Harrod and Tiamat.
Though they share the same Clo family name, much like Angie, in Belus Alphen, surnames often merely indicate residential districts rather than familial ties.
Thus, Aslan had vaguely thought that perhaps they might have met in passing.
It was possible they were acquaintances by some indirect connection.
However, Aslan had never once anticipated that they were brothers.
Yet, upon considering them as siblings, a significant number of similarities became apparent.
Firstly, both possessed yellow eyes and red scales, marking them as dragonkin.
Their horn structures were also identical. Both had horns above their eyebrows that grew in a V-shape.
Although Tiamat was nearly a head taller than Harrod—a fact that made sense given Tiamat’s already large stature for a dragonkin—their physiques shared many commonalities.
The most prominent similarity was their expressive faces.
Certainly, while Harrod’s expressions were difficult for Aslan, a human, to fully interpret, among dragonkin, his facial expressions were quite distinct.
“Introduce yourself. This is my younger brother, Harrod.”
Thus, Aslan immediately noticed the discomfort on Tiamat’s face as he introduced his younger brother.
Though Aslan couldn’t ascertain why introducing his sibling caused such unease, it wasn’t appropriate to inquire with the person standing right before him.
“Well, we kind of know each other already.”
With a light nod, Harrod took the lead, guiding the traveling party. Behind him marched the heavily armed people from the tail district, alongside Aslan’s group who were still recovering from their injuries, forming a long procession heading toward Belus Alphen.
Even though the distance wasn’t incredibly far, it was long enough to warrant conversation. Naturally, Harrod began recounting how he had met Aslan.
Harrod, usually solemn and serious, seemed unusually amiable when sharing stories with his older brother, to the point where Aslan wondered if this was the real side of him.
As the story unfolded, it reached its climax when Aslan mentioned recruiting Ereta. Ereta, overhearing the tale, looked at Aslan with an oddly pleased expression.
Ignoring her gaze, Aslan glanced at Tiamat and Harrod, only to see Tiamat sigh.
“Oh dear… you idiot…”
Was there something uncomfortable about the story? Tiamat let out a heavy sigh that seemed to deflate Harrod.
“If I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
He concluded with what appeared to be self-praise.
While everyone else, including Ereta who had been eagerly watching Aslan, exchanged puzzled glances, Harrod chuckled. It was a vivid smile even for a dragonkin.
“Haha, if it were you, Brother, that’s exactly what would’ve happened. The reason I became a prisoner of Olpasbet was entirely due to my own weakness in battle.”
A skilled response, indicative of someone well-versed in handling such situations. The surprising counter left Tiamat momentarily rigid, while Ereta smirked faintly.
Tiamat, after observing Harrod’s composed smile, turned his head slightly towards Aslan and spoke softly.
“See? This guy is no fun. There’s nothing amusing about him.”
When Aslan casually agreed with “Yeah, yeah,” Tiamat realized he had opened up to someone similar and fell silent.
The conversation naturally shifted back to Harrod. By the time the massive silhouette of Belus Alphen came into view, the discussion revolved around how Harrod managed to return to Belus Alphen.
At this, Harrod revealed the shield strapped to his back, one belonging to a warrior of unmatched prowess.
“The collector I hunted alongside Aslan was renowned even in Belus Alphen for his martial skills. Though I didn’t capture him, I helped bring him down, earning this shield, which granted me recognition as a warrior.”
In Belus Alphen, strength and metallurgy were highly valued. For Harrod, the shield served as proof of his capability.
In truth, it was thanks to Aslan that Harrod could return home.
Thus, it was inevitable that Harrod would repeatedly express gratitude for being able to come back or mention how he’d still be in Olpasbet without Aslan’s help. When Aslan nodded briefly, Harrod grinned vividly.
“Should you ever need my assistance, just ask! I’ll offer all the help I can, even if it costs me every scale on my body!”
“Then, can I ask you something?”
Interrupting Harrod’s enthusiastic declaration was Angie.
“Ah, Lady Angela! Of course, feel free to ask anything!”
In response to Harrod’s accommodating words, Angie slightly tilted her head and asked.
“Why are you carrying weapons? And wearing armor?”
By “you,” Angie meant the people from the tail district, whom she pointed out with a thumb.
These were the impoverished residents of the tail district, armed under Harrod’s command. Even Aslan had been curious about this.
