VOLUME 15: CHAPTER 6

VOLUME 15: CHAPTER 6

“Finally. These damn, stupidly large trees.”

With a deafening thud, Blackie dropped the elven oak it had been carrying. Rocks and dirt exploded outward, forming choking clouds. The nearby dwarves, who narrowly dodged the impact, cursed and grumbled. From farther off, however, cheers erupted—another massive elven oak had arrived at their doorstep.

“This should be the last one.”

For days now, Blackie and Arcturus had been flying back and forth between Daxton City and the Dwarven Kingdom, delivering the elven oaks to Gorovir’s workshop.

The journey had been grueling. The distance alone was exhausting, and the size of the trees made each trip a trial.

By the time they finished, Blackie was already at its limit—and then came the final straw. From the dwarves, it learned that Lark and his disciples had already left.

Like a cracked dam at last giving way, all of Blackie’s frustrations erupted.

Blackie roared, shaking the mountains. “He left?! God Evander went to the Bottomless Gorge?! Tch! Lizard, this is all your fault! If you weren’t moving at a tortoise’s pace, we wouldn’t have spent ages hauling these damn oaks!”

Arcturus merely shrugged. “We flew at the same speed, though.”

“Same speed? That was your same speed?! You’re clearly slacking off after the first few trips! Don’t play dumb! I hauled almost twice as many trees as you!”

The accusations, bitter as they were, held truth.

Realizing midway how tedious the task would become, Arcturus had conserved his strength, gliding more often than flapping. Of course, admitting as much was out of the question, not with so many dwarves nearby.

“I did my best to transport the oaks,” Arcturus replied evenly. “I don’t know where these accusations are coming from.”

“Accusations?! Stop lying, lizard! You know you slacked off!”

Unable to bear the Scylla’s shameless tirade, the dwarves nearby joined in, turning their anger toward Blackie.

“Watch your mouth!”

“This bastard!”

“The Great Guardian Deity is right!”

“Damn, stupid snake!”

“How dare you accuse the Lord Dragon!”

“Arrogant creature!”

“Looking down on the Dwarven Kingdom, are you?!”

Blackie’s body trembled as rage surged through its seven heads. It could stomach it from Arcturus—but these insects? How dare they!

If it wished, Blackie could slaughter every dwarf here in moments. The idea tempted it more than it should have.

It could scarcely believe it had fallen so far that even lowly dwarves dared insult it.

“You damn insects,” Blackie snarled. Its slitted pupils narrowed dangerously. “You’ve grown bold, haven’t you? If not for my promise to God Evander—”

“—Then what?!” a dwarf snapped.

“Are you threatening us now, snake?!”

“Wanna fight?!”

“You think we’re afraid of you?!”

“You’ve never faced the Dwarven Castle Annihilator, huh?!”

The name of the weapon was ominous, but Blackie dismissed it without a thought. Nothing, it believed, could scratch its prized scales.

It sneered, revealing sharp rows of teeth from each head.

“Hahaha! Like master, like ants!” Blackie’s sinister laughter echoed like rolling thunder. “You dwarves have grown bold indeed!”

The strain from endless labor, combined with the bitter regret of not accompanying Lark to the Bottomless Gorge, had eroded Blackie’s patience.

Now, even the dwarves dared rebuke it—oblivious to the danger they courted.

Did they truly think Arcturus alone could shield them if Blackie unleashed its wrath?

How laughable.

Truly—what the eyes do not see, the heart does not fear.

But Blackie would remind them. Harshly.

Murderous intent seeped from its body like a tide. Even dwarves farther away, uninvolved in the commotion, froze mid-task. Those nearby collapsed to their knees, pale and breathless.

“What’s wrong, dwarves?” Blackie’s voice rumbled low and deadly. “Did you really think I’d spare you? Insolent insects who don’t know their place!”

The ground shook as a shockwave blasted from Blackie’s roar, thick with fury and mana.

The kneeling dwarves quivered. Some had already fainted from sheer terror.

Arcturus watched in silence, amusement flickering in his draconic eyes. Even if Blackie slaughtered them all, he had no intention of interfering. Indoctrinated from birth, Arcturus believed dwarves existed solely to serve the Ancient Fire Dragon Tribe.

“You’ve gone quiet, dwarves.”

Blackie bared its fangs, reveling in their terror.

“Answer me!”

Silence.

Time slowed, each heartbeat stretching into eternity.

Then, a calm voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk.

“Blackie, isn’t that enough?”

At once, the suffocating pressure eased.

The voice was from Kel’ Vual, the leader of the Arzomos Tribe.

Currently, the demon sat atop the roof of the tallest building in the workshop, his left hand clutching a bottle of Firebeard Ale.

“Kel’ Vual,” said Blackie.

The Scylla was well aware of the old demon’s power. Though Kel’ Vual was nearing the end of his lifespan, he was likely still strong enough to face both Blackie and Arcturus simultaneously.

In a sense, this Arzomos was Lark’s hidden trump card in the coming war against the demons.

“I don’t care if you and the dwarves fight,” said Kel’ Vual. “But don’t do it here.”

