Chapter 336
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 336
Chapter Title: I'll Have You
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"......"
Hasneti was the Red Dragon Princess.
Among the seven princesses of the Seven Dragon Society, she was the woman who had seen the most battles.
That was why she was as accustomed to madness as the Silver Dragon Princess—second only to her.
Soldiers massacring civilians.
Children losing their minds in terror.
Women driven to despair, seeking death.
These were sights on the battlefield that weren't the least bit surprising—familiar to the point of feeling everyday.
Even for Hasneti, though, she couldn't help but have her attention stolen by the blond, tanned boy whittling away at a block of wood amid this chaotic mess.
It wasn't just because of that absurd behavior.
It was the calm aura about him, as if he found this warzone-like space familiar rather than alienating.
And the roughly carved wooden piece that somehow drew the eye despite its crude shape.
But above all, there was one more reason.
It made even Hasneti speak in a dull voice instead of her usual blazing fury.
"......What are you doing here?"
At that moment.
The elites of the Crimson Dragon Corps, resonating with her through psionics, flinched.
It was that unexpected for Hasneti to address someone on the battlefield—someone she was just going to kill anyway.
Scrape.
But the boy himself didn't startle, panic, or show fear.
As if he hadn't heard the question at all.
He just kept whittling away at the wood.
"Answer......"
Scrape.
Hasneti shut her mouth.
As if to say wait a moment.
A small hand quietly extended toward her.
And then, as if waiting for her silence, he withdrew it and resumed carving.
This told her everything.
The boy hadn't failed to hear her.
He had ignored her to focus on his work—or because he didn't want to be disturbed.
He had cut her off.
And made her wait.
And this was against her—the object of terror for all on the African continent.
Who had just massacred thousands of summons and felled the Summon Lord, still wreathed in her draconic transformation.
A perfectly mad act.
No, at this point, it looked like he was simply suicidal.
But the Crimson Dragon Corps didn't intervene.
No point in intimidating someone eager for death.
Besides, they were certain the boy would turn to ash with a mere snap of Hasneti's fingers.
"......?"
That was why, moments later.
They grew puzzled.
No matter how long they waited, Hasneti neither incinerated the boy nor twisted his neck.
She simply watched him in silence.
And their puzzlement soon turned to dismay.
Just as the boy had extended his palm earlier.
Hasneti was truly waiting for him to finish his work.
But whether they panicked or not.
She paid them no mind.
Instead, she stared piercingly at the boy who, even in this pandemonium, didn't spare her a glance and focused solely on his wood.
Scrape.
With every movement of the boy's hands.
The wood block was gradually shaved away.
And the boiling blood in her veins began to cool.
The aftereffects of her draconic transformation—something even her immense psionics couldn't suppress—were easing just from watching him carve.
That alone was astonishing, spine-chilling even.
Enough to naturally pique the interest of one of the Seven Dragon Society's princesses.
But that wasn't the only reason Hasneti watched the boy without so much as blinking.
Scrape.
'Those movements......'
Gripping the wood block.
Gently sliding the carving knife.
Smoothly shaving the surface.
At a glance, the motions seemed ordinary—monotonous, even.
But Hasneti, the greatest master of the Red Dragon Clan with senses sharpened by her transformation, could tell.
That monotony was the result of ultimate flawlessness and delicacy.
Things reach their peak and must reverse.
The movements of a craftsman who had reached the pinnacle in their field—so perfect and elegant that they appeared mundane.
Watching them, Hasneti murmured without realizing it.
"Beautiful."
The Crimson Dragon Corps flinched in shock.
And as Hasneti continued her silent vigil.
The boy, calmly wielding his knife, finally stopped.
No longer was there a crude block of wood in his hands.
Only a statue remained: a falcon majestically pinning down a serpent, even with one wing broken.
He turned the piece he had made around, inspecting it.
Then nodded in satisfaction.
Only then did he look up at Hasneti and smile faintly.
"Thanks for waiting, Pharaoh."
"You......"
He naturally dropped to one knee, crossing his arms before his chest in the ancient Egyptian rite used by old nobility.
Hasneti frowned briefly at the blond, tanned boy in traditional Egyptian garb.
Then asked in a dull voice.
"Are you one of my people?"
"If you mean a descendant of Horus, then yes—I have the right to speak casually to the Pharaoh."
"Your name?"
"The strong bull beloved by Ra, the noble soul that does not break, Rimor who will be great through victory."
"......A collateral line from Ramesses II."
Among Egyptians, only the highest nobles—with royal blood from distant ancestors—could omit honorifics with her.
Hasneti, roughly deducing Rimon's lineage from his archaic name, asked lowly.
"What are you doing here?"
Why was a descendant of Horus at this gathering of her rebels?
Her heavy tone implied punishment depending on his answer.
Rimon's response was unexpected.
"Preparing a tribute."
"A tribute?"
"The Pharaoh has triumphed and seized hegemony over the continent. As a subject, it's only natural to prepare a gift, right?"
"......"
"With that in mind, here."
