A Dragon's Dilemma
The Hero Sword truly is an incredible artifact. As if protesting that someone not chosen by it had dared to touch it, the meteorite iron had set fire to the Lord's hand.
I'd never asked about the Lord's aptitude, but it was clear she wasn't a Hero. The faint smell of burning flesh made the dragons jump in alarm. Meanwhile, the Sunsstorm family looked on the verge of fainting.
Please, put down the sword. We've made a mistake. That was roughly the gist of their pleas, but the Lord ignored them completely, gripping the Hero Sword with terrifying resolve as she pressed her interrogation.
"When your son sought my daughter's blood, you bought at least a hundred people."
"Bought... people? What kind of...?"
"Professional killers. The sort who'll launch a ship for pay, and double it to kill anyone. Do you know where those scum went?"
It sounded almost like she'd let them slip away. The Sunsstorm folk started whispering among themselves, asking if anyone had heard anything.
The Lord smiled thinly.
"I sent them back. Made sure their greed wouldn't harm anyone else—taught them the value of peace."
Compared to the infamous past Lords etched in history, this one might be remarkably merciful, someone nursing faint hope in their heart might have thought.
"Good for them, then."
"They'll sprout as fresh meadow grass and rippling grains across autumn fields, learning contentment in the wind's gentle sway."
"Pardon?"
"I tore them apart and spread them as fertilizer. Isn't that just perfect?"
I nearly pissed myself. If Sunsstorm had been my family name, I definitely would've.
The Sunsstorms trembled as they spilled what they knew, but it seemed Adamanthon's plot against the Succubus Queen and his collusion with Mitra had been the freakish outlier's solo act. No one really knew the details.
Under the premise that the Sunsstorms hadn't dared deceive dragons, the Lord declared she wouldn't take their lives just yet. But she hadn't fully forgiven them either—someone might still be hiding something. The interrogation would continue tomorrow.
—————
"That's what happened."
Outside Nidroga's door, I sighed as I spoke, wondering if my voice could even penetrate that massive slab.
"Especially to you and me—they said they're truly sorry. Said it was their failure to keep their kid in check."
Nowhere on the island did I see a mansion built solely for the Lord's clan. Every building the size of the Sunsstorm estate turned out to be entertainment venues. So I'd assumed: for someone dubbed "master of the world's mightiest," the Lord seemed remarkably incorruptible.
Wrong.
The Lord's castle was none other than a sea cave beneath the island. And Nidroga's bedroom alone rivaled the Sunsstorm house in grandeur. Its entrance was vast enough for a dragon to come and go.
In dragon form? Well, sure. Even with a human identity, there must be days one craves their true shape. No need to split spaces, either. Most dragons outside were visitors here for fun, not residents.
From that angle, the scale felt less extravagant and more natural—like a dragon's living space. Though for the 30-meter behemoth I'd seen, even this entrance might feel snug.
"This your childhood room?"
Casual toss, but a strangled, gut-wrenching noise came from inside. Followed by thumps like kicking blankets.
Bullseye, apparently.
I leaned against the wall by the door and sighed. No way we'd talk like this.
"Hey, say something—anything. It's been two days since you shut yourself away."
The party's chillest, toughest member, holing up. Guessing the reason was easy: that incident a few days back.
Of course, Nidroga was tough. No way could I hurt that body. But wounds weren't just physical.
A dragon choosing the human path claimed a human identity too. I wasn't talking to a supreme being, but a comrade still reeling from her first time.
...Truth is, I hadn't fully shaken it off either. That's why I came today.
The others—from Esen to Bilena—had already checked in once. You okay? When you coming out? Big deal over nothing. No replies. Not even from Esen, who'd poked deliberately.
So, how about this?
"Wanna pet the weasel?"
"W-what? Pet what?!"
The five-meter steel door shuddered with a bam. What'd she hurl? Might've killed me if it hit, but I shoved the thought down. No way she'd chucked to smash me.
"...The weasel. Asked if you wanna stroke the silver-furred weasel."
"Oh."
Long silence. Then furious blanket-kicking. Must be sturdy material—unfazed by a human-form dragon's kicks.
I glanced at the steel door as vibrations stopped, spotting a generous gap at the bottom. Too small for a person, perfect for a silver-furred weasel.
"Weasel, in you go."
The weasel rounded its eyes in betrayal. Charge the monster that made thunder? How could you order that between us? Short version: This for real?
