[Ongoing Main Quest]
[Head to the city of wizards to interpret the dream]
[Completed Main Quest]
[Investigate Belus Alphen]
[Resentment]
A message filling Aslan’s vision. By looking at these messages, Aslan could tell which quests had been completed and which were coming up.
Even just counting endings, he had seen them dozens of times, and if you counted from the start of each round, hundreds of times. Aslan had played Eternal Dominion countless times.
For him, this quest was a kind of turning point.
It was proof of entering the mid-phase, and the turning point where players truly began to uncover the secrets of the world and the will of the ancient deity.
The problem was that Aslan couldn’t even guess how all these quests had broken.
The main quest involving Belus Alphen seemed too far removed from what he had experienced so far.
Originally, the “protagonist” would endure attacks by priests, obtain help from Varmanz or achieve Belus Alphen on their own strength, then have a dream there.
The content of the dream was simple.
An enormous dragon. A dragon so massive it could overturn mountain ranges appeared and spewed flames in the dream.
In the searing pain that should have been terrifying, the protagonist obtained a fragment of the ancient deity’s power.
They also learned that they must gather such powers of the ancient deity and that evil deities sought this ancient power.
Additionally, they would see ruins.
The vessel into which the ancient deity’s power was poured, and the place that first manifested when the world was created.
A place that the barbaric tribes of Varmanz revered as sacred and guarded since the fall of the ancient empire.
The throne of the gods, Kehil.
The protagonist takes all the ancient deity’s power to these ruins, Kehil, to decide the fate of the world.
That was the story of the game called Eternal Dominion.
So here was the issue.
Aslan had never had such a dream. Though he knew the location of Kehil, he couldn’t definitively say whether or not he had obtained the ancient deity’s power.
Had he even obtained something that could be considered a key?
First off, Purity wasn’t the key.
While it might seem like Purity contained the power of the ancient deity, it didn’t appear to be the key to activate that throne.
Its function was far too powerful for such a complex purpose.
It was a sword that could cut through everything it touched, able to sever divine power and souls that normally couldn’t be affected by physical force.
Moreover, recalling what Grief had said, the abilities of Purity would only grow stronger as one approached the ancient deity.
Therefore, Aslan didn’t consider Purity to be the key.
The key, as it had been in hundreds of rounds before, would likely still be in the hands of the “protagonist.”
But now wasn’t the time. Aslan turned his gaze towards the dragon person who faced him in the forge overflowing with fire.
“Ah, you’ve come. Our city’s first noble human.”
This dragon person was a unique individual.
On one hand, their muscular and scarred body revealed them to be a seasoned warrior, while their scorched and peeling hands testified to their exceptional skills as a master craftsman.
And then there was the mana flowing throughout their body.
They were certainly worthy of a seat in the Senate.
Amidst the swirling flames of white scales imbued with fire resistance spells, Aslan stared silently at the dragon person, as if asking why he had frowned.
“Isn’t it just a nominal position?”
“Just nominal? If we’re going to support you fully without causing riots, we need to give you a position like this.”
Bang!
The sound of hammering echoed, and amidst the clamor, the white-scaled senator lightly touched the object on the workbench.
Lifting the hand that had touched it, the senator pointed at Aslan, carefully scanning his body with one eye closed before turning away again.
The clang of metal sounded once more. Amidst the repeated noise, Aslan glanced at the object the senator was working hard on atop the workbench.
It was armor.
If it were just any armor, Aslan might not have paid much attention, but this armor was far from ordinary, and it was also familiar to him.
The dark-colored scales that seemed to devour light, reminiscent of the Dragon King, formed a cuirass.
These sturdy scales, taken from the body of the Dragon King, had withstood countless strikes from Aslan’s blade.
Proving its durability, shattered and bent tools lay scattered beside the workbench.
The white-scaled elder spoke to Aslan, who was silently observing the armor.
“Is there anything you’re curious about? Like why we wanted this from you, or how we expected you to act?”
At this question, Aslan hesitated briefly before replying.
“I’m not particularly curious. Rather, I’d like to hear why it had to be this way.”
“A reason?”
The elder, seemingly surprised by the question, tapped his tail against the floor and let out a thoughtful hum.
“I am a member of the Senate. Also the Speaker, and back in the day, I was a Warlord too. And a craftsman.”
With that, the elder kept his eyes on the armor while busily moving his hands, assembling the plate armor, fitting the shoulder guards, and gently brushing the scale-covered breastplate.
Though the scales were taken from the form of a dragon person and might have seemed repulsive, the elder remained calm.
It felt as though he cared little for such disdain.
“I’m not the only one. Most members of the Senate were once quite successful individuals. There are warriors who bested giants in strength contests, and those who suffered devastating losses against priests but eventually defeated them.”
When Aslan remained silent at this disjointed explanation, the elder looked up. Despite losing sight in one eye, his gaze burned with years of experience.
An old man standing at the pinnacle of those who hadn’t abandoned their faith within Geladridion.
Although the Dragon King, who renounced his faith to become a high priest, would have called him a failure or loser, there was no trace of defeat in this old man’s eyes.
“They all agreed when they saw you. They said Fire and Metal chose you. I thought the same.”
Saying this, the elder looked down at the armor again.
This suit of armor, composed of breastplate, vambrace, and pauldron, was a testament to the fierce and grueling battles it had endured.
Even hammers made of white steel broke during the process of forging the scales into armor.
Considering that Aslan had defeated the Dragon King, whose scales possessed such qualities, and clearly felt the divine power of the ancient deity, there was no reason for the Senate to hesitate.
