“No, it’s unfair!”
“Right! We should at least hear the circumstances, shouldn’t we?”
Despite the cries of the two humans in turn, there was no one to respond.
They gripped the iron bars discontentedly inside the chilly prison where cold drafts seeped in.
Tiamat and Harrod.
The brother dragons with red scales and golden eyes.
The two of them openly showed their disappointment at receiving no response despite shouting loudly enough for it to reach beyond the cell.
This they expressed by pulling and pushing on the iron bars.
But the iron bars remained unresponsive as well.
To the cold cell that silently met their gestures, Tiamat soon lost his temper.
“This cursed jail! I’ll break it and leave! Hey! Are you listening?!”
The purpose of his shout was to summon a guard, but no guard appeared.
Perhaps more commotion was needed. Tiamat immediately assumed a stance and kicked the iron bars.
And then…
Clang.
Even after Tiamat’s kick, the iron bars stayed still.
Without even trembling slightly, the immovable iron bars caused Tiamat to clutch his foot and collapse.
“Brother!”
Harrod, sitting beside him, shook the fallen Tiamat while he slumped over.
Watching the two of them silently, Aslan drew their attention by sighing.
“It won’t work. It’s the imperial style. They probably enhanced it with magic to absorb shocks and such.”
“Why didn’t you say so before I kicked it?”
“Why didn’t you ask before kicking it?”
At that, Tiamat groaned and sat up.
Seeing his older brother seemingly fine, Harrod looked puzzled, then sat beside him.
They were in a jail.
A small jail attached to the border guard outpost not far from the frontier.
A sturdy but poorly equipped jail with barely two cells.
The reason was simple.
Aslan couldn’t suppress the explosion they had caused.
It actually happened, there were many witnesses, and it was genuinely dangerous—there was no room for argument.
Though no one was injured, considering the strangely heightened atmosphere at the border, it was only natural.
Aslan had to reluctantly agree to the group’s arrest and instead requested to accompany them.
Fortunately, thanks to being part of Resham’s group, they managed to secure permission for accompaniment and inspection of the bow.
The consistent reactions of the dragon brothers also played a role.
So Aslan stood with arms crossed in front of the cell where Tiamat and Harrod were held.
Upon making eye contact, Harrod gave an awkward smile of apology, while Tiamat put on the most pitiful expression possible.
Not exactly inspiring much sympathy, though.
“What happened anyway?”
Instead, Aslan focused on resolving the situation.
By understanding the situation, investigating the cause, mastering the principle, and then explaining to get them out.
Contrary to Aslan’s determination, however, neither Harrod nor Tiamat seemed to know much.
“Well, this elder always carries a bow, right? Holding it keeps you warm, so it’s less cold. Harrod asked if he could touch it too, so I let him…”
“Suddenly an arrow appeared. A blazing arrow. But it wouldn’t disappear, and we didn’t know what to do with it…”
“So this elder took it and shot it. Up into the sky.”
Taking turns speaking, Tiamat and Harrod exchanged words. Listening to them, Aslan scratched his chin with a perplexed look.
Based solely on their account, it wasn’t strange that they felt wronged.
For these dragon brothers, this situation was truly an unexpected mishap.
At least no one was hurt, which was fortunate.
It was unfortunate that things hadn’t turned out that way.
Lost in thought, Aslan stroked his chin. Seeing him lost in thought, Tiamat suddenly spoke.
“If only this elder had a skill like yours… You know, the one where you shoot lightning.”
“Shooting lightning?”
Lightning shooting.
Although Aslan didn’t immediately understand, there was only one technique of his that could be called “shooting lightning.”
“Calling Thunder?”
“Is that its name? Well, if you used that, you could have shot it higher, maybe even make it look like a star. Then we could’ve explained it away. Phew, sorry.”
Sighing, Tiamat leaned against the iron bars. Watching him, Aslan tilted his head in puzzlement.
Calling Thunder was originally a bow special.
