! Don't be ridiculous!"
Emotions flashed across Manselrion's face: shock, joy, gratitude at my defense, and···.
He glanced nervously at the Lord, sure I'd catch hell. "Good to see you healthy, Tan. But···I must. Any father would, with family and child's life at stake."
Yet the Lord didn't silence me—just a slight nod, as if to speak.
I bowed in relief. "Forgive me, but I must say: if it's for Adamanthon's pardon, it's pointless. He's not even on the island!"
"That idiot's not in the Dragon's Nest? How?"
Even the helmeted executioner dropped his sword in shock, crying out. Sounded like one of Adamanthon's six brothers I'd glimpsed before. Hell of a voice.
"···No idea how he escaped. Whether he fled responsibility or was kidnapped, I don't know. But no Adamanthon among the Storms here—guaranteed! And, hate to say it to you, Uncle Mansel, but that bastard's nuts!"
In truth, I'd sent countless letters warning of Adamanthon's madness and begging to reconsider the contract. But his retainers probably trashed them, muttering "a mere porter dares."
"Watched him for years—he's not worth your life! Even if his stupidity drags family into disasters again, even if you sacrifice to save him! He won't thank or apologize—just keep screwing up like the dog he is! Wherever he is, he'll survive fine! So—"
"The worthless youngest doesn't matter."
Manselrion smiled wearily, shaking his head. "This isn't for Adamanthon. He won't survive anyway. Dragons fly faster than horses. Where could he hide?"
"Then···?"
"I'm saving the rest of the household. Thanks for the kindness, but all I can return is joy at bidding farewell. Islune Storm, take the sword. I didn't entrust this to you for cheap drama."
"Oh, damn. Damn."
The sighing executioner raised the trembling sword. He flinched at the blade's odd resistance in the air.
The Lord, who'd silently approached and gripped it, sighed and took it away.
"Even so, it seems you grasp the situation and the subject well."