"A monster like you has lived too long, knowing even these things."
"Heh, thanks for the compliment."
The dragon woman gestured to the bartender for another pot, lifting it to her lips. Her golden slit pupils held a distant weariness, the smile on her face long gone.
"If you forget the past, what's the point of living so long? There's little left in The Lands Between that can hold my interest."
Throne studied her. This Lansseax was a far cry from the one he'd imagined—cold, arrogant, cruel. He understood why. Warm on the outside, cold within? He'd sensed something off about her. She stood in stark contrast to Ranni and Melina; her heart had frozen solid over the ages.
If not for some faint ember of warmth, she'd have turned into a walking corpse long ago.
Clink.
The wine pots collided. Lansseax turned, surprised. She hadn't expected this man, who'd been so guarded, to clink glasses with her.
"What's wrong? Do you think living too long is a tragedy?"
"You're overthinking it. There's wine here; it's a good time for stories."
Throne tilted his head back, taking a deep swig. The scent of alcohol lingered as he exhaled.
"Let's talk about Godfrey. It's rare to meet someone who lived through those times."
Even Ranni hadn't seen Godfrey. Throne had his own reasons for asking, but he was also thinking ahead. Godfrey was Marika's final insurance—meeting him was inevitable.
"Him? Just a fool who wanted to fight me but got tangled in red tape, putting on airs of a wise king."
"A king has his responsibilities. I don't think becoming the Elden Lord was a misfortune."
Throne grinned, picturing Godfrey's discomfort.
"If the Tarnished heard you say that, who knows how many dragon-slaying heroes would rise."
"Let them come. At first, I entertained myself with dragon-slayers, setting traps and scenarios. But eventually, killing them bored me. I couldn't be bothered anymore."
Lansseax's smile turned cruel, cold. She wasn't a saint. Downing another pot of wine in one go, she shrugged.
"Immortality's trouble enough. Losing your freedom on top of it? That's true tragedy."
True tragedy. Throne shook his head.
But that wasn't quite it. The dragon woman sought amusement everywhere because she lacked purpose, only to feel emptiness once satisfied. Ranni and Sellen had lived centuries too, but they'd carved their own paths. Lansseax couldn't be blamed.
After the Dragon War, her kind faded from prominence. And judging her temperament, she wasn't the type to endure humiliation for a comeback.
"You're just idle, with nothing to carry."
"Heh, we Ancient Dragons don't care for burdens—except my idiot brother."
Fortissax? Throne thought of the Death Dragon, defying mortality, unmatched in loyalty. The contrast between siblings was staggering.
"No wonder the Ancient Dragons vanished after the Dragon God."
"Oh? You know about the Dragon God too. You're well-informed."
"You flatter me. I've got my own path to walk."
Throne shook his half-empty wine pot and asked curiously: "There are many ways to pass the time. Why do you interact so deeply with humans?"
"Maybe it's curiosity. I can't just sleep the days away like them. When The Lands Between grows dull, I'll head to the border."
"If there's nothing there, we can always crawl back to Crumbling Farum Azula and turn to stone."
"That sounds tragic."
"You, scrambling around like a rat, aren't much better."
Throne didn't argue. What did a salted fish know of a swan's flight? The Ancient Dragons slumbered undisturbed while enemies dogged his every step.
Being hunted was its own kind of privilege. Especially when he knew how this story ended. The Lands Between had no happy endings—only Tarnished farming you for runes, the Frenzied Flame licking at your heels, or the Dung Eater's filth shoved down your throat. This dragon's gloom needed cutting with something sharper.
He opened his mouth, then froze. Lansseax was draining her third pot of liquor.
His grip tightened on his own cup. Maybe his wasn't watered down after all.
"Trying to drown yourself?"
"I would if this swill could manage it. Needs a barrel of slumber lilies to even tickle. Your frail human bodies have all the luck."
She flicked the spoon against the pot's rim. A hollow clink echoed. No drunkenness, just a quicker pulse and the ghost of a smile.
"Want to know what these eyes have seen?"
Throne gestured for her to continue. Rare liquor, rarer stories—he'd take both.
The spoon struck again. This time the sound dragged, weighted with centuries.
"I've seen—Gods brawling like street dogs. Wildfire chewing through dynasties. Golden thrones crumbling to ash. Eras shifting, leaving corpses in their wake. All that strife, and nothing to show but scars."
She paused, studied his face, then upended the pot down her throat. The clay vessel slammed onto the table.
"Everything rots. Best stay drunk while you can."
Ugh—
Midnight alley stench filled Throne's nose as he retched against the wall. He spat, wiped his mouth. Lansseax had raided every tavern in the district to catch a buzz, now sprawled snoring across the cobblestones.
A handkerchief appeared beside him. Melina's voice carried frost.
"Why this much?"
"Kindred spirits demand it."
He scrubbed his face with the cloth. Stay drunk? Maybe she's onto something.
"Kindred? Her?"
Melina eyed the dragon woman's inelegant sprawl. Not what she'd expected from an ancient overlord.
"Last I checked, you fought her. And you hate dealing with lunatics."
"Misjudged her."
Throne watched Lansseax's ribs rise and fall.
"Of everyone I've met, she's the hardest to pin down. Makes you wonder which version of her is real."
The laughter, the chaos—just armor. Underneath lay something colder, wearier. Maybe the truth flickered in the spaces between.
"Hard to read? So I'm simple to you?"
Melina stiffened.
Throne side-eyed her. Mission-obsessed stick in the mud.
"Transparent as glass."
