Two Eggs (7)
The crowd fell silent because the hatched wyrmling was that extraordinary.
It had pink skin dotted with white spots.
Its eyes were red, and it was only about thirty centimeters long.
"Isn't that a whip-tail dragon?"
Finally, someone couldn't hold back and spoke up.
But that wasn't the important part.
Typical whip-tail dragons were reddish-brown.
Yet this newly hatched one was pink.
A result of albinism, a loss of pigmentation.
"An albino variant!"
The prince let out a grand exclamation.
As a dragon enthusiast, he knew better than anyone the immense value of the creature before him.
"Whip-tail dragons are rare enough on their own. An albino variant? Even in the Empire, these are one in a million, aren't they?"
Owen answered the prince's question.
"Indeed, Your Highness. It's the first to appear in the East. Hard to put a price on something like this."
"My word. What a sight to behold all the way out here!"
The prince was delighted, but many in the crowd had turned pale.
Most had bet on Albert.
No further side bets mattered now.
The birth of an albino variant had ended it all.
Even so, one noble clung to denial and asked.
Grasping at straws.
"So... what about the bet?"
The prince snorted in response.
"Victory to the Fifth Dragon Stable."
A massive uproar erupted.
"What? So the Fifth Dragon Stable wins after all?"
"Pay up! You bastard! I won!"
The minority who had bet on Owen jumped for joy.
To them, it was nothing short of a miracle.
Those who backed Albert tore at their hair.
Chaos broke out everywhere.
Owen quickly had the wyrmling secured, then approached one man.
He had collapsed to the ground in a daze.
Albert, manager of the Second Dragon Stable.
"Lord Albert. Just as you said, a predictable outcome."
"Wh-what? You knew this would happen from the start?"
"Who am I, a mere novice, to know such things? Not like you, the seasoned manager of the Second Dragon Stable... Ah! Not anymore, I suppose?"
Startled, Albert begged, clutching at Owen's leg.
"No! This can't be! Please, just this once!"
"Heh, Lord Albert. Mind your dignity. It's embarrassing to watch."
"No! This isn't right!"
Albert wailed.
But his ordeal was only beginning.
Nobles nearby slapped him and lunged.
Slap!
"You swindling bastard!"
Others bellowed too.
"I trusted you alone, and this is what happens!"
"You idiot! It's an albino! An albino!"
"What are you going to do about this!"
Beaten by the mob, Albert shoved through and fled.
"Grab that bastard!"
"Now, really?"
"Get him!"
Furious nobles chased after him en masse.
The winners pursued too, demanding their payouts.
It was pure farce.
Owen savored the victory amid the mayhem.
Then, unexpectedly, someone approached.
Russell Count.
"Lord Leire."
Owen eyed him, mind racing.
Russell Count sided with Albert earlier. They seemed colluding somehow...
The Second Dragon Stable's sudden hostility was suspicious too.
Someone pulling strings behind the scenes.
Not surprising if it was Russell Count.
Owen wondered what the man wanted now.
Not some 'wait and see' threat, I hope?
If so, he'd peg Russell as a third-rate villain.
But the renowned, ruthless negotiator was above such trash.
"Sell me that newborn albino whip-tail dragon."
"Pardon?"
Owen couldn't help raising an eyebrow, manners be damned.
Even so, straight to this?
"As I said. I'll buy that albino whip-tail dragon."
"Hmm..."
Naturally, Owen had no desire to sell to Russell Count.
This beauty was surely worth investing in.
He made an excuse.
"A wyrmling hatched today belongs to the Fifth Dragon Stable. How could I decide on my own?"
"Nonsense. You invested in it. Don't forget I was there when you secured special funding from His Highness."
"That was..."
"Six months' term. To normalize the Fifth Dragon Stable in that time, you'll have to sell."
True enough.
Russell Count's insight was sharp.
"Lord Leire. Double the market value. Not a bad deal. What say you?"
Owen stroked his chin, pondering.
Needed a new way to refuse.
But Russell Count pressed on.
"Lord Leire."
"Yes, Count."
"Think carefully. I'm offering ample coin, yet you keep ignoring me? Didn't expect you'd hold the Russell name so lightly."
"Of course not."
"No. You showed no hesitation blowing away my son before. A match, of course—no blame."
The words sounded polite, but anyone could hear the edge.
Russell Count added,
"Might seem modest to you, but the Russells have ties across the Empire. Especially in dragon trade."
The implication was clear.
Whoever you sell to, I can buy it back.
Owen inwardly admired the onslaught.
Rumors weren't exaggerated. Turning crisis to opportunity?
How to fend him off?
Owen had one way to reject: the prince.
If the prince claimed the albino whip-tail, Russell's demand dies.
But that incurs a debt to His Highness...
That was Owen's dilemma.
Then, unexpectedly, it happened.
The prince stepped in voluntarily.
"Russell Count. Sorry, but hand that whip-tail dragon to me."
