Faced with her unhinged teammates, Mash felt like the situation was spiraling out of control.
No, there's still Jeanne! There has to be someone else sane in this party! she thought, desperately searching for Jeanne.
She found her sitting in the audience with the Saber Marshal, looking forward to the event.
"Miss... Miss Jeanne!"
"Oh, Miss Mash. What is it?" Jeanne asked, a little confused by Mash's frantic state.
"Senpai... aren't you going to do anything about this?" Mash asked, her heart sinking as she saw the calm expression on Jeanne's face.
"Oh, you mean the dragon-slaying festival? I was a little surprised at first," Jeanne admitted.
"Yes! Yes!" Mash said, breathing a sigh of relief. At least there's one other sane person here.
"But then I thought about it," Jeanne continued, "and I realized that what Master is doing makes sense. The public execution of Fafnir has really lifted everyone's spirits. I think it's a good thing, don't you?"
"Huh? Huh?"
"Look," Jeanne explained, "after yesterday's battle, everyone was filled with despair. But now, their despair has turned into anger, hatred, and excitement. From a military standpoint, that's a very good thing."
The battle had crushed the soldiers' morale. Even if they had defeated Jalter, most of them were pessimistic about the future. But with one move, Mo Wang had completely turned the tables.
"I agree," the Saber Marshal chimed in. "It's like beheading an enemy general before a battle. It's a great way to boost morale."
If Mo Wang had done this with a human and then planned to eat them, Jeanne would have intervened. But since it was a dragon, she really didn't have a problem with it. She wasn't some bleeding-heart saint who couldn't stand the sight of any killing. If she were, she never would have been able to lead the French army against the English.
"But..." Mash was speechless. Am I the only sane one here?
"Ladies and gentlemen! The first ever France Dragon-Slaying Festival is now officially open!" Mo Wang's voice boomed. "I'm sure you're all eager to get your hands on this despicable beast! Now, let's welcome our first contestant!"
"Let me at him! That bastard burned my wife and children!" a ragged farmer stumbled onto the stage, his eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling as he gripped a logging axe. He slammed the axe against Fafnir's scales, creating a shower of sparks. But the black scales were unscathed, not even a white mark. The axe blade, however, was now chipped.
The farmer continued to hack at the dragon, his hands bleeding, until the axe head shattered. His anguish resonated with the crowd. They couldn't bring themselves to blame him. The dragon had caused so much suffering. If they thought they could kill it, they would have torn it apart with their bare hands.
"Sir, please step down," a bandaged soldier said, gently leading the farmer away. "Let someone else take over."
The soldier then took his place, but his sword shattered against the dragon's scales. He tried to punch and kick it, but Fafnir just stared at him with a look of disdain.
One by one, the people of the town came forward, filled with hatred, and tried to harm the dragon. A baker's wife with a cleaver, an old man with a cane, a young blacksmith with a hammer... but nothing worked. The dragon's scales were impenetrable. Their anger and despair were laughable in the face of such absolute power.
The roars of the crowd turned into whimpers of despair. "We can't even get revenge?"
Fafnir slowly raised its head, a low growl rumbling in its throat, as if to mock the feeble humans. It couldn't understand why Mo Wang was making them do this. It was completely pointless.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Mo Wang's voice suddenly whispered in Fafnir's ear, sending a shiver down its spine. "Don't worry, I won't let you die so easily. This is just an appetizer. My real purpose is yet to come."
Fafnir looked at Mo Wang's empty eyes and felt a terror it had never known before. What is this man planning?
"Alright, alright, everyone! I know you all want to keep torturing Fafnir," Mo Wang announced. "But if we continue like this, you won't get to have dinner tonight. So! Please welcome our first chef! The Child of Light from Northern Ireland! Cu Chulainn!"
Cu Chulainn walked onto the stage, a complicated expression on his face. "What the hell? When did I become a chef? This wasn't in the script," he muttered. But one look at Mo Wang's terrifying expression and he wisely kept his mouth shut. Damn it, if he looks at me like that, I'm really going to die. This is going to be worse than Heracles's twelve labors!
"Whatever!" he said, raising his spear. "The evil dragon Fafnir, eh? Let's see if you're as strong as the legends say!"
Fafnir sensed an immense danger and struggled against its chains, but they held fast.
"Gáe Bolg!" Cu Chulainn's crimson spear erupted in a blinding red light and shot forward, piercing a weak point in Fafnir's chest armor. A fountain of dragon blood, like molten lava, spewed from the wound. Fafnir let out a deafening roar of agony.
"Still not dead?" Cu Chulainn said, raising his spear for another strike.
"STOP!!" Mo Wang kicked him off the stage. The Child of Light flew through the air and landed in a pile of hay.
"You idiot! Do you know how precious that dragon blood is?!" Mo Wang roared, pointing at the gushing wound. "You've wasted at least twenty pounds of it! Do you know how many magic potions I could make with that?!"
"But you said to slay—" Cu Chulainn started, climbing out of the hay.
"Slaying a dragon doesn't mean being wasteful!" Mo Wang grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently. "Precision! Efficiency! Sustainability! Look at this hole you made! If it were just two inches to the side, I could have put a trough under it to collect the blood! Now it's all over the ground!"
Fafnir weakly raised its head, looking at the human who was angry about its blood loss.
"Wait, wait... I'm sorry! I'll be more careful next time!" Cu Chulainn yelped.
"Next time?! You think there'll be a next time?!" Mo Wang pulled out a small notebook and started scribbling. "Based on the current blood loss, at least ten pounds of meat are unusable. You're getting ten pounds less for dinner tonight!"
"Hey, you can't do that!"
"Shut up!" Mo Wang slapped the notebook against Cu Chulainn's face and then turned to the crowd. "Medical team! Bring buckets to collect the blood! Logistics, prepare bandages! Oh, and—" He gave a devilish grin. "—sprinkle some salt on the bandages. It helps with the clotting."
Fafnir convulsed in agony as the salt was applied to its wound. The crowd winced in sympathy.
"He's... he's really something else," Mash muttered. "He's even managed to turn torturing a dragon into a resource management exercise." She hugged her shield a little tighter, seriously considering a transfer to the Chaldea kitchen staff.
As Fafnir roared in pain, the next "chef" stepped onto the stage, carrying his "cooking utensils." Fafnir's eyes widened in horror. It finally understood what the demon king had meant by "true hell."