Judging from the fact that returning to Belus Alphen required official permission, it was clear that the tail district’s residents formed some kind of organized group, though Aslan had never heard of such a thing.
Indeed, Harrod seemed aware of this curiosity and smiled faintly as he tapped his tail against the ground.
“They’re called the Tail Warriors. They’re a battalion under my command.”
“Tail… Warriors?”
“Yes, the Tail Warriors! A battalion composed solely of humans, the only one of its kind within Belus Alphen!”
Angie’s surprised follow-up question received an immediate and polished answer, suggesting it had been asked many times before.
Upon hearing this well-rehearsed response, Tiamat scratched his chin scales and questioned.
“You mean the elders allowed the tail district’s poor to arm themselves?”
“Well, there was a lot of opposition initially, but once I convinced them, they agreed!”
“Convinced.” Hearing this word, Aslan glanced sideways at Harrod while walking ahead.
“So, it was your suggestion?”
“Ah, Lord Aslan truly has keen insight. Yes, it was my proposal.”
Smiling subtly, Harrod placed a hand on his hip as they ascended the hill and continued speaking.
“I was deeply impressed by Lady Angie’s strength. Although she may be a descendant of the ancient gods, even without that, she’s undoubtedly powerful. Watching her inspired me to think: even if these residents live in the tail district, if trained properly and provided with weapons, couldn’t they become capable soldiers?”
As Harrod turned his head while saying this, the fine weaponry crafted from Belus Alphen’s superior metallurgy gleamed in the hands and on the bodies of the impoverished.
“And my hypothesis proved correct. Though weaker than us, they excel in stealth and perception, traits we lack entirely! Leveraging this, I proposed using them as scouts, and the elders agreed.”
“Really? The elders agreed?”
“Not unanimously, but as you know, decisions require only a majority.”
Tiamat reluctantly nodded, prompting Harrod to stand tall and declare confidently.
“Though they haven’t yet proven themselves in combat, if things continue this way, they will earn their rightful place. They’ll transcend being mere tail-dwellers and become part of the great body of Belus Alphen.”
His confident words carried pride—not for personal glory or gain, but for the greater good of all.
Aslan was astonished to see how much Harrod had changed from the once arrogant individual he used to know. Even Angie, who generally disliked dragonkin, couldn’t help but gape slightly in surprise.
Only Tiamat maintained a disgruntled expression. He tapped his bowstring and rolled his eyes.
“Well… as long as they don’t stab us in the back, we should consider ourselves lucky.”
His words were cold. Having lived through various incidents during his time as a veteran in Geladridion, Tiamat’s skepticism was justified.
Good intentions do not always yield positive outcomes, and Tiamat understood this all too well.
Startled by Tiamat’s comment, Harrod exclaimed.
“Brother!”
“Not everyone is as noble or strong as you youngsters here… You live your life as you wish, but I know better.”
Tiamat cast a disapproving glance at the Tail Warriors, his unease reflecting past experiences and instincts.
“I wouldn’t trust these types to guard my back.”
Rarely showing such coldness, Tiamat’s tone stung like a sharp rebuke from a concerned family member, leaving Harrod feeling uneasy. The conversation ended abruptly.
The procession remained silent until arriving at Belus Alphen, where it finally came to a halt and regained vitality. As Harrod conversed loudly with the dragonkin warriors guarding the gate, the massive doors—wings—opened.
Wings lined with membranes lifted, revealing the path leading into the city.
This sight was unlike anything seen in Geladridion.
The colossal remains of a dragon sprawled across the entire city. Beneath the skeletal remains, now reduced to bones and membranes, stood buildings of various designs, either supported by or leaning against the dragon’s bones.
The unique atmosphere, combined with the scorching sunlight, created an illusion of stepping inside the very body of a dragon.
Lifting one’s gaze revealed the sprawling corpse of a tyrant dragon covering the entire city. The deity of fire and metallurgy, once famed as the greatest blacksmith of all gods, and revered as the father of dragons and dragonkin.
Underneath this divine relic lay the city known as Belus Alphen.
Belus Alphen, built amidst the dragon’s remains.
The hometown of Angie, Tiamat, and Harrod.
“Woah… I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Me neither… Not even Phey has seen anything like this…”
Even Ereta, who rarely reacted strongly to Aslan’s actions, wandered around in awe, raising her head high and shielding her eyes to examine the surroundings. Phey, too, curiously darted her eyes around.
