Punish in My Place (5)
I stared blankly at it for a moment before snapping back to reality and yelling, "Stop right there!"
Of course, there was no way he'd listen, so I vaulted over the counter and shoved my way into the crowd of refugees. They were packed so densely around the food line that no one could make way for me. So I leaped right over their heads.
"Bertrand!"
"I'll be right back!"
I shouted back at Francois as I dashed between the tents. The guy was barreling through, knocking over refugees and tents alike as he fled into the fog.
"You're dead if I catch you!"
I roared at the back of his head and charged forward. The refugee—far smaller than me—cleverly widened the gap by ducking into cramped spots I couldn't easily follow. He toppled a few tents and knocked over bowls from refugees who were just about to eat, zigzagging in the most infuriating way. I ran faster, pissed off to my core, but he matched my speed, and the distance barely closed.
Before I knew it, we'd blown past the refugee camp and kept heading west. The refugee veered off the path toward the foothills of the Vurn Mountains, and trees started jutting out of the fog all around us. I dodged left and right, but when I couldn't avoid one, I just smashed through it with my body and kept chasing. Without my Holy Sword, if I lost him in these woods, finding him again would be a nightmare. Screw obstacles—I barreled straight ahead, smashing trees, rocks, and abandoned shacks to splinters. Soon, his back flickered into view up ahead.
He glanced over his shoulder and blanched when he realized I was way closer than he thought.
"I'm gonna rip you apart!"
At my savage bellow, he clapped his hands over his ears. The imbalance from running like that made him stumble, pitching forward precariously like he might topple any second. I seized the moment, launching myself with all my strength and crashing down onto the back of his head. My knee hammered his back and nape; he couldn't hold, collapsing face-first into the dirt.
I pinned his back with my weight and grabbed a fistful of his hair.
"Kyah! Get off!"
Pinned under me, he thrashed like a maniac.
"Didn't I tell you—if I ever saw you again, I'd kill you?!"
"You pathetic crippled fuck...! Acting all high and mighty as the hero, and now you're just slopping out rations in a soup kitchen..."
"You crazy bitch, all mouth and no brains."
I slammed his face into the ground to shut him up.
"Why'd you come back? Huh? Did some punk crack your skull with a quarrel before a decade was up?!"
"Get off me! Get this filthy carcass off!"
The Red Dragon Aterugar writhed wildly to escape me.
"Answer my damn questions!"
"H-how the hell am I supposed to answer when you're squashing me flat?!"
She kept bitching, so I finally rolled off her back. No way she could run now that we'd been this up close and personal. Aterugar muttered curses under her breath as she got up, brushing dirt and dust off her clothes with irritated swipes. Short stature, dainty chest you could cup in one hand, slender arms. In contrast, her thighs had some nice meat on them. Delicate features on a cute, youthful little face. And long red hair tied in twintails. Her locks were a brazen crimson, nothing like Marim's reddish hue—probably matched to her fire-breathing Red Dragon nature.
Irritated, I demanded, "Still got that same kink, huh? Gotta polymorph into that form?"
"Pathetic hero... Mind your own business how I shift. But your eyes are glued to my thighs anyway?"
"Cut the bullshit and answer me. Why were you mixed in with the refugees, lining up for chow?"
"Can't a dragon eat?"
Her eyes narrowed at my waist.
"And what were you doing there without your Holy Sword?"
She giggled in that coy, silky voice.
"Aha, got it. Goddess ditched you, huh? From pathetic hero to just plain pathetic? Loser cripple virgin..."
"Virgin...?"
"Widower even the Goddess couldn't keep. Just die already. I'd hang myself from the shame. Or want me to breath you away pain-free?"
I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. Beaten and chased off like that, and she hadn't changed a bit. Still flapping her gums without a clue. But what the hell was with that speech pattern?
"Why're you laughing? Hit too close to home and lost it? Total-loser Bertrand. No sword, no dick, just a weak human now."
"I got a dick."
"Hahaha, big deal. Useless anyway. Go back, grab your ladle, and serve stew. Suits you, has-been cripple-hero."
She wouldn't shut up, so I had to force her mouth closed. I strode up and drove a fist into her gut.
"Guhk...!"
Aterugar doubled over, too wrecked to even scream. Sparks flew from her mouth instead of spit. No guilt hitting a girl like her—her true form was a massive Red Dragon.
"Done yapping? Now I ask, and you answer straight."
"Doesn't hurt a bit... Weaker than some old fart dying tomorrow... Bet your junk's a limp sea anemone... Gahk...!"
I kicked her slim ankle; she floated briefly before crashing down. To keep her from mouthing off more, I ground my foot on her head.
"Did you burn down Myanfeld?"
"Get your filthy foot off... What do you care if Myanfeld burns... Not a hero anymore, nosy prick... Gek!"
I pressed harder. "Myanfeld. Your doing?"
"Wasn't me!"
"Then who?"
Aterugar clamped her mouth shut. I lifted my foot, squatted beside her. Face in the dirt, she bit her lip hard.
"Listen up. Myanfeld burned, refugees flooded our city. City slapped a levy to 'help,' so my inn's head chef is slaving in that camp kitchen. Business is fucked. I hate that. Pisses me right off."
"Inn...?"
"Yeah, inn. You know what that is, right?"
Aterugar snickered, shoulders shaking. She pushed up slowly, eyeing me with a sly smirk.
"So that's it—kicked from the palace, running some backwater dump? Heh... No joke, you're a total pathetic garbage loser."
"Think what you want, but get this straight: I hate interruptions. Doesn't matter who, I hunt 'em down and crush 'em. You know that firsthand."
She forced a sneer, but her face twitched with tension. Just ten years—barely a few hours to a dragon. Those memories were fresh.
"Asking again: You didn't burn Myanfeld?"
"Why? Gonna go beat whoever did? Ooh, scary."
Dragons—arrogant pricks with egos through the roof. Getting her turf stolen by a human and booted? Ultimate humiliation for this Red Dragon. No idea if dragon society exists, but she'd be shunned there too. That's why, even after I wrecked her, she still scratched at my nerves without backing down. If she had any brains, she'd be on her knees begging forgiveness. But no—dragons bluster even now.
I sighed deeply and stood. Aterugar lifted her head, eyes full of scorn and mockery.
"Finally facing facts? Not a hero anymore—go play kitchen bitch. Myanfeld can burn; none of your business, trash loser."
"Remember our deal ten years ago? Next time we met, I'd kill you."
"Like you could. Goddess dumped you, sword gone, nothing left but a has-been geezer—what're you gonna do?"
"Don't need a Holy Sword to kill a dragon."
"See? Met a young thing after ages, got horny, wanna stick around? Why drag this out? Pathetic Goddess puppet."
"Young my ass. Your true body's lived millennia, I know... Wait."
Hold up... That speech...
Familiar somehow...
"Answer honestly."
I stared her down.
"Were you the one sending me those gifts?"