That single statement instantly dispelled Blackie’s killing intent.

That’s right.

They couldn’t afford to cause chaos in this place.

For Lark, this workshop was a vital stepping stone—essential for reconstructing his body and creating the floating castle.

“If you want to kill each other, do it elsewhere.”

Blackie clicked his tongue in frustration. Arcturus only smiled.

From the start, Arcturus had known Blackie wouldn’t dare make a move here. He had already guessed Kel’ Vual would intervene if things got out of hand.

“Tch. Consider yourselves lucky, dwarves.”

With those words, Blackie cast his polymorph spell, transforming into seven old men dressed in garish Taoist robes. Though they clasped their hands behind their backs in an attempt to appear dignified, they couldn’t quite hide the scowls on their faces.

“Let’s go, brothers,” said the third head.

“Hmph!”

With the third head leading, they leapt past the dwarves and landed beside Kel’ Vual on the rooftop.

“We heard that God Evander has left for the Bottomless Gorge,” said the third head.

Kel’ Vual kept his gaze fixed on the dwarves below, particularly those cutting the elven oaks.

The oaks were so hard and dense that dwarves needed to infuse mana into their machines just to cut them. To avoid tainting the wood, this process was strictly supervised by Gorovir’s direct disciples.

“That’s right,” Kel’ Vual replied. “You have no plans to follow him?”

Since the Scylla had polymorphed into human form, it was clear they had no intention of flying all the way to the Bottomless Gorge.

“I’m honestly itching to fly over and meet God Evander,” said the third head.

“That’s right! Let’s just go now!” spat the first head.

“Why did we even polymorph in the first place?” complained the sixth head.

“I agree! I’m sure God Evander would be pleased if we delivered the news about the elven oaks,” said the seventh.

“Enough,” said the third head firmly. “You already heard from Arcturus that the dwarves are struggling to mine the adamantite because of some unknown monster.”

“That’s even more reason to follow God Evander!” argued the fifth head.

The third head shook his head and sighed. “No. Think. If the unknown monster hides when the lizards are nearby, what do you think will happen if we show up?”

The answer was obvious.

The creature controlling the monsters would go into hiding.

“God Evander is omnipotent—a god walking among mortals whose intelligence far surpasses ours,” the third head continued.

To outsiders, the statement might sound absurd, but the seven heads readily accepted it as undeniable truth.

“Surely he has a way to locate and hunt that monster,” the third head concluded. “So, the best thing we can do right now is wait. If we charge in recklessly, we might disrupt God Evander’s flawless plans.”

“Ohhh!”

“A-As expected of the eldest!”

“We are smart, but the eldest is the smartest!”

“Kekeke! This is why Scyllas are superior to Dragons!”

“Unlike those lizards, we can draw conclusions with only a few pieces of information!”

“So, we’ll just wait here!”

“Patiently!”

“That’s right! Until God Evander returns!”

“Kakaka!”

The seven old men—except for the third head—grinned smugly. They puffed out their chests with pride and stroked their beards animatedly.

Kel’ Vual simply listened. He didn’t comment, but inwardly, he thought the Scylla really was a simple creature.

Still, even he had to admit that Blackie was unique.

Kel’ Vual had encountered other Scyllas before, but none were like this one.

Although Blackie far surpassed his kin in battle prowess, his nature was almost childlike—vindictive toward his enemies, yet fiercely loyal to his allies. This immaturity likely stemmed from being trapped inside the labyrinth for over a thousand years with no one to converse with.

Experiences and encounters shaped character and maturity—and in this regard, Blackie was severely lacking.

“You seem to have reached a consensus,” said Kel’ Vual. “I’m sure Evander will appreciate your decision.”

“Is that so?”

Kel’ Vual tossed the bottle in his hand to the third head. “Here. Try it.”

“This is…”

“Firebeard Ale. Popular among dwarves. Burns the tongue like poison. Don’t drink it if you can’t handle your liquor.”

Hearing this, the seven heads grinned.

The idea of drinking every day while waiting for God Evander greatly appealed to them.

“Don’t underestimate us, Kel’ Vual,” said the second head.

“Firebeard Ale, huh? Kekeke!” said the seventh.

“Let’s see if it lives up to its name!” added the fifth.

One after another, the heads took turns sipping from the bottle. True to its name, the liquor seared their tongues like liquid fire. It was so intense, it felt as though their tongues were melting.

The Scylla had never tasted anything like it.

“Feels like drinking flames.”

“Kekeke, I like it!”

“This is great! Kakaka!”

“Dwarves! Yes, you over there! Bring us more of this stuff!”

After barking the order, Blackie and Kel’ Vual soon acquired several more bottles of Firebeard Ale.

The dwarves who delivered them looked on in disbelief, as though they were madmen.

Even among dwarves, the ale was considered a potent poison. Usually, half a cup was enough to send the average dwarf into a stupor.

Amazingly, Kel’ Vual and the seven heads drank as though it was nothing more than water with a hint of spice.