“And we saw your courage during the trial by combat. We unanimously decided to support you.”
Strength, qualifications, and courage—all present in a hero. The elder paused, looking down at the armor before turning his gaze elsewhere.
Despite his words, Aslan noticed deep gratitude in his eyes.
He could also sense the hidden meaning behind them. After hesitating for a moment, Aslan spoke.
“When did you realize the true identity of the Dragon King?”
“Hmm, at least a few generations ago. It’s been quite a long time.”
At this answer, Aslan fell silent, sighing.
He could imagine how many royal families the high priest, whose true identity remained hidden for a thousand years, had devoured.
Aslan looked uneasily at the old man.
Knowing the setting well, Aslan realized the old man had also experienced loss.
The elder exhaled sorrowfully amidst his stoicism.
“Bahamul Heart… Originally Bahamul Head. That child was my grandson.”
This was something Aslan had guessed.
If the Dragon King had ruled for over a thousand years, disguising himself as a new candidate for the Dragon King would have been possible.
A priest wearing the name and skin of Bahamul Head.
What must it have felt like for them to offer their bloodline as fodder to the priest, merely hoping the city wouldn’t be destroyed?
Aslan couldn’t even begin to imagine.
The pain of knowing their kin would be eaten by a priest, knowing someone pretending to be their bloodline would reign as king, yet having to offer them anyway…
Aslan couldn’t even fathom it.
He couldn’t even condemn it.
The elderly dragon person before him was an elder responsible for an entire city.
He must have known well what needed to be done to save the city from above.
Understanding that, if he had tried to save his own kin, the result would have been a burning city and the deaths of tens of thousands of dragon people.
Thus, Aslan understood the depth and breadth of this pain, even if he couldn’t fully grasp it, and how agonizing this choice must have been.
With a heavy heart, the elder sighed deeply before speaking.
“…I thank you. In a way… You’ve avenged me.”
With that, the elder fell silent, his tail lying motionless on the ground.
Aslan quietly watched the despondent elder as he continued his work.
When the conversation lapsed again, the elder hammered the armor, and Aslan silently observed the scene.
The Dragon King was strong. There was no guarantee Aslan would win if they fought again.
Only through luck and miracles had Aslan barely managed to triumph, making him aware of the considerable value of the Dragon King’s body.
However, the armor being crafted now clearly indicated for whom it was intended.
“Which hand do you use?”
“I use both.”
“I’ve made it for the right hand; lucky for me.”
Glancing at Aslan’s arm, the elder adjusted the vambrace and pauldron.
“Do you wear other protective gear?”
“There’s something called a feather cloak.”
“Good thing I didn’t make it too snug.”
Adjusting the space accordingly so Aslan could move his arms easily even with the cloak on,
As the heat in the forge subsided and the dim black light seeped through the low windows, filling the space, the work was complete. Dropping the broken hammer to the floor, the elder spoke.
“The title of Flame-Tongue that we bestowed upon you is not merely nominal. We recognize you as both a hero and one of us dragon folk. The view you hold will soon become our goal, and the path you walk will be ours to follow.”
There was no other emotion in those words. Considering it was directed at the hero who killed the priest who consumed his kin, it was surprisingly detached.
But upon reflection, it made sense. He was the elder, the head of the vast city of Belus Alphen.
The head must remain cold.
He seemed to have channeled all his remaining resentment into hammering the armor, trying to maintain composure, yet a deep sense of regret and sorrow lingered in the hand that brushed the armor.
But only for a moment. As Aslan approached the workbench, the elder stepped back to allow him to inspect the armor.
The armor was magnificent.
Though it couldn’t perfectly replicate the sturdiness and shock absorption of the Dragon King’s scales, it would undoubtedly provide better protection than most plate armors. The scales, seamlessly joined together so that the seams were almost invisible, rippled smoothly as Aslan lifted it.
As Aslan gazed silently at the armor, the elder spoke.
“We haven’t named the armor yet. I simply can’t decide on a name.”
Do you want to name it? The underlying insistence carried a plea not to push the decision onto him.
The elder couldn’t name the armor, knowing it might contain the remains of his kin.
As Aslan heard the faint rustling of scales in his hand and noticed the elder’s shoulders slightly shrinking at the sound, he smiled kindly.
“Perhaps… it doesn’t need a name?”
As Aslan said this and turned to look at the elder, the elder stared silently at Aslan with a sunken gaze. Their eyes met, and Aslan gave a slight smile.
It was an expression recognizing that the elder would never be satisfied with any name chosen.
Whether the name erased the memory of his lost kin or honored them, the elder would mourn every time he saw it.
Rather, not naming it at all was sufficient.
As Aslan gently stroked the scales and looked at the elder again,
“If ever you feel the desire to name it, Speaker, you may do so then.”
The elder sensed the kindness in Aslan’s words. His slumped shoulders drooped further as he rubbed his chin.
Exhaling a sigh amidst his profound sorrow, the elder turned toward the exit of the forge, his tail dragging along the floor as he walked closer to the door.
Suddenly turning his head as he grasped the doorknob, the elder looked at Aslan. The sorrow in his eyes was gone.
At least for now.
“You mentioned needing our city’s help for the peace treaty, correct? Since you’re now one of us, we’ll ensure it happens as you wish.”
“Thank you.”
“…No, I should be thanking you.”
With that, the elder seemed to shake off his lingering regret and stepped out of the forge, leaving only Aslan and the armor inside.
