Ch.263Hall of the Gods (6)

“…Do you have something to discuss with a necromancer?”

The Dragon King did not respond to Ortemilia’s courage. Rather, she sneered, clearly showing her displeasure.

It was only natural for Lucilla to slightly furrow her brow. Perhaps she needed to be melted from the inside to come to her senses—with this ominous thought, Lucilla stepped forward.

Llewellyn extended his arm to stop her.

Naturally, the sister looked at her younger brother with a softer gaze than the one she had directed at the Dragon King moments ago.

It wasn’t an expression a sister should show, but neither Llewellyn nor Lucilla seemed to care.

The Dragon King noticed, however, but mistakenly assumed they were cousins.

In this world, marriages between cousins weren’t uncommon.

“Sejin…”

“It’s alright.”

For Lucilla, it was frustrating. While she could understand the uncooperative attitude, Ortemilia was hardly what one would consider a necromancer.

It didn’t sit well with her that the Dragon King had immediately attacked Ortemilia with killing intent and still treated her with contempt as a necromancer.

Lucilla wasn’t fundamentally a bad person, and she was incredibly kind to those who came under her care.

Like Llewellyn, she was fond of Ortemilia. Her small and cute appearance was part of the reason.

But mainly because she showed no interest in pursuing Llewellyn. Plus, she was the one who had created Llewellyn.

So Lucilla naturally wanted to beat up the Dragon King instead of Ortemilia. Though it probably wouldn’t end with just a beating.

For Llewellyn, this was something to be avoided.

‘That’s not the only reason.’

Llewellyn looked at the Dragon King. While it might be difficult to read emotions on a dragon’s scaled lizard face, Llewellyn’s developed senses and intuition vividly conveyed what the Dragon King was feeling.

She was regretting what she had said. It seemed like an immediate reaction, making Llewellyn wonder if he was mistaken.

But he wasn’t. She truly was regretting it.

Why on earth?

Why would she deliberately say something she’d regret? Llewellyn looked at the Dragon King with suspicion, and the Dragon King, unable to look at Ortemilia, looked at Llewellyn instead.

‘…Ah, I see.’

The Dragon King was, after all, the Dragon King.

Being a king is not a position for fools. Especially in the North, where power often forms the basis of rule amid turbulence.

If you couldn’t prove your capability, your head would be easily severed. Knowing this, Llewellyn thought the Dragon King would be well aware of how her words and actions would be received.

And indeed she was.

The Dragon King was regretting it. She knew that all these actions, all this attitude, would fail to create a positive impression and would instead achieve the opposite of her goal.

Yet she couldn’t stop herself, because although the Dragon King was a dragonkin and an extreme fighter…

She was human. An ordinary person.

She wasn’t someone who held grand ideals or some enormous purpose, nor was she someone with a mission to which she dedicated her entire being.

She was a girl who had dreamed of revenge after her family was killed and her race persecuted, and even after achieving that revenge, she was still an ordinary person suffering from the remaining scars.

Despite her power, she was the most common of humans. Llewellyn knew this.

That sense remained in all the dragon-slaying techniques Llewellyn had secretly learned. They were skills that could only be created by an ordinary human dedicating their entire being to an extraordinary purpose.

So Llewellyn quietly looked at the Dragon King in the cell.

“Despite what you say, the one who wants to talk more than anyone is…”

“Llewellyn.”

A name called softly. Llewellyn looked at Ortemilia, who smiled faintly and shook her head.

As Llewellyn closed his mouth, she stepped boldly forward.

It was dangerous. Despite the iron bars and walls of the prison…

The opponent was the Dragon King. Such a prison would be as good as nonexistent to her. Yet Ortemilia closed the distance.

Even though she must know what it means to give ground to a master fighter, Ortemilia faced the Dragon King without a trace of fear.

Because that was her way of showing trust.

The Dragon King was not lacking in intelligence. Nor was she lacking in perception. She noticed Ortemilia’s behavior and lowered her eyes with a bitter expression.

“If you don’t back away, I might kill you. And this time, there won’t be anyone to stop me like before.”

“As a necromancer, I won’t die easily.”

“No, you will die for certain. If I intend it, you’ll be dead before you can take a step.”

A sharp threat casually dropped. But Ortemilia wasn’t afraid.

No, perhaps it’s wrong to say she wasn’t afraid.

Llewellyn noticed that Ortemilia’s hands were trembling slightly.

‘It was the same when we first met.’

When Llewellyn first met Ortemilia, he had attacked her without warning or reason.

Ortemilia had yielded to him and cooperated, setting aside the attitude she had intended to present.

She feared pain and death.

The pain and death that the Dragon King could bring were no exception.

But Ortemilia stood before the Dragon King, overcoming that fear.

She wanted to talk. An emotional response unlike her usual logical demeanor.

Llewellyn sensed there was something more to it, and the Dragon King evidently felt the same.

She seemed persistent. It felt as if the conversation itself was the goal, not something else she wanted.

The Dragon King remained silent for a long time, perhaps wondering why anyone would want to talk with her.

Her tail rested on the floor without moving, and her nictitating membrane covered her eyes before receding.

After a brief silence, the Dragon King finally spoke, seemingly at a loss.

“I tried to kill you. I can’t guarantee your life if this cell door opens now.”