How the dragon knew it was a bow special was questionable, but something else caught his attention more.
Specifically, the part about shooting higher.
Calling Thunder didn’t have any abilities like increased range or damage.
Probably all that could be done with it now was the current application Aslan used, where the player gets launched.
“I’ll think about it. For now, I’ll go talk. Stay put.”
“Alright, alright.”
Aslan simply smiled it off and left the jail, finding one of the Greens among the bustling people inside the outpost.
It was the same Green who once pointed a spear at Aslan and shouted, “Who are you?”
Seeing Aslan approach, he crossed the cluttered interior of the outpost and came toward him.
“I’m Kelrum, commander of the Border Defense Force. You requested an examination of evidence, correct?”
“Evidence.” Likely referring to the Chimera bow Tiamat had been using.
Aslan nodded, and the commander glanced back and signaled a soldier with a nod.
“Go fetch it.”
The soldier bowed deeply and left, returning shortly with a bow.
A mechanical bow that emitted a loose, sun-like deep gold flash through its cracks.
A large-sized longbow, larger than usual bows.
The soldier handed it to Kelrum, who passed it to Aslan.
When Aslan received it with his hand covered in black scales, Kelrum motioned with his chin to lead Aslan outside, but…
[Top-tier Operator: Dragon King]
[Operator access confirmed.]
Before he could do so, a voice reached Aslan’s ear.
“Initiate self-diagnosis.”
Aslan whispered in response to the voice.
Uttering SF cliché words, Aslan half-doubted whether it would really work, but as he murmured, his eyes went blank and a kind of vision floated before him.
As Kelrum, who had handed over the bow, stepped back in confusion and the Border Defense Forces went on alert, Aslan saw the floating vision.
It was a sort of mechanical circuit.
While it floated largely, it was actually an enlarged view of something quite massive.
Aslan, who didn’t have much knowledge of machinery, couldn’t judge much from it.
So, inevitably, the clichés continued.
“Report results.”
To the sound of that voice, the guards either picked up spears or fidgeted with swords at their waists, but it was irrelevant to Aslan, who couldn’t see anything in front of him at the moment.
Fortunately, the voice wasn’t wasted.
The enlarged circuit diagram. It further expanded, and within the incomprehensible geometric structure, a part was faintly highlighted in light.
Looking for a clichéd line to ask what it meant, Aslan closed his mouth at the ensuing voice.
[Self-diagnosis Result: Overload traces detected in local resource-specific circuits]
[Average local resource levels exceeded by 6.196317 times]
[Resolution: Implement emergency discharge]
[Emergency discharge method: Arrow]
The detailed explanation and accompanying image made Aslan close his mouth as he understood the cause.
Expressing that it had exceeded the average level of locally sourced resources.
It clearly referred to momentary output rather than raw mana quantity.
Perhaps too much mana had entered at once.
Considering how crucial momentary output is for wizards, it was unexpected.
All this happened the moment Harrod touched the bow.
That is, it concluded that Harrod had a genius-level momentary output.
If we compare it to a car, it means high acceleration. The speed at which he can ramp up to maximum mana is exceptionally fast.
Aslan recalled another wizard with remarkable momentary output.
Astrid.
She has less total mana compared to a Green but uses her environment and heightened emotions along with momentary output to cast spells as powerful as those of Anna, the mayor of the city of wizards.
Harrod was the same.
A rare talent, a gem of a mage.
Judging by the size of the discharged arrow and approximately six times the output, his mana capacity was likely around 3~4.
Even if not yet at the level of a grand wizard, with proper training, he could become a renowned mage across the continent.
Realizing this fact, Aslan was surprised.
Surprised that Harrod possessed such talent and that he had failed to notice it until now.
As the vision before Aslan faded, the voice ceased, and his focus returned.
“Hurry, move it. Sweep everything off the table downstairs and bring up the wounded first.”
“Yes!”
