Chapter 3: Raging Dragon Veralgon

Chapter 3:
Raging Dragon Veralgon

THE NIGHT AFTER the reporting ceremony, there was a line of people waiting to greet me outside Rigel’s estate. The most notable visitor, however, had already come first thing in the morning.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hero. My name is Romwell, and I am a servant of God.”

The old man called Romwell wore plain priest clothes and had a peaceful, round face. I got the feeling I’d seen him before, but I couldn’t remember where.

“It’s been a while, head priest,” Rigel said to him.

“No need to call me that. I came as nothing more than a believer wishing to meet God’s messenger.”

The head priest? Oh, the one who intimidated that bear-man at the ceremony. On closer inspection, that was definitely the face, but he gave off such a different aura that I still struggled to connect him with my memory.

“I apologize for never introducing myself. There was a series of intricate circumstances at play, and I never found the opportunity to pay you a visit,” he said, lowering his head.

“Oh, no, I should have come to you. It is an honor to be personally visited by the head priest.”

Once introductions were done, we chatted about a handful of inoffensive topics: whether my current lifestyle suited me, whether the food was to my tastes. After that, the head priest seemed to want to say something more important. His expression remained serene, but there was a slight nervousness in his eyes. It looked like we were getting close to the real purpose of his visit, but he kept holding his tongue.

“……”

He just couldn’t seem to get started. He would open his mouth, then close it, then do it all over again—rinse and repeat. Apparently this was a topic that required a certain level of resolve. I already had a general idea of what it was.

I gave Rigel a look. He got the message.

“I’ve just remembered some business I have to attend to,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me. Ring the bell if you need me for anything.”

I waited for the door to click shut behind him and then started the conversation myself.

“Is there something you want to ask me?”

The head priest took in a deep breath and then slowly opened his mouth. “Hero, have you ever met God?”

How very blunt of him. As I expected, it was a simple yet difficult question. Gods came in all shapes and sizes. In a few worlds, I’d met powerful entities claiming to be gods, but that likely wasn’t what he was asking about.

I would need to choose my answer carefully. The last time I answered a similar question, I found myself pursued by fanatical assassins for days on end. Sure, I could take them out easily, but the lack of sleep really took a toll. In the end, an assassin disguised as a harlot slipped a dose of poison into her secret—never mind, let’s not go there. That one was my fault for going around proclaiming half-truths in God’s name. I was pretty unruly back then.

In any case, my answer to the question might crumble his faith and upend his entire worldview. I could see why he was so nervous.

I took another look at him. He was totally focused, doing his utmost not to miss a single word or change in my expression. While the look in his eyes was grimly serious, he seemed rational. In that case, it would be best to answer honestly. I had always been terrible at lying.

“By ‘God,’ do you mean the entity who sent me to this world?”

“Yes, I assume so.”

That made this so much simpler.

“In that case, no, I have never met them. Nor have I ever heard their voice. I’ve only felt their presence. I can’t even say for sure whether that entity is the same as the God you believe in. And, of course, I have not met your God either.”

“Then you did not come from the Land of God?”

“No. The world I lived in was somewhat different from this one, but it was a world inhabited by humans. It was not a holy place.” Though to be fair, if he actually went and saw it, he might mistake it for God’s domain. “Back in my own world, I return to being a human without any special powers. I can only use my abilities as a hero when I’m sent to other worlds.”

“Why were you chosen?”

“I don’t know.”

I didn’t want to say this, but it had been merely a whim, as far as I knew. I didn’t have any special talents to speak of.

“I see,” he said, then held his silence for a bit. “Then you don’t know anything about God.”

“I do not.”

I knew nothing about the one who had sent me either. I had no answers for the man, but he looked satisfied.

“Thank you for answering my impudent questions.”

“I should be apologizing—I couldn’t give any decent answers.”

“That’s not true at all. I believe I’ve learned something worthwhile. I would love to stay and chat longer, but unfortunately, I have mountains of busywork to attend to. Perhaps another day.”

“Whenever you have the chance.” Oh, I almost forgot. “Incidentally…”

“Is something the matter?”

“Should I answer the same way if anyone else asks about God?”

The head priest grinned. “In my estimation, you’re a terrible liar. Those answers should suffice. You are proof that while he may take many forms, the might of our Great God reaches across other worlds entirely.”

