Rygar almost laughed when he saw the sparse, unkempt beard growing on Rufus's face.
He shaved his own beard precisely because he didn't want one like that. Maybe in the future he'd let it grow out, once it was fuller—but not for now.
However, to dwarves the beard is a symbol of pride and identity, a marker of growth and maturity. For that reason, even though he was still so young, Rufus was determined to let his grow.
It was poorly made, uneven, and short.
Of the few who knew in detail what Rygar did during his visits to the Blue Dragon Mountains, Rufus was the most informed.
That was because it was his task to collect the remains.
The bodies of the slain Blue Dragons would not go to waste. Each contained materials of priceless value: armor-like scales, mana-infused bones, draconic blood, and the exceedingly rare magical cores.
Rygar was no fool who'd let such materials rot.
Thanks to the proximity of the Dwarf Territory, Rufus could arrive quickly, mounted on Geri, the ebony wolf.
Rygar alerted him via a Magic Letter device they'd set up in the Dwarf Territory, and the young dwarf came at once.
In recent months, Rufus had spent most of his time between the Dwarf Territory and the mountains.
He was learning smithing under the direct tutelage of Godbard, one of the greatest smiths in dwarf history, and studying enchantment with Brightstone, who was almost equally renowned in his field.
In close-quarters combat, Rufus was competent.
He had reached Advanced Level in the North God Style, which made him respectable—but not threatening—in a direct fight against the world's strongest monsters.
His true strength, however, lay in magic.
His control and mastery of Earth Magic were unparalleled in the Kingdom of Gaia, surpassed only by Rygar himself. Not even Aisha, with all her magical genius, outdid him in that regard.
Yet his potential had clear limits.
A dwarf's natural sturdiness had helped him achieve a good level of Touki, but he still couldn't feel or control it with the fluidity that the most talented masters of the style managed.
Saint Level was not unattainable for Rufus, but it would take many years—perhaps only arriving when he reached adulthood.
His mana reserves had grown explosively until he was ten years old, but since then that growth had stabilized.
His magical control saw great improvement during the War years, but it too had gradually plateaued over time.
To increase his control now he had to be consistent—and only then would he see results in the future.
Now fourteen, he showed considerable potential, but being primarily a mage, he lacked the strength to rank among Gaia's Twelve Kings.
Obviously, that didn't mean he was any worse than they were.
Rygar had high expectations for him.
He had enormous talent for both magic and smithing, and his Chantless Magic would be one of his greatest weapons in making that talent count.
Rufus possessed Emperor-level mana reserves, and if he found or created a sufficiently efficient magic conduit, he might be one of the few capable of casting a God-Level Spell in his lifetime.
That was one of the main reasons he was training with Godbard.
Perhaps he could inherit his title in the future as the Ore God, and perhaps—if luck were on his side—become an Earth God by mastering the dwarves' magic.
Rygar firmly believed that magical items would be crucial in future confrontations, and he wanted those who forged them to be among the world's best.
So he made a point of giving his chief smiths and enchanters the most precious resources.
The slain dragons weren't just part of his training. They were an investment.
Recently Brightstone had requested fifteen more Blue Dragon cores for a new project.
He hadn't explained why, only saying it was related to Tsukikage. Rygar had killed forty-two so far, which surely would be enough to complete whatever plan was underway.
As his thoughts drifted over these scenarios, Rufus at last drew near.
Mounted on Geri, he crossed the remains of the battlefield—littered with blood-soaked scales and still crackling with residual electricity in the air. It was time to reap the fruits of the hunt.
Unlike Rygar's relaxed, almost indifferent aura as he calmly tried to compress gravitational mana into a floating Super Gravity sphere between his fingers, Rufus was visibly shaken when he arrived.
Even after witnessing similar scenes many times before, he could never get used to seeing those creatures—the Blue Dragons, considered the apex predators of the Six-Faced World—dead by the dozens in their own territory.
The battlefield still smoked in spots.
Eviscerated bodies, bloodied blue scales, craters gouged by magical explosions, and lightning-lance spears that had torn through the beasts.
The metallic scent of blood mixed with the ozone of raw electricity still hung heavy in the air.
Even Geri himself, as accustomed to massacre as he was, growled low, ears pinned and body taut.
Rufus maintained a calm facade.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward until he reached Rygar, who seemed more interested in the small gravitational sphere hovering in the air than in the carnage around him.
As he drew closer, Rufus froze. His eyes widened and his feet locked for an instant.
In the middle of the battlefield, right beside Rygar, protected by a magical containment circle with a slight warm glow, lay twenty-two large eggs.
"Leader… what are these?!" he gasped, almost breathless.
Rygar nodded indifferently, as if he'd just stumbled upon a bird's nest on a walk.
"It seems we're in Blue Dragon mating season. Twenty-two eggs," he replied, watching a crack spiderweb across one of them.
Rygar hadn't found a single Blue Dragon egg in the last year because it simply hadn't been their laying season.
