Fourteen years ago, the central plaza of the Bronzebeard Tribe.
“Kill the evil dragons! Kill the evil dragons!”
Torches crackled on the stone pillars. Hundreds of goblins had gathered in the central plaza, clutching pickaxes, iron bars, bows, and arrows—any weapon they could lay their hands on.
Shouts echoed back and forth. At the very front of the crowd, a burly young goblin stood on a makeshift stone platform, holding a dark silver warhammer high in the air.
“My grandfather was a warrior of the Fourth Regiment.”
“To protect us, my grandfather died in the maw of that toad! And what about the chief? The chief turned right around and signed a contract with those evil dragons! He traded the blood of our Bronzebeard Tribe for their benefit!”
The crowd erupted into an even fiercer roar. Someone threw a stone toward the depths of the camp.
“They sleep beneath our land! They eat our food! Yet our fallen warriors don't even have a decent tombstone!”
The young goblin raised his warhammer high, his voice nearly drowning out all the noise.
“We must demand justice for ourselves!”
“Elivan! Elivan!” The crowd cheered for the young goblin.
The young goblin on the stone platform lowered his warhammer and looked around at the roaring crowd, his grayish-green eyes flashing with a mix of anger and ambition.
“Where is the chief?” someone in the crowd demanded. “He hasn't stepped out of that stone house for three days!”
“Of course he doesn't dare to come out,” Elivan immediately chimed in. “Do you know why? Because he's afraid!”
“He's afraid to face us! He's afraid to face our fallen warriors!”
Just as the crowd's fervor reached its peak, the gate deep within the camp suddenly rose. Grimm walked out, leaning on his wooden staff. Only six guards followed him, but each one wore a full suit of enchanted armor and held an enchanted halberd.
The clamor in the plaza fell silent the moment Grimm appeared.
But Elivan did not back down. Standing on the stone platform, the dark silver head of his warhammer gleamed coldly under the torchlight.
“You finally dare to show your face, Chief.”
“You no longer need to call me Chief, Elivan,” Grimm said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
“What?”
“Elivan, you have severely disrupted the peace. With the approval of the Council of Elders, you are hereby exiled from the clan and stripped of your status as a resident of the Bronzebeard Tribe!”
Elivan stood on the stone platform, his dark silver warhammer still raised high, but his momentum instantly withered.
“...Exiled?”
Grimm did not answer. One of the guards behind him stepped forward and unfurled a scroll of parchment, which bore the wax seal of the Council of Elders.
The noise in the plaza vanished completely. Hundreds of goblins looked at one another in silence; no one chanted slogans anymore.
“You have no right to exile me, you traitor! Spit!” Elivan was seized by the guards, but he could only struggle in vain.
“Let me go, Grimm!” Elivan screamed as he was dragged down from the platform. “Do you dare look into the eyes of the Fourth Regiment's warriors? Let me go, you damned traitor!”
Grimm shook his head, slowly closed his eyes, and turned away...
Now, a castle stood on the western side of the Bronzebeard Tribe. In just sixteen years, the entire capital had more than doubled in size.
“What exactly did the Bronzebeard Tribe go through over these past sixteen years?” Leopold murmured, wearing a simple purple robe as he walked toward the capital.
A massive fluorite hung from the ceiling of the cavern where the capital was located, illuminating the entire tribe like a sun. The light of the fluorite spilled over the scattered stone houses and streets. Stalls lined both sides of the main road, with ores, herbs, cured meats, and crude pottery piled high on wooden boards.
As they entered the capital, Leopold noticed there were far more goblins on the streets than he remembered, and their attire had changed significantly. No longer were they dressed entirely in coarse burlap; some wore short brocade robes and dyed wool coats.
“Has trade improved?” Leopold asked.
“A great deal,” Isabella said as she walked. “After Blake woke up, he gained magic that can conjure blizzards. Because of that, Grimm was able to renegotiate ore prices with the dwarves.”
“Coupled with Blake and me frequently using magic to help the goblins, their lives have improved significantly as a result.”
Leopold stopped at the edge of the central plaza, looking up at the castle situated on the western side of the capital.
The castle was not particularly grand. Two goblin guards stood on either side of the castle gates, wearing polished leather armor with standard-issue shortswords hanging from their waists.
“...Did Blake build this?” Leopold asked.
Isabella nodded. “He said that as noble dragons, we can only live in castles on mountain peaks.”
That guy really does whatever he wants. Still, if the castle was meant to be a dragon's residence...
“Then why did you sleep next to me?” Leopold cast a glance at Isabella, who was walking ahead of him.
Isabella's footsteps faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered her pace.
“The stone beds in the castle are too cold,” Isabella said, taking a playful hop forward. “And Blake's snoring is too loud...”
“Besides...” Isabella turned her head, a faint, subtle smile playing at the corners of her eyes. “You don't steal the blankets, Leo.”
Huh?
Before Leopold could respond, a figure dressed in a yellow robe blocked their path.
The person in the yellow robe was half a head taller than Leopold. He had grayish-blue hair, and his slate-gray eyes were slightly narrowed.
“...Blake?” Leopold asked tentatively.
“Hmph.” The slate-gray-robed man crossed his arms and sized Leopold up from head to toe. “Finally awake? Honestly, Leopold, did you inherit some kind of sleeping spell that kept you out for sixteen years?”
Leopold looked at the grayish-blue-haired youth in front of him. The expression on his face was identical to that of the hot-tempered young dragon in the cave sixteen years ago.
“It's not like I could control sleeping for sixteen years,” Leopold said, spreading his hands. “But look at you, Blake. It seems you've had quite a fulfilling sixteen years?”
Blake snorted. “I wouldn't call it fulfilling, I just lent a helping hand. But enough about that, Leopold...”
“I, Blake, challenge you to a duel!”
Leopold was taken aback, then burst out laughing. “A duel? Blake, I just woke up and you already want to fight?”
“Cut the chatter!” Blake untied his robe and tossed it to a nearby guard, cracking his wrists and neck.
“It was one thing when you bossed me around sixteen years ago, but things are different now. I've already mastered the Tier Seven grand spell 【Blizzard Domain】, as well as all Tier Three ice spells.”
Blake's eyes burned with excitement as he raised his hands high.
“Leopold, I'm going to show you who the real dragon is!”
“It's Lord Ice Dragon!” a goblin on the street cried out in surprise.
The word “duel” echoed across the central plaza. The surrounding goblins stopped in their tracks, their curious gazes turning toward them.
Blake had made frequent appearances in the tribe over the past sixteen years, securing leverage for the Bronzebeard Tribe in their negotiations with the dwarves. He was a household name.
But to the vast majority of the goblins, Leopold was a completely unfamiliar face.
“Who is Lord Ice Dragon going to duel?” a goblin whispered to his companion.
“I don't know... It looks like someone who just came out of the slumber caves.”
“Another dragon?”
Leopold stood in place and unfastened his purple robe. He tilted his head, his golden pupils sizing up Blake's battle-ready stance.
“...Fine,” Leopold chuckled, brimmed with confidence. “I'll play with you for a few rounds.”
Rate on N.U.
