Yggdrasil (1)
Fear doesn't last as long as you'd think. Ah, but I'm talking about realistic fear here—the kind you can actually fight back against. A tyrannical despot you can topple with enough grit, or a ghost or monster you can smash with raw physical force. Scary, sure, but the sort you can overcome if you play your cards right. My threats were exactly that level. Over the past 200 years, the fearsome reputation of the Red Dragon had taken quite a hit. So naturally, more people started thinking, "Eh, that old dragon's nothing special," and the uninvited guests kept piling up.
Did that mean I had to drag my massive body out there, remind them of the terror etched into their genes by torching the world and wiping a few countries off the map? Just imagining it was exhausting and way too pretentious for my taste. I had zero interest in going that route.
In that sense, I was pretty satisfied watching that departing elf... uh, forgot her name, whatever. She'd spilled her whole story on her own, and it was crystal clear what I could get out of it. She was mentally broken, with nowhere to turn, and she'd shown up at my doorstep ready to die. But now? A handful of useless gold coins gathering dust and some random herbs later, I'd bestowed "grace" upon her. She'd already felt the gulf between us, so no way she'd get cocky again. Gratitude was all that was left, and she'd faithfully carry out the "warning" I'd commanded.
'Now I can finally sleep easy.'
Aah, I'd been so damn tired lately. Expedition teams, treasure hunters—mosquitoes buzzing around, ruining my naps. I'd always thought the same in my previous life: whether you're stealing my gold or sucking my blood, just don't get caught. Why did things that die with one swat have to whine so loud and make such a fuss? I couldn't wrap my head around it.
With those thoughts swirling, I drifted off to sleep again. I was starting to realize I needed a new pillow. This pile of gold and treasures was too damn hard. For sleeping... ah, even thinking about it was annoying. And just like that, I sank into slumber, never imagining that elf would drag even more hassle my way.
****
The moment Elenoa received the Red Dragon's "grace," she bolted straight back to the elves' home, Yggdrasil. Feet blistered and bleeding, she didn't care—she ran until she arrived after a full month.
"Phar-Pharmacist...! H-Here, these flowers...! Moonlight flowers...! Huff, huff...! I brought moonlight flowers!"
Before heading home, she detoured to the workshop of the renowned pharmacist, Terban, hoping to brew a potion from the moonlight flowers. The moment he saw what was in her pouch, he couldn't hide his shock.
"H-How did you get this many...?!"
It was a natural reaction. Moonlight flowers were rare and pricey as hell. You'd have to sell your house and everything in it just to snag one or two, maybe. For her to bring back whole bundles? Unbelievable.
"Whatever, just make it quick! My mother's dying...!"
Elenoa couldn't care less about his reaction. Her mind was filled with one thing: hope that she could save her mother.
"A-Alright, just wait a sec."
Seeing her desperation, he got right to work.
"How can they be this high-quality...? It's like a grand mage tended them for decades."
Amazed by the purity, he used the moonlight flowers generously as she'd asked, crafting the purest elixir possible.
"Here you go. Just what you requested."
"Thank you...!"
Elenoa snatched the medicine and raced to her home—the rundown edge of Yggdrasil, where her family was now a thorn in everyone's side, all former allies gone. Still, tears of joy streamed down her face. She'd found a way to cure the incurable disease that had tormented her mother for so long. The curse-like magic stone disease that was slowly turning her body to stone.
"E-Elenoa...?"
"M-Mom...! Just hold on, please, just a little longer."
No caregivers in sight, her mother barely moved her still-flesh upper body. Elenoa fed her the powder made from moonlight flowers and various herbs.
—Crunch, cruuunch...
Then, a miracle unfolded. Her frozen, translucent legs—her lower body—began regaining life, bit by bit.
"Wh-What...?!"
"M-Mom...!"
Legs that wouldn't respond to her will now twitched. Nerves carried signals from her brain, letting her wiggle her toes. The bone-deep agony that had seemed eternal faded away.
"Mom...! Mom, it won't hurt anymore...! Nothing can torment you now...!!"
It was a true miracle. Magic stone disease couldn't be cured by ordinary moonlight flowers. Only ones infused with ultra-pure mana, surviving in harsh wilds, held the key. And the Red Dragon had handed them over like they were nothing. He'd even given her gold, as if telling her to rebuild her crumbling house.