“Go tear apart some beds or push them here. Bring more from the lower jail too.”
“Ah, yes!”
The outpost was in complete chaos.
Already cramped and tightly packed with materials and items, everything was rolling on the floor.
Instead, soldiers were lying on tables, empty beds, and long chairs.
Soldiers with long and messy wounds on their armor, arms, legs, and torsos.
Among them stood a man.
Revealing his vivid green skin and glowing magical tattoos, healing the soldiers was the supervisor, Resham.
As Aslan approached him, Resham glanced at the bow in Aslan’s other hand and said,
“Good timing. Can you help?”
There was no reason for Aslan to refuse. He slung the bow behind his back and approached a soldier to examine the wound.
The wound looked as if cut by something very sharp.
Yet it was too messy to have been made by a spear, dagger, sword, or axe.
Rather, it resembled having been chewed by a beast’s jaws.
But for a beast’s jaws, it was excessively large and clean.
A messy yet neat cross-section. As Aslan examined the wound while looking around, Resham placed down a small bag.
It was a bag full of medical tools.
Aslan pulled out a needle and thread from it and carefully inspected the wound that looked as if sliced simultaneously by two saws.
“Heat metal.”
At the incantation, Astrid’s farewell glow shone, mana drained away, and the needle heated up.
Aslan sewed up the wound as best he could with the heated needle and thread while asking Resham,
“What happened?”
Resham was quiet while reconnecting a patient’s detached leg with a restoration school spell, and Aslan questioned him again.
“Is it related to the border lockdown?”
Only now, upon closer inspection, did Aslan realize these were the ones who had left the border with Resham on the first day.
They were soldiers dispatched according to Resham’s investigative intentions.
Since these men had returned in such a state, Aslan could only speculate.
Fortunately, Resham nodded.
And just as he was about to speak, noticing the soldier whose wound Aslan was stitching gasping heavily, he closed his mouth.
The soldier, trembling in fear while getting his severed leg reattached and his badly torn side stitched, muttered,
“Dragons… Dragons…”
And Aslan’s expression upon hearing this word was not one of fear or surprise, but of bewilderment.
Because dragons were livestock of the empire.
*
Transportation, means of travel, food, armor.
Dragons, used for all sorts of purposes, became the empire’s livestock and faithful friends after their decline.
They lost the ability to breathe fire and the wings that allowed them to fly.
They also lost the talent for magic and their clever minds.
Thus, despite their immense size, they were treated as livestock.
Aaaaah!
A fading scream.
A common scream from the widespread dragon farms in the empire or the Mareza City Union.
The owner of that scream was currently being eaten alive by a dragon, his lower body devoured.
Crunch, crunch. The torn flesh resembled being chewed by metallic teeth, messy yet oddly regular.
Clearly, dragons had lost all their powers.
Yet what they retained was the ability to refine minerals into scales through fire and metallurgy.
The frightened farm owner had just remembered this fact.
The entire farm was strewn with scattered corpses.
Mostly human.
Among them stood a lone man. The farm owner stared at him.
Blond hair, golden eyes, completely naked.
The man standing on the blood-soaked meadow.
The one dragon feared, went mad trying to avoid, yet dared not attack, and the only one who could enforce his will by speaking commands to them.
The rider who brought destruction with a soft command of ‘kill them all’ to the farm.
People called him a tyrant.
The tyrant, watching the warriors rushing to stop him being devoured by dragons chewing on weapons, turned his head.
He looked at the farm owner trembling in fear and muttering ‘please save me.’
He stared at the quivering middle-aged man for a long time before letting out a laugh.
Naturally, as if he’d seen something amusing.
“You are weak.”
And he said that.
At his words, the farm owner, startled and speechless, watched as the tyrant spoke to the dragon that had just lowered its head.
“Kill him.”
The dragon obediently lowered its head further and approached the farm owner.
Soon, a tearing scream echoed.
Shortly thereafter, it fell silent.