“Welcome to Belus Alphen, youngsters.”
Tiamat chuckled lightly at their genuine reactions. The term “youngsters” included Aslan as well, since this was his first real visit to the city, despite having seen it countless times in games.
Everywhere Aslan looked, buildings presented different styles. Structures beneath, above, or centered around the bones all served varied purposes and displayed distinct appearances. Each section even had its characteristic landmarks.
Among them, the most striking were the buildings located at the dragon’s head and heart.
Magnificent palaces easily caught the eye. The palace in the heart area resembled a blend of medieval European and Arabian architecture. Right beside it, at the dragon’s head, stood the Senate building.
Due to the curled posture of the deceased deity, the heart palace and the head Senate were exceptionally close.
Despite being a first-time visitor, Aslan instantly recognized these buildings. They weren’t merely symbolic; they were literally the city’s heart and brain.
The individuals residing in those buildings were responsible for governing Belus Alphen—the ‘Head’ elders and the ‘Heart’ king residing in the central district.
And Aslan needed to meet the ‘Heart,’ the Dragon King, to secure support for the peace treaty.
While Aslan’s gaze lingered on the palace and most of the group marveled at the city, someone emerged from within the city.
A dragonkin warrior with black scales and purple eyes approached the group, drawing attention with a throat-clearing sound.
“Are you the renowned warrior, Sir Aslan?”
The archaic speech and noble demeanor prompted Tiamat to squint suspiciously as everyone turned to look.
“Yes, I am Aslan.”
Aslan stepped forward promptly as the group watched, and the dragonkin warrior scrutinized him with evident interest before speaking.
“The master of the Heart wishes to meet you.”
An alternative title for the owner of Belus Alphen. Aslan briefly glanced at his group, noting their exhaustion from the three-week journey and their yet-to-heal injuries.
While Aslan himself, aided by the effect of tenacity, could maintain maximum combat efficiency despite wounds, the others couldn’t.
Aslan wanted to give his companions as much rest as possible.
“Then, I’ll tidy up with my group and our belongings before proceeding. So…”
“There’s no need for your entire group to come. Your presence alone, Sir Aslan, will suffice.”
Frowning slightly at this, Aslan observed the black-scaled dragonkin. The gesture appeared elaborate.
“The Dragon King Bahamul Heart desires a private audience with the esteemed warrior.”
Private audience. Unable to discern the reason, Aslan furrowed his brow in thought, pondering what the Dragon King might want from him.
Weighing potential benefits and his companions’ physical condition and fatigue, Aslan was interrupted when a large hand tapped him on the back.
“Go ahead, kid.”
It was Tiamat. With a nod and a smirk, Tiamat added,
“Taking care of a few kids is as easy for this old man as scratching my scales.”
Was this a form of consideration? Smiling faintly at Tiamat’s hearty grin, Aslan nodded.
“Thank you, Tiamat.”
“For this? No big deal.”
Aslan waved goodbye to the group and followed the black-scaled dragonkin.
The black-scaled dragonkin led directly to the heart district. The palace situated in the heart district was impressively positioned where the heart should be, between the vast ribcage. As they approached, the palace shone more brilliantly.
At first glance, the palace seemed sacred. This impression persisted even after entering, with light filling the corridors, walls, and ceilings. It was a luminous palace. Aslan, observing the light, recognized its nature.
All the light emanated from the divine power of the ancient gods, a legacy capable of forging divine artifacts.
Guided through the radiant palace, Aslan finally arrived at the throne room where a dragon awaited.
Among the numerous dragonkin, this was the sole inheritor of divinity, the heart of the dragonkin.
Chosen by the ancient gods and passed down through generations, the divine king.
The Dragon King, Bahamul Heart.
The black-scaled Dragon King rose from the throne with satisfaction upon seeing Aslan, matching Aslan’s height almost perfectly.
Each step radiated intensity, and the folded wings behind him shimmered with a deeper black than his body scales.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Great Warrior.”
“As is it an honor to meet the son of fire and metallurgy.”
As Aslan bowed while greeting the approaching Dragon King,
Throbbing.
A slight throbbing sensation passed through one side of Aslan’s head, causing him to frown and pause. This subtle headache was familiar to Aslan.
It was the warning signal from his foresight ability upon reaching the domain of fortune.
Looking at Bahamul Heart as the throbbing sensation persisted, the black-scaled Dragon King wore a benevolent expression.
Something was happening.