Thud.
Hasneti reflexively caught the falcon statue.
Rimon asked lightly.
"What do you think of my tribute?"
Like an innocent child handing over a gift and expecting awe, he grinned.
Hasneti paused in silence.
Then slowly looked down at the bird carving in her hand.
And nodded.
"Not bad."
The Crimson Dragon Corps stirred again.
For Hasneti—who dismissed piles of gold and jewels as trite—this was extravagant praise.
Aware or not.
Rimon chuckled lightly.
"Good thing you like it. Would've been hard to make this request otherwise."
"What request?"
"You've been celebrated for your victory, so please don't stain the great Pharaoh's name with unnecessary blood."
"......You're saying take this one gift and leave? Spare those who defied me?"
"No, not just one."
Rimon shook his head.
Then flashed a bright smile, spreading his index finger.
"A thousand."
"......"
"At least a thousand carvings—no less than this one. One a day, until you have them all."
A thousand carvings.
A thousand days.
Nearly three years of daily tributes that satisfied Hasneti, without fail.
Faced with Rimon's absurd proposal, Hasneti fell silent.
"......You're offering a thousand carvings in exchange for halting the conquest?"
"No need for unnecessary bloodshed."
Perhaps due to the sheer ridiculousness.
Hasneti fixed Rimon with her blood-red eyes, colder than usual.
It was only natural.
No matter how magnificent the thousand carvings—worthy of endless palace display.
Even if Africa was already hers, killing or sparing them irrelevant.
Weighing continental hegemony over mere carvings was insane by any measure.
"Fine."
"Phar...... Your Majesty?"
That was why.
The Crimson Dragon Corps groaned as Hasneti accepted so readily.
Even proposer Rimon looked surprised.
But she ignored them.
She toyed with the oddly refreshing wooden statue, then spoke lowly.
"But on one condition."
"What condition?"
"Stay in my palace while you carve."
"As a hostage?"
"Become my consort."
"......Huh?"
At that instant.
Rimon blinked.
Then stared blankly at Hasneti before blurting awkwardly.
"That might be a problem."
"Why?"
"Surely the Pharaoh has a more fitting groom in mind...... someone to make your prince consort."
"What does that matter?"
"......"
Whether she took a prince consort later or not, it wasn't reason to forgo a side consort.
Rimon broke into a cold sweat at her firm declaration.
He belatedly recalled: since the Red Dragon Princess became Pharaoh, the Egyptian royal house had embraced polygamy as standard.
"Uh...... Even if the Pharaoh doesn't mind, it's tricky for me."
"Why?"
"I'm already someone else's concubine."
"......Concubine?"
"Yeah. Heard of the eastern outlaw and the kingdom-toppling genius strategist?"
As if hearing something unexpected.
Or displeased that someone had claimed what she wanted first.
She furrowed her brow, staring at Rimon intently for a long while.
"I see. So that's how it is."
Nodding as if understanding why Rimon was here, Hasneti thought briefly before continuing in a dull voice.
"Then I'll change the condition."
"How?"
"Become my consort, even temporarily. Do that, and as long as you produce one carving a day that leaves me in awe, I won't touch you."
"......Even just formally?"
"Yes."
Halting the conquest gently now required more than crushing Utopia Guild.
She needed a pretext: rescuing a wayward royal collateral captured by a lawless brigand, then taking him as consort.
With impeccably political words—ill-suited to a tyrant—Hasneti made Rimon blink.
Her blood-red eyes pierced him.
"But if even once you produce a carving that fails to satisfy me, I'll have you."
No more compromises.
Rimon scratched his cheek at her icy, resolute tone.
'Didn't see this coming.'
But Rimon had no choice.
Refuse, and Hasneti would slaughter everyone here. He'd never find the Seven-Colored Bird, let alone achieve his goals.
After long deliberation, Rimon sighed and spoke.
"......Did she really leave?"
"Why?"
Just moments ago, the military regime leaders had been scrambling to flee, only to be pinned by the encircling forces.
Now they were baffled.
Why had Hasneti left without killing them?
And who was the boy she'd carried off like a kidnapping?
Unable to comprehend.
But clearer than their questions was relief.
Whatever happened, they'd survived immediate death—and that was joy enough.
Lukuma tribe chief felt the same.
"To make that tyrant retreat! Lord Rimor isn't called a genius strategist for nothing!"
"......"
"But why did Lord Rimor go with her? Were you acquaintances?"
"......"
"Hahaha, this might turn into a blessing in disguise. Maybe we should side with Egypt entirely."
"......"
His joy at cheating death was so overwhelming.
The Lukuma chief chattered happily to himself for a while.
But because of that, he failed to notice.
Rose staring fixedly in the direction Hasneti had taken Rimon, utterly motionless.
That from some point during their talk, all expression had vanished from her face, once marked by dismay and worry.
And why red droplets were dripping from Rose's clenched fist.
The princess—kindest, most just, and gentle of all.
Sank into silence alone amid the wreckage where everyone else rejoiced.