Under the influence of alcohol, the seven heads and Kel’ Vual began chatting freely. Their conversation drifted to mundane topics: the workshop, the dwarves, the Kingdom of Lukas, and the humans.

Before long, Arcturus joined them.

Using his authority as the Great Guardian Deity, Arcturus ordered the dwarves to bring not only more Firebeard Ale, but also meat and snacks.

Eager to please, the dwarves went so far as to set up chairs and tables on the rooftop, transforming it into a makeshift pub.

Intoxicated by the potent ale, the seven heads and Arcturus conversed without any trace of animosity. They even laughed at each other’s jokes, as though they were old friends reunited after many years.

The alcohol’s power was astonishing. In the span of a single night, it had turned sworn enemies into drinking buddies sharing tales and laughter.

“Kekeke, this Dragon is funny!”

“I’m glad you replaced that stupid Agnus.”

“That little brother of yours even dared make a bet with us. Hmph! How outrageous!”

“Agnus has always been like that. Honestly, he’s been a pain since we were kids.”

They even began badmouthing Agnus, who at that very moment was being punished inside the Lair by Vesta.

“I can’t believe you were personally trained by the Dragon Devourer! No wonder you’re so powerful, Lord Blackie!”

“Kakaka! Stop calling us ‘Lord.’ We’re buddies now, aren’t we?”

“That’s right! We’re friends!”

“No need for formalities!”

Kel’ Vual smiled wryly as he listened.

The Scylla really were simple creatures.

Although he himself was drunk, Kel’ Vual could tell that Arcturus was working hard to win Blackie’s favor.

Still, he didn’t interfere. Having Blackie and Arcturus reconcile would only benefit them all in the long run.

“Kel’ Vual,” said Blackie suddenly. “Say… we’ve always been curious about something…”

The seven heads looked at each other uncertainly, hesitant to speak.

“…God Evander,” Blackie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Did he ever get married? Did he have a child?”

There was a hint of fear in Blackie’s voice. They clearly found the question sensitive, yet curiosity got the better of them—helped, no doubt, by the ale.

Kel’ Vual bit into a chunk of chicken, chewed thoughtfully, then replied.

“Married? Well, that’s a long story.”

“We have all night,” Arcturus said. The young Dragon was equally curious about the Arch Magus’s past.

Seeing their eager expressions, Kel’ Vual decided to indulge them.

“Evander never married, but if I’m not mistaken, he did have a fiancée once.”

The ears of the seven heads perked up. They leaned in and shrieked like excited women.

“Fiancée?!”

“God Evander had a woman?!”

“Who? Who was she?”

“What’s her name?”

Kel’ Vual chuckled softly. “It’s been so long, I don’t remember. But I’m sure she was the only daughter of a Ducal House of the Empire.”

He continued, “Evander, that bastard, had women throwing themselves at him constantly. He received more than a hundred marriage proposals in his youth. He rejected all of them, except for her. The Duke’s daughter was the only one he ever truly connected with.”

“Ooooh! The Duke’s daughter!”

“She must have been stunningly beautiful!”

“How exciting!”

“Of course God Evander was popular with women! I knew it!”

“Stop stating the obvious!”

“Kakaka! If I were a woman, I’d fall for him too!”

“Maybe we should polymorph into young women. What do you think, brothers?”

“Ohhh! I like that idea!”

“Kekeke! With our talent, it’s possible!”

“Should we try later?”

Kel’ Vual’s face paled instantly.

“Kel’ Vual? You’ve gone pale.”

“N-Nothing…” he muttered hastily.

Realizing how dangerously ridiculous the drunken Scylla’s thoughts were becoming, he quickly steered the conversation away.

Privately, Kel’ Vual hoped Blackie wouldn’t actually follow through with that absurd idea.

Surely, they wouldn’t… right?

He cleared his throat, forcing composure back into his voice.

“Evander and the Duke’s daughter were together for nearly a decade,” he said. “But for reasons unknown, they never married and never had children. Some said Evander was too consumed by his research. Others whispered that the woman was infertile. The truth… only Evander knew.”

Kel’ Vual fell silent for a moment, then looked up at the sky.

“It’s a shame. After so many years together, eventually, they broke off their engagement.”

His voice lowered, filled with nostalgia.

“Twenty years after Evander’s death, we infiltrated the Empire to visit his burial grounds. And there, as though fate was mocking us, we saw her.”

Kel’ Vual smiled sadly.

“She was frail, her hair completely white. Yet she stood there alone, dignified, paying her respects to Evander’s grave. She never married or loved another after him.”

The seven heads fell quiet.

The weight of the story sobered even them.

“Why did they break off the engagement? Why did they stay apart despite loving each other?” Kel’ Vual asked quietly. “No one knows. They cared deeply for one another, yet they chose to remain apart.”

Silence followed.

None of them had expected Lark to have such a tragic love story.

“Stubborn, weren’t they? If only they’d been honest with their feelings…”

Kel’ Vual sighed heavily.

“Haaah… Evander, you damn fool.”

The Arch Magus, revered by all for his magical might, it seemed, had been hopeless when it came to matters of the heart.