Rufus stepped forward cautiously to examine them—he knew how valuable these eggs were.
Even in the Kingdom of Gaia, only a handful were deemed worthy of raising a dragon companion, and they were few to choose from.
These new twenty-two were the future of Gaia's Dragon Knights.
"Is the support group on its way?" Rygar asked, never taking his eyes off the gravitational sphere, which by now was compressing more tightly on itself.
Rufus nodded.
"I think they're less than an hour away."
The Gravity Sphere finally grew unstable and dissipated, leaving only a breath of wind—and a sigh of disappointment from Rygar.
He stood and walked over to the ebony wolf.
Rygar smiled and bent down to scratch behind Geri's ear. The huge black wolf accepted the affection, visibly relaxing.
"Tsukikage's upgrade is almost ready…" Rufus said, regaining his composure.
"Although at this point, calling it by the same name might not even be right. It's going to be… quite different."
Rygar seemed to brighten at the news.
"Maybe we can rename it when it's done. By the way, why does Brightstone need fifteen Dragon cores?"
Rufus sighed and sat on a nearby rock.
"He doesn't need fifteen. He said he needs a hundred."
Rygar arched an eyebrow, surprised.
"A hundred?"
"That's right," Rufus confirmed. "Over the last year, most of the cores you brought ended up with him anyway. He still hasn't explained why."
Rygar folded his arms and stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"He's enchanted hundreds of weapons for the Iron Legion's key members since its founding… That's greatly increased the kingdom's overall power. If he wants to do something different now, let him do it."
Rufus nodded. They remained there talking for quite some time—about magic, forging projects, the Kingdom of Gaia's situation, and future plans.
After a while, Rygar rose and stretched.
"Time to go."
Rufus and Geri were more than capable of handling any stray dragon that might appear afterward—unless it was a horde of dragons, of course. But that was unlikely, since dragons rarely leave their territories so close to one another.
With a simple farewell, Rygar bent his knees and shot through the sky like a lightning bolt, vanishing in a snap.
On the way, he encountered some travelers ascending the mountain range. He helped them against a few lesser monsters—not worth noting. His true destination lay elsewhere.
He veered slightly off his path between the Blue Dragon Mountains and his home, entering the Elven Territory.
A few more minutes of flight brought him to a gentle clearing.
Before him, nestled among enchanted trees and wooden dwellings, stood a familiar elven village.
Rygar walked in silence, taking in the landscape he knew so well.
This was the village where he had first faced a Saint-level warrior—the North Saint, Kalinóski.
The battle had been brutal. Rygar still remembered the favor the Saint asked of him before dying.
He had wanted Rygar to tell everyone that he had been the first Saint to fall before him.
At the time, Rygar hadn't done so—not out of disrespect, but simply because he saw no need.
Yet fate had fulfilled that wish. Others had recorded the story.
Chroniclers, bards, and travelers who heard the tale spread it far and wide.
As the Beast God rose ever higher in prominence, a complete account of his life began to emerge, chronicling everything from his birth to the present day.
Unintentionally, he fulfilled Kalinóski's final request.
He became known as the first Saint to fall before the future Beast God.
And Rygar had been only a child then.
But this visit was not one of nostalgia. There was another purpose. He crossed the village in silence, recalling every detail of the battle.
In his mind, he noted mistakes, misjudgments, inefficient movements.
With the experience he had now, he could have defeated Kalinóski without placing himself in such danger.
Had Verdia not been present, he might not even have survived—might never have come this far.
The elves who saw him greeted him warmly and without concern. In the Kingdom of Gaia's territories, attacks on tribes were very rare.
Passing through the small village, he stopped before a modest house, half-covered in moss and vines, and knocked on the door.
It opened softly, revealing a serene-looking elf—apparently middle-aged.
Of course, for an elf, middle-aged meant she had already lived many, many centuries.
Her tranquil face bore the weight of those centuries; her silver hair fell freely over her shoulders, and her simple garments were those of any villager.
She looked at him in puzzlement.
"Huh… good morning? Who are you?"
Rygar smiled kindly.
"Miss Ilya. I'm Rygar Adoldia. Verdia brought me here a few years ago to discuss Touki and my feral nature."
The elf's eyes widened, and a surprised smile spread across her lips.
"My! I never cease to be amazed… It's been so little time, and you're already so grown!"
She opened the door wider with a gentle gesture.
"Come in; I'll prepare some tea. Will Verdia join us? How is she?"
Rygar stepped inside, calmly observing the house's interiors.
"She won't come today. But she's well. Today, I want to discuss another matter."
Ilya nodded and went into the kitchen.
"All right, I'll make some tea."
Her presence was welcoming and light. There was something in the way she moved, in the gentle cadence of her voice, that conveyed peace.
Rygar found himself wondering if that was a natural gift of someone who'd lived for hundreds—or even thousands—of years.
But then he remembered Badigadi.
And he laughed.
"Definitely not," he murmured.
He sat down calmly, taking in the room as he waited for his tea.
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