Exacting the Price
Leviathan took longer than expected to fully recover. The gear those dragon hunters used was pretty impressive, all things considered. Leviathan is a dragon with the essence of water, after all—and water symbolizes regeneration. Dragons already have exceptional healing abilities, and among them, she's one of the best. Yet those bastards managed to wound her. And it wasn't just a wound; they made it fester and rot.
Two hundred years ago, this kind of technological advancement would have been unimaginable. That's what left such deep scars on recent dragons. Part of me wanted to grab their weapons, dismantle them, and analyze every piece. Unfortunately, I'd already burned them all to ash, so that was out of the question.
Luckily, we had elves well-versed in herbal medicine. —My lord Red Dragon, might we use some of the herbs in your possession? Isabella, in particular, proved invaluable. She'd studied every medicine under the sun while battling her illness. She shortened what should have been a much longer recovery to just a month. A commendable elf, indeed.
Once Leviathan rose from her sickbed—well, she was just curled up next to my gold hoard; no actual bed involved—she'd shifted into human form. With a brighter expression than usual, she dove right into national affairs.
"So, my king. What do you want to tackle first?"
I gave her the answer I'd already decided on.
[I will exact the price.]
"...Price? What price?"
[The ones who wounded you. The vermin dragon hunters and those who aided them. We'll pressure that place first.]
"...Oh."
I hadn't liked Lebn Hill from the start. They helped the dragon hunters, didn't they? So torching the lot of them felt entirely justified. No hesitation there.
But.
"My take is a bit different."
Leviathan saw things otherwise.
"Lebn Hill isn't in Aidon's territory."
[Hmm.]
"It's a fiefdom of Kohmir Duchy. Which makes it look more like Aidon stirring up trouble on their own."
[...Reasons?]
"Their accents, the dragon hunters basing there—circumstantial evidence points to Aidon pulling the strings."
That was all I needed to hear, and suddenly thinking got annoying. Wasn't it Kohmir's failure for not managing their own land? Burn them both down and call it a day. Why bother with the hassle?
Then a possibility struck me.
[...In that case, they might have value to exploit.]
"Exactly. That's why I see it differently."
[Their transgression is clear. And I have the means to punish it harshly.]
"I'm all for using them. Building the Red Dragon's faction! Make them a vassal state, demand reparations—whatever. Proof we've established a 'nation.' Use Kohmir for that."
Even on modern Earth, whether something qualified as a nation changed everything. Seemed no different here. Best part? I wouldn't even have to move. Send an envoy in my name, and the pressure alone would do the work. I could just lounge here, and they'd come crawling.
That sealed it—sounded pretty good.
[Then, next...]
I was about to shift topics when Leviathan grinned and continued.
"The populace. We need more people here."
[Populace?]
"Do you know how many elves are here?"
Hm, no clue. Never saw the point, and it was too much hassle anyway. Why bother counting elves? I figured tracking the key ones—the ones with scales—was enough.
But that was just me. Leviathan sighed deeply.
"Ahem... 563. That's the current elf count."
...563. Like an apartment complex. Yeah, calling that a nation felt off.
But how do you build a populace? We weren't force-breeding elves. I didn't get it.
[How exactly do you plan to increase the populace?]
I asked straight, and she confidently raised her index finger.
"First: Gather the rootless and bring them under us."
Then her middle finger.
"Second: Subjugate them directly. We should do both."
[...That makes exploiting Kohmir even more essential.]
"I thought the same, my king."
A intriguing proposal, indeed.
Hyahir Mountain, home to the Red Dragon's lair, was inherently remote. It had to be. Smack in the middle of a mountain range—not exactly commuter-friendly. And with the Red Dragon nesting there? Even nearby villages and towns gradually drifted farther away.
So how must the nearest nation feel?
"What in the blazes...! What the hell are they doing on my land...?!"
Predictably grim. Duke Bjorn of Kohmir Duchy, the dwarven realm, had been losing sleep to headaches and stomachaches lately.
His nation was already perilously close to the Red Dragon's lair. Then the world tree burned down because of that beast. And most recently, the incident in Lebn Hill—one of their small towns.
What are they doing in someone else's country?! Doesn't Aidon Kingdom have a shred of conscience?!
Most infuriating? The culprits were outsiders. Their speech and status screamed Aidon Kingdom.
"If the Red Dragon hadn't slaughtered them all! I could've interrogated one...!"
This reeked of political maneuvering. A ploy to seize Kohmir using the Red Dragon. Elves embodied arrogance, humans greed—at their peaks. Sure, Aidon's king was famed for mortal talents, but that was political spin. No doubt a brutal human scheme.
Yet pondering state affairs nonstop wasn't enough; his dwarves...
"We need countermeasures...! Plans! If you've got ideas, speak up—instead of just boozing!!"
"Uh, uh... My liege, have a drink? Booze sharpens the mind, they say."
"Right, right! Here, liege! Down the hatch!!"
Zero ideas. Brainless revelers surviving on handicrafts and exports. Classic dwarves.
I have to do something...! Guide these dwarves somehow...!!
Bjorn steeled himself. To survive the Red Dragon and international tensions, reform was essential. He vowed to become Kohmir's first reformist ruler—
"Hey, you louts!! We don't have time for—"
"—M-my liege...!!! "
A messenger burst in.
"What now? If you're peddling booze, it's the cudgel for you—"
"—An envoy! A diplomatic envoy!!"
"What? From where?"
"Y-you might not believe it..."
"Spit it out."
"The R-Red Dragon... has founded a nation."
"...Huh?"
Delivered with earth-shattering news.
Bjorn couldn't help staring at the envoys, lost in thought. First off, they were bizarre.
Elves... right?
Basic frame: elves. Long ears, stunning features—textbook elf traits.
But closer inspection revealed oddities galore. Take the lead elf with the bow on her back. Her scent was off—no grassy elf aroma, but furnace smoke, like a forge.
Skin ashen-pale, hair matching. Okay, fashion trends cycle. Maybe edgy elf style.
But.
...Scales on their skin?
Red scales dotted their skin—arms, legs, foreheads, cheeks. Localized, but alien. Utterly heterologous.
"We are those blessed by the Red Dragon. Some... especially Leviathan... call us 'Draconic Elves.'"
Elenoa had fully clocked Bjorn's gaze. As a former divine archer, her eyes were sharp. She read the dwarves' poorly masked shock effortlessly.
"...Ahem, apologies if rude. No offense. First time seeing such."
Bjorn apologized with a sour face, but Elenoa brushed it off, calm as ever.
"No matter. Shall we get to business?"
"...Fine. We're no good at diplomatic fluff anyway. Straight to it? Much appreciated."
Her words froze Bjorn's reason.
Because.
"Become our vassal state. Comply, and we shall be your protectors."
Those words.
Impossible to ignore.