Melina's breath hitched. Her voice dropped to a blade's edge.
"Fine. The Lunar Princess is an open book, is she?"
"I'll tell her—oh, and I'll mention this answer came from a female dragon."
"I take it back. I can't figure you out either!"
Throne switched gears fast. This wasn't groveling. It was almost sincere. Melina had picked up black-bellied cunning and tsundere charm. Impressive. That's more like it.
Melina didn't get why she cared about winning or losing in something so trivial, but she stepped lightly into the alley, circling Lansseax. The dragon woman lay sprawled on the ground, her long, slender tail tucked beneath her cloak like a pillow, her body curled tight. Only in sleep did she look like a dragon. Lansseax…
"I remember now. She's always been famous. She was a priestess for Ancient Dragon worship, known for being cold and cruel."
"I never said she was kind."
Throne strolled over, thinking this one had lured dragon-slaying heroes in every way imaginable. Her reputation couldn't have been great.
"What's Ancient Dragon worship?"
"Can't recall clearly, but some people crave dragon power and invent all sorts of nonsense."
"That's normal. Strength like that? Always sought after."
Throne shrugged and tossed her a warning.
"She's your opposite. Don't provoke her, or you'll end up in a bad way."
"Would I be afraid of her?"
Heh. A blank slate like an infant. You don't know the terror of an old veteran. Throne smirked, then his teeth started aching again.
He needed to settle the dragon race issue fast. If Melina got led astray, what then? Hmm. Maybe use her to make contact with Crumbling Farum Azula first.
He bent down, ready to haul her up and at least get her somewhere decent to sleep, but he froze, his head snapping up.
"Who's there?"
Someone stood at the alley's entrance, sudden and silent.
The figure loomed nearly two meters tall, broad as a door, wrapped in a grimy black cloak, face obscured by a headscarf. Backlit by moonlight, only a pair of snake-like eyes glinted.
"I… want her. This isn't your concern."
The words came haltingly, the voice rasping like damaged vocal cords.
Throne stayed quiet, just frowned. This aura wasn't someone picking up a corpse at a tavern. No shock at the dragon tail, not even enough fear to call the guards. Can't see me? But can smell Lansseax? A dragon slayer. Throne pinned the other's identity instantly.
He glanced down at the dragon woman sprawled on the ground, his eyelid twitching. Damn it. Trying to dump this on me? Throne didn't buy for a second that this stinking dragon was asleep. Otherwise, she'd be a specimen decorating some hall. He was about to kick her awake when a cold, fractured voice cut in.
"Insect. You. Get lost."
Hoo—The man inhaled deeply, slowly drawing a Flowing Curved Sword. Have these Dragon Communion zealots turned their hearts into dragons too? Lost the ability to talk? Fine. At least I got an interesting story out of you.
After arriving in Caelum, Throne hadn't even sat down for a moment before he waved to Melina, signaling her to hide the dragon woman first, and glared at the newcomer with arrogance.
"Who the hell are you calling an insect?"
In almost an instant, the winding Flowing Curved Sword bloomed with cold light in the alley, whipping out like a leather lash, and then a 'clang' sound was heard as it struck the person's body. It was like hitting steel, but after cutting through the cloak, Throne saw that it was dense black scales, and then saw a bloated, unsightly body.
It lacked the agility of a dragon, looking more like a toad, with a bald head and dense scales that were disgusting. This was the effect of deep Dragon Communion; it was just too ugly. Throne looked at this monster, which resembled a Magma Wyrm, and as the opponent drew a thick-backed machete, he tapped his toes on the ground.
"Let's fight outside!"
In the blink of an eye, Throne, who had been far away, was already in front of him. He crouched to dodge the machete, then used his momentum to leap upwards, the heel of his palm slamming into the monster's chin. Bang!
The bloated body, which likely weighed several hundred pounds, flew up, and then a 'silver whip' immediately lashed against its body.
A white ring exploded in the sky, and this human-like, dragon-like monster flew directly over the city wall, rolling in the wilderness outside.
"What's wrong?"
"Someone is fighting inside the town!"
The Redmane soldiers were alarmed and poked their heads out to look. Following the light of the torches, they immediately saw a monster outside the wall.
"Is that a dragon? Why does it have no wings, and its tail is so short?"
A Redmane Guard walked over with large strides, took a slight glance, and shouted loudly: "Damn it, it's a Half-Magma Wyrm; they've infiltrated Caelum."
It was unclear if Magma Wyrms counted as dragons, but they had no trouble infiltrating towns, and before becoming full Magma Wyrms, they were considered potential allies.
Before the crowd could figure out how to respond, a blue-clad swordsman appeared beside them. He appeared so abruptly, half-crouching on the wall, and said in a low voice: "This is my prey."
A group of Redmanes looked at each other, and before the guard could speak, the man had already jumped down from the five-or-six-meter-high wall. So fast!
Throne flew toward the monster crouching on the ground like an arrow shot from a bow. Besides thick armor plates, it still had some human form, and its body wasn't that huge, so it could use human martial arts and Dragon Communion incantations. A flash of light appeared, and its head suddenly swelled up, a stream of scorching magma gushing out.
Throne's figure flickered in and out of existence, using several Bloodhounds Steps in succession to flank it. With so many people watching, it was inconvenient for him to use his signature moves, but to deal with this monster, ordinary attacks were enough. Bang! Its short tail slapped the ground, causing its whole body to fly up.
The thick-backed machete slashed toward Throne, who swung the Flowing Curved Sword, wrapping it around the monster's foot, and pulled down while sparks flew.
"Get down here!"