Chapter 19 – I Join
[Sub-Dragon Slayer (Blue):
Slaying a dragon-kin with your own hands has granted you draconic majesty. Dragons no longer inspire fear in you.
Ordinary creatures (including humans) will feel instinctive intimidation in your presence. Timid beings may even kneel in submission.
Your anger can cause lesser creatures to flee.
Your attacks against dragon-type creatures deal additional damage.]
The spirit of a king.
That was the first thought that surfaced in Rhodes' mind after reading the description.
Two new progression titles appeared beneath it:
[Beast Hunter] – Personally hunt 500 carnivorous beasts.
[Pseudo-Dragon Slayer] – Personally hunt 100 dragon-type creatures.
Neither sounded easy.
Five hundred beasts was possible, eventually.
One hundred dragon-kin?
There might not even be that many in the entire northern wasteland.
Still, Rhodes was satisfied. A sudden battle had gifted him a rare title. Fate had handed him a blade, and he had used it.
"Lord of Dawn, thank the heavens! You truly slew a dragon!"
Marcus Silverdove was the first to recover his voice, staring at Rhodes as though witnessing a myth.
"You are as brave as a war god! From now on, they will call you Dragon Slayer!"
Rhodes waved dismissively, offering a modest smile.
"It was only a wyvern. A creature with diluted dragon blood at best."
Even so, his body still trembled faintly.
Adrenaline withdrawal, he noted clinically. The body always collects its debt after danger passes.
"My lord… do you truly intend to one day slay a real dragon?" Marcus asked in disbelief. "This wyvern is the most terrifying creature I've ever heard of. True dragons exist only in legends."
Rhodes kept his thoughts to himself.
There was no reason to debate theology while a decapitated monster lay cooling outside.
"I merely seized the opportunity," Rhodes said instead. "My knights and men fought bravely. Without them, there would have been no opening."
He nodded toward Renn and the hunters.
They straightened immediately.
The rescued soldiers, now fully recovered, dropped to their knees.
"Thank you for saving my life, my lord!"
"I will serve you forever!"
"I swear it!"
Relief had transmuted into loyalty.
"Stand," Rhodes ordered calmly. "Rest."
Soldiers protect their lord. Lords protect their soldiers. That is the exchange.
He did not blame them for fear. Facing a descending dragon-kin would unnerve any ordinary man.
"Which one of you shouted about wheat cakes?" Rhodes asked dryly.
A thin soldier raised his hand sheepishly. "That was me, my lord. My mother makes the best wheat cakes in Frostleaf Town. I'll bring you some."
"Don't forget," Rhodes replied.
Now that the danger had passed, exhaustion settled into his bones. His stomach growled audibly.
Durant noticed at once and ordered the women from the cellar to resume cooking.
Unlike Gunther, Durant understood what had truly ended the battle.
The steel greatsword.
But that did not lessen his admiration.
A young lord, barely trained, suppressing terror and charging from cover when his men were moments from death—
That courage was real.
In that instant, Durant felt certain he had chosen the right man to follow into the wasteland.
Gunther, meanwhile, stared at the greatsword with open awe.
"My lord… how did your blade cut through its scales?"
He crouched, inspecting it closely.
"May I try it?"
"You may try the sword," Rhodes replied evenly, "but not on the wyvern."
A wyvern's hide rivaled steel. As armor, it would be priceless.
Gunther lifted the greatsword with both hands, scanning for a target. His gaze settled on the iron cooking pot smashed earlier.
"Wait—"
Too late.
The blade fell.
The iron pot split cleanly in two.
Rhodes exhaled slowly. "That strike cost money."
Gunther stared at the bisected pot as if witnessing sorcery.
"My lord… are you selling this sword?"
"No."
The answer was immediate.
Even with assistance, forging such a blade took nearly a month. Selling it would be folly.
"But," Rhodes added, "if you join my territory, I might consider forging you a battle axe of equal sharpness."
Gunther froze.
"Custom-made?"
"Yes."
There are moments in life when hesitation evaporates.
Gunther dropped to one knee.
"I swear by my life and honor: from this day forward, my axe and my life belong to you, Baron of Blackpine Ridge, Dragon Slayer, Lord Rhodes Tulip.
Your glory is my glory. Your will shall guide me until death."
Rhodes' expression turned solemn.
He lowered the sword tip gently to each of Gunther's shoulders.
"I, Rhodes Tulip, Baron of Blackpine Ridge, accept your oath."
"I swear by noble honor to protect you and your descendants."
He sheathed the blade and extended his hand.
Gunther rose, grin returning instantly.
"My lord… when can I get my axe?"
Durant stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder.
"After my one-handed sword."
Rhodes nodded. "Half a month."
Gunther accepted this without complaint.
The impact of superior steel was now undeniable. Rhodes resolved to accelerate production upon returning to Frostleaf Town—one-handed swords, battle axes, and high-quality steel arrowheads.
Steel decided battles.
"Rest for now," Rhodes ordered. "Durant, have the wyvern's corpse secured. We'll process it tomorrow."
"Yes, my lord."
Marcus lingered nearby, clearly calculating the commercial implications of such weaponry. But when he heard Rhodes would not sell, he wisely remained silent.
Then Marcus snapped his fingers.
"The surprise! It was interrupted earlier."
Rhodes narrowed his eyes.
"Another one?"
"This one you will like."
Marcus led him to the corner house.
Inside, resting on bundled straw—
A massive egg.
Smooth. Dark. Veined faintly with blue.
"A wyvern egg," Marcus said quietly.
And now the story changes shape.
Because slaying a dragon-kin is one thing.
Raising one?
That is either genius… or the beginning of a catastrophe.
Civilizations have collapsed over far less interesting experiments.
(End of Chapter)