I solemnly pulled out the sugar cube jar, shook it, and held up two fingers.
"Two."
Four.
"Three. No more."
Glare cursing my cunning, it scurried under the door into Nidroga's vast bedroom. I savored evil boss vibes.
Moments later, Nidroga cooed from inside.
"So cute."
"Easy to raise too. Leave 'em be, they'll snooze peacefully in a special cage forever."
"Isn't that cruel?"
"Trust me. Extreme sleepyhead—waking's the misery. Sugar cubes excepted, of course."
"Sugar cubes?"
"Sugar cubes. Only thing this smart, obedient furball loves more than sleep. Wanna give some yourself?"
I slid cubes under the door. Tense silence, then footsteps neared.
Couldn't see, but distance shrank. Good sign.
Fingers snatched the cubes. Nidroga giggled like a kid.
"For real. Tail 'round my neck, nuzzling my face all cute."
Imagining the scene warmed me. Nothing breaks ice like this weasel.
"Best mood-killer ever. You don't plan carrying it for this, do you?"
"What?"
"Luring innocent girls with prep like this. Like that smutty porter novel Bilena and Esen gossiped about yesterday outside my door."
"...Those two. Chatting that in front of their shocked friend?"
"Roughly: what happened to me is someone's dream fantasy worth publishing. Author was a girl, apparently."
Prime contender for worst comfort ever.
"If bad consoling warranted stoning, they'd be gone by now. Towers taller than your dragon form."
"Sounds fun. Reminds me of Mom's rock-throwing tourney years back. Winner by whose side bled more nose."
Prime contender for worst game ever.
I double-checked today's noon lesson: Don't mess with the Lord.
"On my honor—and the weasel's—it's useful, that's why. It sticks for sugar. Neither needs the other for high-level schemes."
"But so cute? Not for seduction?"
"Yeah, could've been. If I'd thought of 'weasel lure' sooner, maybe not a virgin at twenty-four. Just cute. Thought you'd like."
Self-deprecating jab. Got friendly banter back.
"Hm. Showed it 'cause I'd like? Seduction in a broad sense, no?"
Wait, joke? Her cheery tone trailed off hazy; my head spun.
"...Just thought you'd like."
"Yeah. Nice. Real nice."
What was nice? Vague. Thud of slumping. She tapped the door—her spot marked. Leaning against it, probably.
"Why'd you come?"
"Worried."
"Not that. You got scary, I hid. What now? No clue what face to make meeting you."
"Same here."
How to face her ahead? Vague echo of past dilemma. What'd I do then?
I scooted, aligning backs horizontally through the door.
"Can I ask something?"
"Feels forced to draw me out, but sure. Asking hurts me how?"
"You said it, right? No need to apologize. Yeah?"
"...Did I?"
"Not exact? Lemme recall. I groveled, 'kill me gently.' You: 'Promised to save you—no kill talk.' Something?"
"Ah, th-that. Um."
Post-embarrassing romp words. Memory jogged her; she stammered, grasping at my phrasing. Who'd picture a colossal dragon from those stutters?
My mental image shifted naturally: sky-soaring crimson behemoth to the girl tangled with me, mewling sweetly.
"...Yeah, sounds right. Don't detail it—embarrassing."
"Same gist? Told me not to apologize?"
"...Yeah. No reason for you to."
"Still wanna say sorry. Your feelings matter. I'd be wrecked."
"You think?"
"Couldn't choose. No 'no,' no push—trapped, swept by another's will."
"True. But not your fault. Mine for rushing that Baldenhart fool. How'd I know Succubus Queen'd break free, hijack me? You over-apologize masterfully."
Soft chuckle. I chuckled too. Another link beyond the weasel.
Glancing back, her finger peeked through the gap. Intentional? Or...
"My turn?"
"Goes without saying."
"Was it good?"
"...What?"
"Me. Anything lacking?"
Chat veered sharp, unintended. Blood boiled oddly. Swallowed hard, gripped the peeking finger.
No abstraction now—raw body-to-body link.
I'd overlooked it. Between us, small talk was dwarfed by one massive breach, like a burst dam. Heavy emotions surged, admitting which might doom return.
"Not at all."
"Good, then."
"Way too."
"Weird, huh? Our porter's got two solid lovers, four-plus touched."
Five, counting you. Guilt twisted my gut.
"Yet... yet..."
"Yet what makes sense?"
"If I say it was so good I can't do without you now—what then?"