He held out his hand and I shook it. It was callused and wrinkled, but warm. He rang the bell, gave his thanks to Rigel, and then left in the modest wagon he’d arrived in.

After his departure, I spent the rest of the morning dealing with the visitors who had formed a line of their own accord. I’d hear their names, exchange a few words, then excuse them. It was practically an idol handshake session. Though I told them we would “talk again,” I could hardly remember all their names.

“That’s not a problem. There wasn’t a single one worth remembering,” said Garlo, the palace’s etiquette teacher.

After he’d finished teaching me how to behave at the reporting ceremony, he stuck around to teach me the proper manners of this world. Not that that excuses his tone.

“They’re already used to being treated like that,” he added. “Even if you don’t remember their names, just act as if you know them, and they’ll play along.”

That’s supposed to be good manners?

“But knowing I might see them later, wouldn’t I be better off asking for their names again?”

“In that case, you would be disgracing them. If you disgrace them so obviously, the wounded party won’t be able to let it go. Even if they knew that it would get them killed, they might draw their swords in order to save face. If you absolutely must ask them, please do so casually, in a place where no one can see you.”

Was that really how this society worked? How barbaric. Though I had to admit, my world had been like that once upon a time, and many others were no different.

***

The seemingly unending line of visitors cleared up by lunchtime. Garlo explained that it was considered rude to visit people in the afternoon unless you were invited or unless you were close family.

Most of the visitors came with gifts. I wanted to return the favor, but Garlo simply shuffled the gifts up, matched value and status, and then regifted them back. I guess that counts? He continued to insist I didn’t need to remember anyone, despite the fact that he clearly knew who every single one of them was.

Of course, unlike me, Garlo had lived his whole life in this world. He’d likely known all of them for a long time. Even so, handling guests in those numbers was quite an achievement. I would love to keep his services even after the lessons are over.

Quite a few of the visitors came with requests for me. “Someone’s trying to illegally inherit my territory,” “A neighboring lord is using our lord’s absence to his advantage,” and so on. The last one was “As the field marshal, please annihilate them. Or at least give the order…”

I didn’t want to carelessly stick my nose into these matters. I might have earned a few favors, but I’d create grudges as well. The requests all came from the houses whose heads and firstborn sons were lost in the last battle. His Majesty’s—or perhaps the sharp-eyed man’s—suspicions were on the mark.

“Please have His Majesty weigh in on these matters,” I said. “If anyone disagrees with his decisions, then I’ll take care of them.”

I was appointed field marshal to keep the military completely out of civil affairs—to prevent a civil war from breaking out. To that end, I was not going to make any decisions. I was going to pass them all on to His Majesty.

No, I am not shirking my duties. That is my strategy, and I’m sticking to it.

What had always worked for me so far was to keep my nose out of each world’s business as much as possible. I knew what would happen if I got too involved. If I kept charging at every problem that presented itself, I’d end up aimlessly spinning my wheels forever. I would gain allies, and I would make enemies, in an endless cycle. I would be worn ragged before the world was saved. So if the world could be saved without interfering in human squabbles, that was how I would do it.

A few were making another type of request too.

“My husband’s (or son’s, or master’s, or relative’s) army is stranded on the other side of the mountains. Could you please drive away the army at the gates and save them?”

As I recalled, close to three thousand were stranded. If we saved them, three thousand would be added to our own forces. And if the feudal lords returned, that might help stabilize the situation. If it worked out, some would be in debt to me, but it wouldn’t attract resentment from others. At present, no one knew if those marooned armies were still alive. I decided I’d consult Rigel.

“If I want to gather the lords’ armies to save the forces trapped across the mountains, what should I do first?”

“That’s a difficult question.” Rigel seemed conflicted. “First, you’re not a field marshal until the ceremony. After the ceremony, you’ll have the power to issue a summons. But few lords will answer it. Optimistically, you would command a quarter of the forces we possessed in the previous battle.”

“So few, eh?”

“With this and that, quite a few won’t send their armies. We were only able to gather so many last time because of how people felt about the princess. Many of those loyal to the royal line were lost in the war. Those who are left are working hard to rebuild what they’ve lost. They won’t send out soldiers when they can hardly support themselves.”

