“Great Patriarch Gorn, this is the head of the Third Legion Commander. We surrender to you!” the adjutant said in terror, holding out a blood-stained piece of coarse cloth.
Gorn did not reach out to take it. Mounted on his rock lizard, he looked down at the adjutant holding the coarse cloth with both hands.
His expression was complicated. Gorn, of course, knew what it meant when subordinates surrendered with their general's severed head.
It meant their general was a soldier who would never yield.
“Where is his body?”
“In... in the back.”
“Collect his remains and bury him properly,” Gorn said. “He was a true soldier.”
The adjutant froze for a moment, seemingly not expecting to hear those words. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he only nodded heavily. Holding the bundle of coarse cloth, he stood up and walked toward the rear.
Gorn sighed and closed his eyes. On the battlefield, death was the cheapest commodity; only the shining light of courage was a warrior's most precious medal.
Slowly opening his eyes, he looked deep into the mine shaft. Bratak—sooner or later, he would breach it and end this war once and for all.
The Royal Capital, Central Square.
“Mr. Blake... that was my order...” Oliver's voice held a tentative note of grievance and helplessness.
Blake chewed on his meat, letting out a muffled “Mhm,” and looked down at the empty bowl beside his hand.
“Oh,” Blake said, wiping his mouth. “I took a bite of yours, and it was pretty good. So I took another bite, felt like it wasn't enough, and took one more.”
“How can this be... That was clearly the last bowl.”
Isabella sat on the other side of the table, feasting on the roasted meat before her. Her cheeks were puffed out, and seeing Oliver's pitiful look, she spoke with a full mouth:
“Ignore him, Oliver. I'll share some of mine with you.” As she spoke, she pushed the mountain of plates piled high in front of her toward Oliver.
“...Is it really okay?”
“It's fine,” Isabella nodded, still chewing on a piece of meat. “I ordered a lot anyway.”
Oliver carefully reached out and took two pieces from the precariously stacked mountain of meat, placing them in his bowl, not daring to take more.
“Oh, they have roast beef too!” Blake immediately speared the two pieces of meat out of Oliver's bowl.
“Hey! Mr. Blake...”
Leopold choked and began to cough violently.
“Leo, what's wrong? Did you eat too fast?” Isabella looked up from between her plates, her cheeks still bulging.
“It's nothing...” Leopold wiped the corner of his mouth and waved his hand. “Just choked a bit.”
He looked down at the bowl in front of him, which was barely touched—it was still piled high with roast meat and fried dough balls.
“Leo, you've barely eaten anything today.” Isabella put down the bone in her hand, her icy-blue eyes scanning him with concern.
“Maybe... I haven't fully recovered yet,” he muttered evasively. He reached for his cup to take a sip of water to cover his distraction, only to find it was already empty.
“...Leo.”
“Hmm?”
“You've been distracted this whole time.”
“...I'm not distracted,” Leopold said, turning his head away.
“You're lying,” Isabella said, narrowing her eyes.
Leopold lowered his head and sighed. “...I was just thinking about the future.”
“The future? What's there to think about the future? As long as I'm here, any enemy is just a minor nuisance!” Blake turned his head, his hands pausing for a split second.
Meanwhile, Oliver finally managed to snatch back a piece of beef, putting it into his mouth with a look of pure satisfaction.
“Hey! How could you strike when my guard was down?”
Isabella took the opportunity to lean in close to Leopold's ear. “Are you thinking about Thranduil?”
Her voice was very soft, and her warm breath brushed against his ear, causing Leopold's body to stiffen slightly.
“Bella, I'm wondering if returning to the surface is truly a good thing.”
“...Why do you think that, Leo?”
Leopold sighed and looked into Isabella's eyes.
“Even though you've been reluctant to tell me about the royal family, the Dragon Slayers incident made me realize that the dragon clan itself is far from united.”
“This means that once we return to the surface, we won't just face the pursuit of the Angelic God Race—we'll also have to watch out for our own kind.”
“And what worries me the most is Thranduil. If he is looking for us, stepping out of the underground would be exposing ourselves right to his line of sight.” Leopold pinched the bridge of his nose.
“...You're right, Leo. I really haven't had a proper talk with you about Thranduil.”
Isabella spoke softly in a voice only the two of them could hear. The previous lightheartedness was gone from her icy-blue eyes.
“But some things aren't a matter of me not wanting to tell you; I just don't know how to say them. Thranduil... he is my half-brother.”
Leopold didn't say anything. He sat there quietly, waiting for her to continue.
On the other side of the table, Blake and Oliver were still tussling back and forth over the last piece of roast meat.
“...My mother was from a branch of the White Dragon Royal Family,” Isabella continued. “Thranduil's mother was the primary wife. When the war began and the white dragon nest was destroyed, Father fled north, leaving my mother's branch behind.”
Seeing Isabella look sad, Leopold reached out and took her hand.
“...I wasn't even born yet when Father fled north. Mother took me and hid in the underground caves for six years. She never once mentioned Father's name.”
“I only knew my surname was Kaelthas, but she never told me anything else.”
“Only later did I learn that Thranduil's mother had died before the dragon nest fell. Thranduil followed Father and fled north, surviving the ordeal.”
“But after he returned to the Northern Realm, the very first thing he did... was purge all the dragon royal lineages that had remained in the south.”
On the other side of the table, Blake and Oliver were still pulling back and forth over the last two pieces of beef, completely unaware that the atmosphere over here had shifted.
Leopold did not let go of her hand. The story was entirely unexpected; he had initially thought Thranduil had defected to the enemy.
However, according to the original host's memories, he seemed to have played with this white dragon since childhood, which matched the narrative of Isabella being left behind in the south.
Now that the situation had completely changed, Leopold knit his brows. He would have to make a choice.
Isabella lowered her head, looking at how he held her hand. Feeling his grip tighten slightly from tension, she couldn't help but purse her lips.
I'm sorry, Leo. There are some secrets I can't confess to you. Please forgive me... she murmured in her heart, closing her eyes.
Leopold felt her fingertips tighten slightly. He didn't press further, and only after a long moment did he gently let go.
Leopold said in a gentle tone, “...You don't have to say what you don't want to. But you don't have to carry it all on your own. At least... not in front of me.”
Isabella's eyelashes fluttered. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end, she simply turned her face away, pretending to watch Blake and Oliver fight over the last piece of roast meat.
“...Okay.”
On the other side of the table, Blake finally snatched the last piece of beef with absolute dominance, stuffing it triumphantly into his mouth.
Oliver slumped back in his chair, staring blankly at the empty table. “...I feel like I didn't get to eat anything at all.”
Rate on N.U.