"Your Highness, how..."
"Imperial edicts don't reach well in the East. But in the capital, the three-meter limit hits hard."
In plain terms: You're an Easterner—find something else.
Russell Count thought the prince a bandit.
But the prince outdid expectations.
"Russell Count. Yield it. Or must I ask Duke Surpuk? You know the imperial family has ties everywhere too."
He could be brazen beyond belief.
"......"
Russell Count knew the moment the prince intervened, it was over—but the creeping humiliation lingered.
Still, he was cool-headed, quick to judge.
No options now.
"Your Highness, 'yield' is too much. As you wish."
The wyrmling's owner was set.
Not even the Russells could repurchase from the prince.
"Your Highness, I'll take my leave."
Russell Count turned, glancing at Owen.
Owen couldn't read his thoughts just then.
His eyes were too calm for anger.
Maybe scheming something new.
To Owen, Russell seemed less a loser than a general in tactical retreat.
Time before he returned.
Owen thanked the prince.
Subtly, of course.
"Your Highness, an honor to offer a dragon to the imperial house. My thanks."
But the prince replied directly.
"Don't think of today's events as debt. If anything, you're wondering what I expect in return for sidelining Russell. Right?"
"...Your Highness."
"No need to answer. I understand your position. Just saying—no debt. Call it even for the show."
"My deepest gratitude, Your Highness."
"I'll send Alania soon. Discuss the wyrmling with her."
The prince mounted and departed, business done.
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Albert, who fled the Fifth Dragon Stable, was caught again in Bris city streets.
Grabbed trying to hide in moneylender Arhana's mansion—the nobles already knew their ties and guarded the door.
"Got you, you rat!"
"What a pathetic sight, Lord Albert!"
"Trusted you most, and you run first?"
With stakes doubled, the nobles' fury was vicious.
They mobbed him, cursing and beating; city guards dared not intervene amid the brutality.
"Please, spare me!"
Albert was pummeled like a dog.
Panicking, he judged he'd be beaten to death.
Soon, a scream pierced.
"Aaaagh!"
Albert drew a dagger from his bosom and stabbed a noble.
Stunned nobles flinched; Albert bolted for his life.
But fear held the nobles back momentarily.
"He... he's dead!"
Never expected murder.
Regaining wits, they rallied retainers and pursued.
"Seal the gates! He's trapped in Bris—a rat in a cage!"
"Murder! We can call the city guard!"
"Good idea!"
As nobles hunted like predators, Albert hid in filthy alleys, gasping.
"Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!"
His breath ragged from tension and adrenaline.
He crouched, clawing his hair.
"What do I do? What now?"
Irreparable now.
Couldn't reach Arhana—nobles blocked her.
Scratching his head for options, inspiration struck.
"Ah! The Underground Tomb!"
Centuries-old massive crypt beneath Bris, source of grim rumors.
Sealed after disappearances, but criminals used it well.
Moneylender Arhana was one.
"She said there's a hideout in the Underground Tomb!"
Recalling her words, Albert slipped into the tomb.
Even passing rat-infested sewers to reach it, shouts echoed above.
"Where's that bastard!"
"Cut off his hands when we find him!"
Terrified by the threats, Albert shrank and delved deeper underground.
For days, Albert huddled in the pitch-black Underground Tomb without food.
Finally.
Arhana arrived with men and torches; like a child, he collapsed into her arms, sobbing.
"Waaah!"
Even seeing the man wail grotesquely in pain, Arhana stroked his head gently.
"It's alright, Albert. You're safe now."
Strange.
Albert had lost position and means to repay her debts.
Yet treated this way? The Black Widow Arhana had plans.
Once calmed from crying, Arhana kissed his filthy forehead.
"Rest first, Albert."
"Thanks, Arhana. Stay with me."
"Sorry. Too much work. But I'll send plenty of wine and food."
Arhana didn't visit for days after.
Albert waited, going mad.
His fate rested with her.
Wild fears plagued him.
Would she betray or abandon him? He shivered.
As his mind weakened in the dark, Arhana appeared with a guest.
A figure in deep black hood, identity unknown.
"Arhana!"
"Albert. I brought a guest today. Wants to meet you."
"Who? I don't need guests!"
Exhausted but alert now.
Arhana soothed him.
"No worries. I trust him. Similar straits to you. You'll help each other."
"Arhana!"
"Albert. If you won't listen, I can't help anymore."
"Ah... no! Please!"
"Albert. So hear me out. For your sake."
"...Fine."
Albert yielded.
Wondered if he'd snared in the Black Widow's web—but powerless.
Just accept.
...No way out anyway.
At his words, the hooded man stepped forward.
"Wise choice."
He threw back the hood, revealing striking blond hair.
A handsome man of fine build.
"Pleased to meet you, Lord Albert."
"Who are you?"
"Magnus. Amateur skills, but a dragon knight."
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