I see.

“You’re saying I can’t count on the lords.”

“Correct.”

“Do we have any other powers?”

Rigel thought for a few moments, groaning to himself, and then talked me through the possibilities. “First, you have my dragon riders. Unfortunately, they won’t be of much use until the dragons return. That’s only a matter of time. The royal guard is meant to protect His Majesty, so even a field marshal cannot command them. The same goes for the garrison stationed at Dragonjaw Gate. They won’t move from their position, no matter who gives the order.”

“What about the Knights Templar? The temple’s forces?”

“I presume that if the hero gives the order, they will assemble at once, even before you’re officially field marshal. However, they were essentially annihilated, you see… The talent for magic is rare. The plan is to eventually elevate the trainees to proper knights, but who knows whether they’ll be useful? It will take at least ten years for the Knights Templar to regain their original power.”

Yes, Liana said something similar.

“Other than that… You might be able to gather a few mercenaries and free knights. But you’ll have to foot the costs yourself. There’s a limit to how many you can afford to hire.”

The conclusion was unavoidable: There were no armies, save for Rigel’s dragon riders, that I could rely on. And they couldn’t move just yet.

His explanation ended with a sigh. “God finally sent us a hero, yet we can hardly do a thing for him. Pathetic.”

“It’s not your fault. If you could have solved your problems without me, I would not have been summoned to this world.” Although I was trying to console him, I was disappointed by how little they could offer. “How long until the dragons return?”

“If I had to guess, they should be back in ten days.”

Ten days. Ten days before I could use the only forces at my disposal. Now, what would I do until then?

***

The next day, I told Rigel I wanted to see a map, and for some reason, he took me to the dragon house. This was a dragon breeding ground about an hour’s ride from the capital. It was the base of operations for the dragon riders, located on a plateau the size of a baseball field that jutted out on the west side of Dragonbone Ridge. There were simple walls on either side, lined with the statues of most peculiar beasts. Like the capital, the eastern side pressed against the steep mountains, where an unbelievably large dragon statue was carved into the bare rock face.

“What you see there is the flight platform. The dragons use it to take flight.” Rigel pointed to the west, where there was a grass-covered plaza. Its western edge dropped off abruptly into nothingness. “This area always receives a steady westward wind. It is the perfect place to fly a dragon.”

As if supporting Rigel’s words, a flag fluttered gently in the direction of the steep drop-off. Hoisted over the simple observation deck in the northwest corner, it bore the crest of the dragon riders.

“What we’re looking for is over there.” He turned toward the giant statue. A clean semicircular hole at its feet led into a long tunnel even wider than the entrance.

The cave was about twenty meters across and five hundred meters deep. There were forty holes on each side of the passage, each leading to a smaller chamber. Though less perfectly shaped, each chamber was still the size of a cozy house.

“This is the dragons’ den, although it’s currently vacant.”

Inside the vast cave, people who must have been the dragon caretakers wandered around, cleaning and looking generally bored. They seemed kind of spaced out, like nothing they were doing really mattered. Perhaps that’s why the space feels so needlessly vast. Even so, imagine how much time it must have taken to dig all this out and carve that giant statue at the entrance.

“It’s quite spacious. Is this also a remnant of ancient magic?”

“Not exactly. It’s said that this cave existed before our ancestors came to these lands. According to legend, clever children with beards once called this place their home.”

Bearded children… Does he mean dwarves?

“Are those children still around?”

“They don’t exist outside of folklore.”

So dwarves are already extinct. What a drab world.

“However it came to be, we currently use it to rear dragons. Dragons in the wild make their nests in stone caves.” He pointed at one of the misshapen rooms, explaining that those had been excavated by humans. “We house seventy-two at the moment. This year was a breeding year, so perhaps we’ll have a few more infants by this time next year. We’ll have to wait another ten years before they’re ready for battle.”

We proceeded deeper as I listened to his explanations. My eyes came to rest on a chamber that was quite a bit bigger than the others. The hole was packed full of what looked like straw. It was probably fodder, but for whom? The stables were down below the cliffs. Horses were afraid of dragons, so they couldn’t house them next to each other—and that was why we were forced to climb here on foot. My point was that horse feed would not be stored here.

