The Pure-Love Yongbaki in an NTR Fantasy
“World Tree, my dear.”
The afternoon sun streamed through the canopy, bathing the clearing in golden light.
Titania sat at the table crafted from the World Tree’s own wood, her expression heavy with quiet worry.
Opposite her, the World Tree—eyes wide and unblinking—tilted its small head curiously.
“Huh? What is it?”
“You simply cast her out, didn’t you…? Are you certain it’s wise? She might return one day with bitter hatred and seek revenge.”
“That wretched creature? Ah. You mean the chicken-coop smell?”
To the World Tree and every elf in the forest, Vivian was no longer one of them.
She was nothing but a filthy, foul thing—an odor that clung like rot.
The World Tree remembered the stench it had sensed the day Vivian’s soul had been exposed and frowned, its tiny brow creasing.
Only days had passed, yet the memory of that foul aura still lingered vividly in its mind.
“Yes. I apologize for dredging up those unpleasant memories. We ought to prepare a defense, nonetheless.”
“Ah. As Queen, of course you’d worry. But never mind. You’re right—there’s nothing to fret over.”
The World Tree reached for a blue fruit on the wooden table, bit into it with a crisp crunch, and offered a carefree smile as though the matter were settled.
If the World Tree said it was fine, then it was fine. Yet curiosity, born of doubt, made Titania speak up.
“I know how bold it is to question you, but I must ask: why do you believe she poses no real threat?”
“Ugh. You’re far too rigid, Titania. What’s the harm in it?”
The World Tree looked at her with a mix of pity and exasperation, as if staring at a grown elf who had lost all the spark of childhood.
“In any case, why do you think so? It’s simple. Humans are a messy, filthy lot. That chicken-coop smell of hers fits right in.”
Few races on the continent possessed so much corruption as humanity.
Titania knew it well, yet the explanation felt too abstract to swallow immediately.
Still, she could not dismiss it so easily.
The World Tree hesitated, then decided to let the matter rest for now.
Long ago, in a distant past, the black dragon Semiramis had yearned for a child.
Before finding a mate, she mixed her own essence, dragon blood, and flesh into a single, powerful creation.
Surrounded by the intricate, colossal magic circle only dragons could wield, inside a vast, crystal-clear glass vessel.
The child that emerged was not born from her womb, yet it shared her blood and flesh in truth.
Semiramis watched the growing fetus through the glass with a mother’s gentle smile each day.
She kept the circle flawless, the vessel unmarred, and her own power perfectly attuned.
But if that had been the end of the story, the black dragon would never have earned her fearsome name.
It was the tragic chapter that followed—the one that forever branded her a monster.
One day, as her wings grew strong and the child began to take on the faint outline of a dragon fetus, Semiramis stared at the magical nutrient solution, lost in thought.
If she poured too much magic, the child might suffer. She needed balance.
She sought the continent’s renowned rare herbs and elixirs, dissolving tiny portions into the solution to nourish the growing life.
These treasures were scattered across the lands.
To gather them, one might send guardians, but Semiramis refused to rely on others.
She would collect them herself, with her own hands, to ensure every step was perfect for her precious child.
So she spread her massive wings and left her nest, soaring through the skies of the continent.
She had sensed the mana surge when the child was born, and ever since she had watched and waited for the perfect moment.
She had not yet realized the nearby Kingdom of Babylon was home to powerful mages obsessed with experimenting on dragons.
Back then, Babylon thrived under the brilliant mages who pushed magic technology to new heights.
To them, a dragon’s child—hatchling—was the ultimate prize: powerful yet easy to control, sturdy enough to survive every cruel test.
Nothing went to waste—scales, blood, flesh, bones. Every part was precious.
Thus, they seized the glass vessel while Semiramis was away and wiped every trace of their crime.
They were meticulous.
[Ah… Aaaah…! My child! My baby!]
Several days later, Semiramis returned, arms overflowing with rare herbs and elixirs, and let out a heart-wrenching cry.
The glass vessel was gone, and no trace of intrusion remained.
If there had been any sign, she could have traced it backward in time.
Confusion swallowed her. Her stomach churned. Despair set in, then fury rose like a tidal wave.
