Punish Him for Me (16)
Aterugar let out a piercing shriek and stumbled backward, only to fall flat on her ass. Not satisfied with that, she clawed at the ground frantically while scooting away on her butt.
"What the fuck!!"
I recoiled too, jumping back from the box in horror. Inside were piles of tiny dragon sheds, skins, and bones. The translucent sheds were so ancient and brittle that they looked like they'd crumble at the slightest touch, and the bones were covered in repulsive bite marks. It was as if... someone had playfully gnawed on them like toys...
That alone was grotesque enough, but what truly shocked me was a perfectly intact hatchling. No—more precisely, it wasn't alive. It was like a stuffed doll, its skin packed full of dirt or cotton. Judging by its size—about as big as a warhorse from the legions—it must have hatched not long ago, a very young hatchling... And the skin around its vital areas was completely shredded. When I peered inside, I nearly puked. The blackened, withered innards... Fuck... Fuck...
"Hic... You crazy bastard... You perverted fucking psycho..."
Aterugar turned her head away, sniffling and muttering curses.
As I scanned the rest of the box, I spotted something unusual. It was like a black, round glass orb, a bit smaller than my fist. Its surface was etched with dense, intricate script—not your average trinket.
"What's this?"
"I don't know... I don't know! Close the lid—now!"
I pocketed just that one item and shut the lid with a heavy heart. Dragons lay only one egg at a time, and even that has an incredibly long cycle. Yet this massive box was filled to the brim... How long had that freak been at this...?
If I'd known it was this bad, I should've made his death slow and agonizing instead of quick.
"We'll... burn this shit before we leave..."
We closed the lid and stood there in silence for a while longer.
"Hoo... I wanna get the hell outta here..."
Aterugar pulled herself together and stood shakily. We searched the cave as best we could, avoiding the box's corner. Soon, she dragged out her own treasure chest from under a massive boulder.
"Heh heh... Guess he never found this one."
Her treasure chest, collected since her hatchling days, was surprisingly modest. It was even smaller than the safe in my room back at the inn. But Aterugar caressed it with the adoration one might reserve for the world's greatest treasure.
"Lemme see inside. C'mon, let's take a peek."
"No way! You're just gonna steal it, you greedy jerk!"
"Nah, for real—just curious. What's a dragon even hoard, anyway?"
Half-suspicious, she cracked open the lid to show me. As expected, it held a modest assortment of gold coins in various denominations, gleaming gems, and jewelry. And a soft, white bunny doll. Unlike a real rabbit, it was shaped like a person, finished with delicate floral fabric on its soles and the insides of its ears—adorable.
"Phew... It's safe... intact..."
Aterugar fiddled with the doll and let out a small laugh. Just like a little girl...
But no matter how much we rummaged, we found no sign of Lurtjog's treasure. After circling the massive cavern several times, Aterugar and I exchanged silent glances. She was thinking the same thing I was.
Yeah... That box full of hatchling remains... That was his treasure chest...
Aterugar shuddered and whispered,
"Let's... get outta here... you lame hero..."
"Yeah. Light it up."
Back at the inn, Aterugar shoved her treasure chest deep under her bed right away.
"That gonna cut it? What if someone swipes it?"
"Hmph! Butt out! Scram!"
"Sigh. Gonna take forever to knock some manners into her."
Aterugar shot me a glare but propped the bunny doll up by her pillow. Grumbling all the while, she still handled everything I'd asked of her faithfully. A red dragon's fire manipulation was nothing short of divine artistry. With a mere finger snap morning and night, she lit and extinguished every candelabra in the inn and bathhouse in unison. The bathhouse's hot water boiler burned steadily without a single log of firewood. Della and Ukun no longer had to weep over fire-tending duties.
Large, birdcage-like iron braziers were placed in the inn hall, corridors, and every guest room. They burned without wood or smoke, warming the air cozily. And crucially, they gave off no light, so guests weren't disturbed by glare during sleep. Turns out red dragons could even conjure smokeless, heat-only flames—or flames without light.
I was tempted to envelop the whole inn, but that risked air stagnation, so I held off.
The staff took Aterugar's presence in stride—maybe better than that. Sure, she was rude as hell, but her cute looks made even her bitching seem endearing and childish. Hell, looking at her, I sometimes forgot she was a dragon and just saw a bratty human girl. Except for Marim, who hated her guts after Aterugar's "mongrel" and "piss-pot" insults at their first meeting. Still, even Marim softened a tad once Aterugar installed a heater in her room. Not friendly, but less hostile.
Side by side, those two really did look like twins...
The blockade on Rosens' southern road lifted. Myanfeld's refugees had all headed south to Bue for resettlement aid, scattering far and wide. Right after the refugee camp dismantled, a few officials dropped by the inn with a money pouch and receipt.
"Subsidy for business losses during the requisition period."
Counting it out, I was stunned—way more than expected. The official explained that the palace had topped up the planned budget. No idea why, but word was it compensated for housing the refugees in Rosens without notice. Elua's got deeper pockets than I thought. Bought Lurtjog's corpse for three thousand gold, then tossed in extra budget like pocket change. Sure, my taxes were in there somewhere.
Lurtjog's head prep went smoothly. Ukun neatly trimmed the shattered bits with hammer and saw, then Pelle applied her preservation ritual. Now rain or snow, it'd stay pristine forever. At midnight, Aterugar shifted to her true form and hoisted it to the inn's front exterior wall; Ukun climbed ropes and nailed it secure. Thus, a blue dragon's fearsome head adorned our inn.
Cart-sized and visible from east, west, or south, it loomed sharp and clear. Maybe time to rename from Crossroads Troll to Crossroads Dragon.
"Kyaaaaah!!"
Celereja, fresh off saintess duty, spotted it first and screamed, blasting a holy beam. Luckily, the newbie saintess lacked control—no hole punched through.
Rumors of the aerial dragon duel over Rosens spread like wildfire. Fought high up with breath blasts, witnesses in Bue and Fribourg confirmed it... Folks who knew a headless blue dragon had crashed into the nearby Vurn Mountains swarmed to scavenge. Sightseers and looters hoping for scraps. But palace mages took every drop of blood, leaving nothing. Disappointed, they flocked to our inn to gawk at the mounted head.
The crossroads bustled for days. Some snuck up the wall at night, coveting it. But no ordinary blade scratched Lurtjog's hide—they just got yeeted by me into parabolic arcs over the Buren River. Pure curiosity-seekers just ogled and left, but some dined or stayed. Especially those who'd trekked far just for the dragon.
Chatting with them, they called themselves monster enthusiasts.
"Monster enthusiasts?"
"Yep. We study mysterious monsters, track 'em down, observe up close."
I knew of such folks, but meeting them felt different.
"Bertrand... So many people..."
Idi watched the crowds spill into the inn yard for a peek.
"Maybe set up tables outside, sell drinks...? They must be parched after trekking here..."
Her words sparked a flash of inspiration. One idea snowballed into a chain.
I bolted upstairs to find Kosa.