Do the dragons eat it, then? I’d never seen vegetarian dragons in the other worlds, although there was no reason they shouldn’t exist somewhere.

“That’s smithing grass,” Rigel explained, noticing my gaze. “It burns hot enough to melt iron. All the capital’s smiths use it in their forges. Dragons eat it to breathe fire. It was once said, ‘He who controls Dragon Peak controls the kingdom,’ and that is because smithing grass only grows on that mountain. It’s why the dragons flock to it. A dragon who can’t breathe fire is not much of a threat.”

I had to wonder about that, but I knew I would be on the receiving end of a long story if I opened my mouth, so I just let it slide. To the old man, dragon riders were most valuable for their ability to vaporize the enemy lines with their flames, and he did have a point.

At the back of the cave was a stone doorway protected by two monstrous statues. The doors were embedded with nine gemstones, each different in color and shape. On Rigel’s urging, I tried giving them a push, but they didn’t budge. Once more, I tried with my hero’s power, to no avail. Just in case, I tried pulling, but the result was the same.

“It opens when you touch the stones in the right order.” He demonstrated, and the door opened without a sound.

“Is this the work of those bearded children?”

“So I’ve been told. It seems even the temple scholars don’t understand how it works.”

The passage beyond the door, while not as vast as the one we’d been walking through so far, was still quite spacious. Each side was lined with doors at regular intervals.

“There are contraptions like these scattered all over the ruins. We are only making use of a small portion of the site. Once upon a time, a group of bored youngsters went on a search and found a silver sword in the deepest parts. But perhaps some got lost, as not all of them returned. Now then, this is the room.”

He pushed open a large set of doors at the end of the passage that opened into a dome. In addition to the entrance, there were eleven doors systematically spaced around it, and in the center, a waist-high circular platform around ten meters in diameter.

My eyes were drawn to something above the platform.

“Is this…a map?”

“Correct.”

Perhaps it would be more accurate to use the word “model.” The coasts, the mountains, the rivers, and the seas were all carved in three dimensions. I had been wondering why we had to go so far just to see a map, but it was certainly impressive enough to warrant the trip.

“It must have been made in ancient times. Some of the rivers don’t match their current courses. However, everything else should match the actual geography.”

“Is it oriented correctly too?”

“It should be,” Rigel said, turning ninety degrees clockwise to face north. “Here is Dragonbone Ridge. Everything contained here is human domain.” He picked up a long stick from the platform and used it to point out a nearby mountain range. As if it had been formed from a crater, a portion of the west side was dominated by a bay that was circular as well. The whole region was shaped like a crescent moon.

Our territory seemed to be on the northern tip of the continent—though much of the continent itself stretched beyond the southern rim of the platform, so I couldn’t know its shape. The map only depicted a small part of the world. Sadly, the Dragonbone Ridge that sheltered humanity occupied only three meters of it on this model—no more than a tenth of the full surface.

“It’s said that Dragonbone Ridge was formed from the remains of a great wyrm that threatened the world.”

Yes, I guess I can sort of see it.

“And here is Dragon Peak. The royal capital is at its base.”

He pointed out a conspicuously large mountain in the southeast region. There was a small model of a palace at its base. On closer inspection, I saw that the model contained other man-made structures—small castles and towns here and there. Representing only the most important places, they had been added by humans after the fact and were a bit cruder than the rest of the map. I spotted what I presumed to be the model for Dragonjaw Gate on the southern rim.

Rigel pointed out a slit in the mountains on the north side directly opposite the capital. “Over here is Chezarith Castle,” he said. “It’s the farthest castle from the capital. It would take a dragon at least two days to get there, depending on the weather.”

That comparison may have been clear for him, but I had yet to ride any of the world’s dragons, so it meant nothing to me.

“How long would it take by horse?” I asked.

“Hmm… A horse? Now how long would that take…” Rigel cocked his head and thought. He had likely never traveled to the castle by horse. “Come to think of it, Galeom—he’s the lord there—said it was a twenty-day journey from his territory to the capital. It’s around six days by ship from Port Corcalla and then another fourteen days from the port to the capital. Though that includes some walking.”

“I see.”