“Hmm, I know. It was startling. But I understood later.”

“…You understood?”

The Dragon King seemed to have an ambiguous expression, perhaps thinking that Ortemilia wouldn’t understand her “reasons,” but Ortemilia was different.

Llewellyn attributed this to her genius, while Lucilla considered if there might be some other reason.

In reality, the truth was closer to what Lucilla had thought.

“I am a necromancer but not a necromancer. I’m a manufactured necromancer, one of the failures who struggled to grasp life by overlaying death.”

She emphasized the word “failure.” Ortemilia seemed quite uncomfortable referring to herself as a failure.

Everyone is. Llewellyn realized then that Rte had never once called him a failure, nor had she referred to any experimental subjects, including homunculi, as failures.

In fact, she probably never thought of them that way.

Because she herself was a failure. If she considered her other creations failures, she would have to accept that she was a failure too.

Llewellyn carefully hid his pitying expression, and Ortemilia bit her lip as her tail, too thin to be truly dragon-like, swayed on the floor.

That appearance, at least, matched her exterior.

A desire for recognition, for love, for showing off.

A childish appearance. With all eyes on her, she finally parted her lips.

“Why would you say such things to me…”

“Because you are the same.”

The Dragon King’s body stiffened. She clearly understood what was meant.

Only then did Llewellyn grasp, from what he had heard, why the Dragon King had recklessly attacked and erupted in anger upon seeing the Seer.

The Dragon King was the same. Llewellyn’s eyes widened at the possibility.

Dragonkin.

Descendants of dragons and leaders of the North, the most transcendent race with the greatest potential for growth, excluding homunculi.

Was that truly a product of chance or necessity?

Is it even possible for such powerful beings to arise naturally?

Llewellyn knew the answer.

Ortemilia belatedly spoke, as if for everyone to hear.

“The dragonkin are experimental subjects created by necromancers trying to make ‘Father’s vessel’… they are failures in their eyes.”

Perhaps homunculi before homunculi.

Llewellyn realized the Dragon King wasn’t surprised at all, meaning she already knew.

A race unit considered failures and abandoned. But hatred couldn’t be explained by just that. Llewellyn spoke without thinking.

“And they were livestock, experimental subjects.”

Rte smiled bitterly, and a faint anger seeped into the Dragon King’s eyes.

Llewellyn instinctively understood why he had been able to learn dragon-dropping and dragon-slaying techniques.

More precisely, why he had intuitively mastered those techniques among countless other good ones.

They were the same.

The mental image of Llewellyn, abandoned as an experimental subject and standing against his creator as the masterpiece among failures, and the Dragon King’s mental image.

Beyond this realization, the Dragon King spoke. Anger and hatred simmered, but there was no hostility or killing intent.

She was just ordinarily angry.

“What do you want?”

Ortemilia answered with a complex expression.

“Conversation.”

It wasn’t a simple conversation. Ortemilia’s hands trembled slightly, and Llewellyn glanced at his sister before reaching out to hold those trembling hands.

Rte’s shoulders flinched, and she took a deep breath at the warmth she felt in her hand.

“Let’s talk about the future of the dragonkin… and dragons.”

Ortemilia was no longer afraid.

“…Sejin?”

No, perhaps she was.

Ortemilia let go of Llewellyn’s hand and swallowed hard under Lucilla’s sharp gaze.

*

As the Seer finally realized his research lab was empty and was about to return…

He saw a group approaching through the newly created entrance to the ‘fortress.’

“…Why are they together?”

It was truly a sizable group.

The Seer tensed his shoulders slightly as he realized the one at the very front was walking confidently toward him.

He couldn’t understand that one’s intentions. What he was plotting, what his goal was.

He had heard things, but he couldn’t tell if they were true, or how sincere they were.

It would be easier to figure out if he was being deceitful himself, but there was no sign of that.

‘The speech was quite good, and the ambition impressive… Ah, I’m being charmed.’

The Seer quickly gathered his wits and stood tall to face the approaching Llewellyn.

He was the true king of dragons and the leader of necromancers, the ‘Seer’ who had evacuated everyone to escape death.

As ‘Father’s’ torturer, scribe, and former magician, he tried to be faithful to what he had to do.

“Llewellyn, were you looking for me? It seems urgent, but no matter how urgent, you should maintain a minimum of dignity and leave prisoners and riffraff behind—”

Before the Seer could finish, Llewellyn’s posture suddenly lowered almost to the ground.

A posture reminiscent of a pouncing beast. The Seer reflexively used his magic to raise a shield of bones before him.

CRACK!

Bypassing the sound, Llewellyn’s accelerated fist shattered the bone shield and smashed the Seer’s skull, scattering it.

The Seer’s body fell limply and rolled on the ground. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, but…

The Seer barely managed to hold up his regenerated head and looked at Llewellyn through the faint pain.

“What are you suddenly doing—”

“…You looked so smug it was annoying.”

It was a clear lie. It was definitely a movement with intent.

But there was nothing to argue about, and the Seer opened and closed his mouth, searching for words before giving up.

There weren’t many reasons he could think of anyway. It was too obvious.

As the Seer stood up and dusted himself off, Llewellyn spoke.

“Gather the necromancers. I have something to say.”

“As you command.”

The Seer bowed with a bitter expression.