"My beautiful Elenoa... Mommy's so sorry. Because of me, you can't even use your hands or feet properly..."
Her mother stroked the head of Elenoa, sobbing in her arms. She was proud of her daughter—and pitied her. If not for her illness, Elenoa could've inherited the family intact, securing a place in Yggdrasil like her father had.
"No, Mom. Just you being alive... that's more than enough for me...!"
But her mother's regrets didn't matter. She was alive. Cured. That was the irrefutable truth no one could take away.
Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of Elenoa’s story.
"You bitch, Elenoa. Where the hell did you get those moonlight flowers?"
...Far from it.
****
Elenoa was an undeniable fallen noble in Yggdrasil. Once the daughter of a reformist leader pushing for openness and change. Now? Just the daughter of a dead leader, with a mother dying from an incurable disease and all allies severed. She'd scraped by as a lowly adventurer, pouring water into a bottomless barrel as her house inevitably crumbled.
Yet this woman had somehow...
"...Where the hell did you get these?"
...procured moonlight flowers of such pristine quality? To Great Clan Leader Revandor, it made zero sense.
"Fair... I got them fair and square...! No wrongdoing at all...!"
So he interrogated her. Pulling off something this impossible meant she'd done something shady or underhanded. Time to pay.
"Then what's with this gold? This is from a nation that barely exists anymore. Where did you steal it from!!"
And she had clear evidence. Coins from a kingdom erased by the Red Dragon's scorching breath. Only scavengers rummaging ruins—thieves and graverobbers—or the Red Dragon's lair would have them. For her to hold such tainted treasure? Logical or not, she'd sullied Yggdrasil's honor.
'These bitches have nothing left but their lives. We can't let the reformist flames reignite.'
...Or more precisely, she had to have done something worthy of punishment. To protect Yggdrasil's traditions and honor, reformists like her and her line needed to vanish. For her to pull this off in secret? Unforgivable.
Revandor wouldn't stand for it.
However...
"...That's proof of the Red Dragon's mercy. I swear I didn't tarnish Yggdrasil's honor!"
Her words felt off.
"Wh-What? You met the Red Dragon face-to-face?"
"Yes! I snuck in to steal his gold, but he forgave me and gave me the coins and flowers!!"
Met the Apocalypse Red Dragon? That Red Dragon? Revandor couldn't process it.
"...Impossible. Then how are you still alive?!"
Elenoa hesitated at the Great Clan Leader's question. He'd ordered her to spread his terror, but his mercy was real too. Was it okay to reveal that side?
Revandor pounced on the gap. Interrogation was magic that prodded weaknesses until answers spilled. He had power to spare.
"...Looks like you've got something to hide. If you don't come clean—"
"—Hic...!"
"M-Mom!!"
"—I'll take your mother's head and yours too."
Behind him, soldiers dragged in her mother—a clear promise of death. Elenoa’s lips trembled.
"...If I speak, the Red Dragon might burn this forest to ash. You still don't care, Great Clan Leader?"
She drew her line. Whatever followed was his choice. She didn't want this.
"Even the Red Dragon can't hear from this far. How would a calamity catch our whispers? Now talk. Open that mouth. Or I'll show you horrors beyond your nightmares."
Hearing that, Elenoa realized dialogue was dead. No power to turn back the doom. Resigned to buying time, she spoke calmly.
"...He was merciful."
"...What?"
"He values life. That's why I survived entering his lair, and why he gave me gifts I didn't deserve. But he hates intruders. He made it clear no one should enter easily. And... that gold is proof."
To Revandor, she sounded like a priestess. Yet her words rang true—no lie in them. The elf-sensitive winds, the air itself confirmed it.
"...Proof, you say."
His mind raced. The Red Dragon showed mercy. Sent an intruder away with gifts. What if they sent her back officially? As proper "guests," not intruders? Maybe... more "mercy" awaited? Gifts? Trade?
"...Fine. I'll believe you."
He decided.
"I'll assign soldiers... no, envoys and diplomats."
"...Pardon?"
"You'll handle trade with the Red Dragon, you who have ties to him. Elenoa, take up your sword. This is your chance to elevate Yggdrasil's honor."
Use her. Take from the Red Dragon—what he had. That was Revandor's call.