I tried roughly calculating the distance by travel time but gave up when my head started hurting. I didn’t know how fast ships went and wasn’t even sure that a day was twenty-four hours here, though my internal clock told me it was somewhere in the same ballpark.

Distances aside, I now understood that twenty days from end to end was the breadth of the world, as far as its humans were concerned.

I remembered that those two bumbling buffoons in Tokaidochu Hizakurige—an old travel guide—took around thirteen days on foot to get from Edo to Osaka. With that in mind, this world was pretty small. Of course, the world was far wider than that, but everything outside those mountains was off limits to humans.

Rigel continued explaining parts of the map, but I wasn’t expecting to remember any of it. Once I got back to the manor, I would have to borrow a more reasonably sized map to review.

All of a sudden, a model on the opposite side of the platform caught my eye.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, that? That’s the old capital. It’s said that humanity lived there, once upon a time. That’s where the road out of Dragonjaw Gate eventually leads.”

“There used to be human territory beyond the mountains?”

“Yes, according to old legends. Though they’re such a distant memory, I couldn’t tell you how long ago that was.”

“You mean those ruins are the stuff of legends?”

“No, the ruins exist. That’s for sure. I myself participated in an expedition to the old capital in my youth.”

Ruins of the ancients. Now that sounds interesting. “I’d love to see it.”

“That might prove a bit difficult.”

“Why’s that?”

“The old capital takes many days to reach, even by dragon. You will have no choice but to land and rest along the way. Back in my youth, most of the orcs still lived far to the south—there were few of them in the northern regions. It was possible to head south from here unnoticed. But now, that isn’t possible. Their settlements stretch all the way to the base of Dragonbone Ridge. In all likelihood, you would be attacked in your sleep. Even back then, we had to fly the last few days nonstop if we wanted to reach the old capital safely. Sure, as the hero, you might be able to turn the tables on them, but if a surprise attack takes out your dragon’s wings, that’s as far as you go.”

Meaning that the orcs had progressed immensely in just one generation. Honestly, what was I supposed to do about it?

***

Southwest of Dragonjaw Gate.

Clay, son of Arlay, peeked carefully out of the dense forest. His stomach growled. He’d last eaten over three days ago, and what he was feeling transcended hunger. There was a prickling pain in his guts, and his throat was parched. Only when he was asleep could he forget his body’s demands.

Looking up at the sky, Clay confirmed the position of the sun. Its height hadn’t changed much from when he last checked. It would still be quite a while before he could swap shifts with someone else. “We’ll all starve to death if we can’t break through! In that case, we’d be better off fighting to the last!”

Those words had been spoken by the man who had been his employer up to a few days ago—who had then followed them to the letter. Those words had been his last.

Clay was a free knight and survivor of a battle with one of the subjugation forces stranded outside the mountains. The unit he’d offered his services to had gone around making a mess of various orc settlements, claiming an abundance of spoils of war. The gains had been greater than ever recently, so even a hired hand like Clay could expect a substantial reward.

However, upon his triumphant return to Dragonjaw Gate, he came face-to-face with the legions of orcs blocking the valley. The commander of the subjugation unit was too proud to turn back and attempted to force his way through. The rest was history.

Luckily, that foolish commander had charged at the vanguard and was the first to be taken. Those in the rear, including Clay, made an about-face the instant that their leader fell and somehow made a successful retreat. Even so, they paid quite a price. More than half the knights of the subjugation force—the most gallant and brave ones at that—perished in battle. They had lost their warpriests and foot soldiers, and their wagons as well. Naturally, it also cost them their mountain of spoils.

Now the longest-serving free knights were rallying the remnants together. There were only forty of them left. These last few days had been miserable. Without food or shelter, they were tormented by hunger and cold as they spent their days cowering from orcish pursuit.

Perhaps that man was right, Clay thought as he held his stomach. Those who died in battle went to the Warriors’ Garden. No doubt his employer was eating his fill in the garden right now. But where did those who’d starved end up?

A shrill screech dragged him back to reality, and Clay’s vision was filled with the sight of a terrifying beast. It had a wolf-like build with an ominous beak—an orc on its back. Bloody beak-dogs! They were the only cavalry the orcs possessed. And of them all, the platoon led by the Black Dog was the very symbol of fear for those in the subjugation forces.

