Leopold stood frozen on the spot, his pupils contracting sharply. He felt himself, only to find that the handsome “Leopold” had vanished, leaving behind only that hideous, abominable freak.
“Who am I?”
The faceless people closed in from all directions, their forms distorted and blurry, like a tangled mess of lines.
“Who are you? You are nobody—”
“You don't deserve to be human, and you can't even be a good dragon—”
“Do you think you can change anything? You useless piece of trash—”
They let out grating laughter. The sound echoed, overlapped, and amplified, nearly tearing his eardrums apart.
“That's not true! I've protected many people!”
Then they laughed, their laughter filled with a pitiful malice—
“He doesn't even know who he is, yet he wants to protect others?”
“He even forgot the name of his past life—”
“He doesn't deserve to live here at all.”
No, that's not right. He told himself in his heart, I am Leopold now. I belong to the dragon clan. I have companions, and I have goals...
But that voice rang out again, “Give up, you freak. A piece of trash like you should just die...”
Leopold's breath hitched sharply.
He opened his mouth, wanting to speak that name, but he found only broken fragments left in his memory—a classroom windowsill, a restroom stall, a tightly closed door...
“...I.”
“...forgot.”
The faceless people let out a chorus of satisfied chuckles and began to slowly retreat. It was as if they had seen enough of his wretched state, dispersing with satisfaction.
“Leo!”
Leopold snapped back to his senses. The faceless people had vanished, the laughter was gone, and only Isabella's anxious voice echoed in his ears.
“...Leo! What happened to you just now? You suddenly stopped moving, and you wouldn't answer when I called you...”
Leopold blinked and struggled to his feet.
“I... I'm fine, Isabella.”
“...You certainly didn't look fine just now.” Isabella also stood up, walking behind Leopold. She wanted to take his hand, but hesitated and decided against it.
“...My mana consumption might have been too high,” Leopold hurriedly covered for himself. “I haven't fully mastered that shadow spell from earlier.”
Isabella didn't expose him. She simply took a step closer and gently tugged on his sleeve.
“Then let's rest for a bit. There's no rush.”
“No need.” Leopold took a deep breath and looked back at her. “We haven't finished cleaning up here yet.”
Isabella stared at him, releasing his sleeve after a moment. “...Let's go then. I'll follow you.”
The gunpowder barrels and wooden crates in the eastern loading area were piled up like small mountains. By a rough estimate, there were at least two hundred barrels.
“So much gunpowder...” Leopold crouched before a wooden crate and tapped the side with his fingertip. “If it all detonates, the entire cavern will collapse.”
“Where do we start then?” Isabella stood behind him, also pondering how to handle such a large stash of munitions.
“Let Gorn handle it.”
Isabella blinked, quickly catching on to his train of thought. “You mean... let the Bronzebeard Tribe take over these munitions?”
“Yes.” Leopold nodded. “Twenty dwarven cannons, three hundred barrels of gunpowder, and enough equipment for three regiments—destroying these things would certainly give the Greystone Alliance a headache for a while.”
“But if they fall into Gorn's hands, the Bronzebeard Tribe's military strength will instantly double. That would be beneficial for us as well.”
Isabella stood where she was, tilting her head to look at him for a few seconds before letting out a soft laugh.
“Leo, you really are scheming like this again.”
“What scheme?”
“Turning other people's things into your own.” She crouched down and tapped the edge of the wooden crate with her finger. “But you're right. Blowing it all up is too wasteful. Giving it to Gorn is the correct choice.”
“Gorn will send people to haul it away.” Isabella tilted her head. “He should be more than happy to accept this gift.”
“Then it's settled.” Leopold lowered his head, his gaze turning firm once more. He had made up his mind now; he would deliver the most powerful counterattack to those “people”!
Outside the mountain range, before a desolate, abandoned castle.
A tall man dressed in luxurious attire pinched his nose and frowned. He stopped at the castle entrance, staring at several moldy, rotting goblin corpses inside.
“What are you doing, Thranduil?” The man endured the discomfort and walked inside.
“Hahaha! You're late, Jamal.” Another man was slouched on the ground, leaning against the stone wall. “Now then, how should I punish you for your crime?”
Jamal lowered his hand from his nose, endured his disgust as he stepped over a corpse, and pulled a crystal from his chest, tossing it to Thranduil.
“I have thoroughly investigated the matter, Your Majesty Thranduil.” Jamal ignored Thranduil's remark. “Everything is just as you anticipated...”
“Aha, excellent!” Thranduil stood up shakily. “...Go on.”
“Over at the Bronzebeard Tribe, we have confirmed the identities of the three dragons.” Jamal paused, lowering his head. “Isabella is indeed still alive!”
“...Still alive, huh?” Thranduil sighed, a look of disappointment crossing his face. “Why is she still alive?”
He clenched his fist and smashed it violently against the wall. Under Thranduil's fist, the castle wall exploded, sending stone fragments flying and dust billowing. As the debris fell, a narrow hidden compartment behind the wall was revealed.
Several goblins were huddled inside the hidden compartment. Three, no, four. They squeezed together in a corner barely two paces wide, wrapped in tattered burlap.
“Oh? A few survivors left.” Thranduil showed a hint of interest.
“The Royal Court is pressing us hard. Your Majesty Thranduil should return to the Northern Realm today,” Jamal reminded him from the side.
“Indeed, those angels are truly incompetent. I wasted my effort telling them the transfer route of those young dragons in advance...” Thranduil raised his head and said indifferently.
“Should I remain here...”
“No need, Jamal.” Thranduil walked toward the strongest goblin among them. “I still need your help with Mother's side.”
“Raise your head. What is your name!” Thranduil glared fiercely at the trembling goblin.
“Eli... Elivan, Your Maj—”
Slash!
The goblin's right hand was severed in an instant.
Jamal slowly drew back his longsword, his eyes fierce.
“A lowly race doesn't deserve to utter the words ‘Your Majesty’.”
The stench of blood in the castle mingled with the musty odor, lingering in the dark corridor.
Elivan curled up on the ground, dark red blood spurting from his severed wrist. He opened his mouth wide, wanting to scream in agony, but Jamal stepped on his throat.
“...Mmph— ugh—”
Jamal looked down at him, his eyes cold and numb.
“Alright, alright.” Thranduil clapped his hands, a creepy smile appearing on his face. “Elivan, is it?”
“How about this? Don't you hate dragons? I'll give you a chance to kill dragons. What do you say?”
Elivan curled on the ground, blood from his severed wrist pooling all over the floor. He trembled all over from the excruciating pain.
“Kill... dragons?” Elivan squeezed the words out of his throat with great difficulty.
Thranduil squatted down, resting his hands on his knees, and tilted his head to look at him.
“Yes, kill dragons.” Thranduil smiled. “Don't you hate them the most?”
Elivan opened his mouth, the severe pain from his severed wrist making it almost impossible to form a complete sentence. “I... I can't... do it...”
“Ah, of course. You can't do it, of course you can't!” Thranduil could no longer hold it in and burst into loud laughter. “Power. I can grant you power!”
“And all you need to do is surrender your life. Quite a bargain, isn't it?”
Power... Kill dragons...
He remembered how his grandfather had died in the mouth of a giant noxious toad sixteen years ago, and he remembered Grimm's expressionless face when he publicly announced his banishment.
“...I am willing.”
“Hahaha!” Satisfaction washed over Thranduil's face. “Good. I will give you power.”
“Don't disappoint me, goblin.”
“After all, Isabella is my own younger sister...”
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