She would recover her child, crush the thieves, and burn the entire kingdom to the ground.
Even if the mages had erased every footprint, the child’s final scream of agony before death had reached her ears.
Driven by their greed, the mages who had once flourished in Babylon now lay reduced to ashes overnight.
All civilization, all life within that land had been snuffed out by Semiramis’s breath.
In that era, the crime of a kingdom’s ruler was also the sin of its people.
This was how the black dragon earned the title of monster.
Adonis had learned the story from Semiramis and had reacted by asking her to explain the “child” part.
He had thought it a deeply wounding question that would pierce her heart with love, sorrow, and regret.
[Want a child…? What nonsense is that?]
A thread of sadness slipped into the voice that had been filled with rage.
It made sense—two words that carried so much pain.
Yet at the same time, a strange spark of interest flickered inside him.
Adonis felt the pieces of his plan sliding into place. He slowly opened his lips.
“I wanted to marry like a normal person, have children, and live an ordinary life. But my dreams dissolved into nothing.”
[Why?]
“Because the companions I trusted betrayed me.”
The party members he had once treasured most—those closest to him before death—had betrayed him.
Those who whispered sweet nothings, those who pretended affection—it had all been a lie.
He had smiled through it, raged through it, and achieved his goal.
But because he had succeeded, he had died.
That was the creators’ cruel design.
Every word he spoke only fueled the boiling rage within him.
His voice grew hoarse, his cheeks and eyes burning crimson.
It was as if he were plunging his face into a pool of his own blood.
“Yes! I died without ever doing anything! My small dream of peaceful, ordinary family life vanished without a trace because of it! But… I thought I was dead, yet I am not! Now I dream of revenge, too late as it is! But even late, I will make those who stole my dream pay the price!”
Was this Adonis’s cry, or Han Ijin’s?
Adonis himself could not tell. Yet one truth burned clear: the fury he poured into the dirt on his knees, fists slamming the ground, belonged solely to him.
Compared to losing a child, the pain felt small, but it did not mean losing the hope of having one was insignificant.
At least that was how Semiramis saw it. She gazed down at the kneeling Adonis with eyes full of pity for a true, unfeigned rage.
Then she made her decision.
“I understand your pain. But tell me—how does the desire for revenge connect to your coming here?”
How would he answer?
Should he reveal everything truthfully?
Or should he keep pretending to be Adonis until the very end?
Adonis slowly stood, brushing dirt from his knees, and let his mind cool as he considered the problem.
How could he earn Semiramis’s help without provoking her wrath?
In the end, he chose to lay bare the full truth behind his arrival.
He could not begin building trust with a lie to the one person he needed.
Whether she believed him or not was secondary; this was a matter of his own conscience.
[…Hm. The hero is already dead. A story like this sounds unbelievable. Yet there is no reason for me to lie about something so absurd.]
When Semiramis accepted his rambling tale without question, Adonis was genuinely surprised.
“I wouldn’t dare claim this story is true… but do you believe it?”
[I have no reason to believe it, and none not to. And I have decided to believe you. Your anger at speaking the name of my child was genuine. Even if it were a lie, it would have been amusing.]
With that, Semiramis fell silent for a moment and met Adonis’s small eyes.
Though he appeared frightened, he showed no retreat—an unwavering warrior’s gaze, in a single word.
[You are the hero, yet you are not. Grant me the power I once possessed, and in return… what will you ask of me?]
“…Anything.”
Anything.
A short, blunt sentence far heavier than any flowery spell.
So heavy it could never be uttered lightly.
Adonis knew the weight of his words. This was the risk he must take to gain Semiramis’s aid.
If he had been Han Ijin, he might never have crossed that line.
[Though you look afraid, you show no sign of backing down. Very well. I shall grant you whatever you desire. We will discuss the price later…]
For now, everything must change.
Semiramis closed her mouth at last and lightly tapped the ground with her front claw.
At the same moment, an enormous magic circle composed of complex runes spread across the entire cavern floor.
What was happening?
As Adonis watched in confusion, Semiramis’s colossal body began to ripple and melt like black clay.
The black clay twisted, shrank, and reformed into the unmistakable shape of a woman.
Two elegant horns curved from her temples, and long, dark-red hair cascaded down her back.