He could see ten of them. The orcs had come to a stop a short distance from the forest, and luckily, they didn’t seem to have noticed him yet.

Clay retreated cautiously, taking care not to make a sound. He needed to inform his comrades in the forest.

The old knight he reported to immediately woke the others and ordered them to prepare for battle, then followed Clay to the forest’s outskirts. When they both carefully peeked out of the thicket, they saw that the orcs had dismounted and were taking a break. It looked like they were about to have lunch.

Clay gulped as his eyes honed in on the bread and dried meat in their hands. The old knight tugged him by the sleeve and pointed out a particular orc. He had only one eye and was petting the head of a black beak-dog. Right, an orc with one eye. Exactly as the rumors described him. Clay gulped again, for different reasons this time.

It was him. The Black Dog.

“Back to camp,” the old knight whispered. Clay nodded awkwardly and followed, his legs trembling beneath him.

When they returned to their comrades, the old knight growled an order.

“The Black Dog is here. We’re taking him out.” Every face filled with fear, but the knight paid them no mind. “We’re up against twelve beak-dogs. They are presumably the enemy’s advance force, but they haven’t noticed us yet. They’ve let their guards down and are taking a carefree break right under our noses.”

He looked at all the gathered faces before continuing.

“The enemy is few in number. If we launch a surprise attack now, we will undoubtedly win. There is great significance in crushing their advance force. They will grow more cautious. Their pursuit will be slower.” Then he grinned. “Did I mention they’re eating? Why don’t we nab ourselves a bite?”

His call to arms was met with growling stomachs. Everyone laughed in hushed tones.

With a satisfied smile, the old knight mounted his horse. “The Black Dog’s head is ours. It will be a small battle, but it will be spoken of for generations to come. Now, all hands, move out!”

The starving knights followed his lead.

The orcs noticed them the instant they burst out of the forest. As expected of the Black Dog’s platoon, they reacted in a flash, throwing their meals down on the spot, leaping atop their beak-dogs, and fleeing without a second glance.

Their mounts were slightly faster than horses. They gained distance, bit by bit.

“After them! Chase them down!” the old knight screamed. “That’s the Black Dog! He’s at the front!”

The orc riders turned to face backward on their saddles and fired their guns. Dust clouds burst all around the old knight as he took the lead. An unlucky comrade beside Clay took a shot to his horse and fell. Clay didn’t look back to watch him go. By now, the enemies’ backs were all he could see.

While the orcs’ mounts were faster, the knights’ horses had more stamina. The beak-dogs were already slowing little by little. Clay’s platoon would eventually catch up and kill them—as long as they didn’t flee into the forest.

They chased the beak-dogs over a hill, where a plain of tall grass spread out a short distance ahead. The Black Dog made a dash straight for it.

Fool. Do you think you can hide in there? We’ll hunt you down.

The corners of Clay’s lips curled up. They were gaining on the orcs with every bound. They’d just need one last burst of speed.

But right before they reached the grass, the beak-dogs leapt high into the air.

What?

Suddenly, the grass breathed flames. The old knight fell from his horse. The surrounding knights were knocked off their mounts one after the next, or toppled along with them.

The grass burst with fire again.

It’s an ambush, he realized. But it was too late. The ground rose to meet him—he had fallen with his horse. He tried to ignore the pain and stand, but his right foot was caught in the stirrup. He wrenched his body away. There isn’t a second to spare—I have to get out of here. But it was futile. A comrade who had managed to turn around in time raced past him in the opposite direction. He was about to plead for help when a bullet took the man out.

A separate unit of beak-dogs had already circled around behind them. The remaining knights were surrounded.

Orc foot soldiers marching in single file appeared from the thicket ahead with long spears in hand. They were closely followed by gunmen, who had finished reloading. From time to time, they would stop to stab the finishing blow into a fallen knight before advancing again.

There was no hope of survival now.

On that day, Clay, son of Arlay, set off for the Warriors’ Garden.

***

The Black Dog gazed up at the army of helmets piled up in the camp at the entrance to the valley. It was a symbol of the spoils they had gained in the previous battles, and the cleanup that followed.

Some barely counted as helmets—little more than pots with string tied to the handles—but there were still close to ten thousand in total. Soon, they would be transported to the margrave’s capital, where they would be made into a tangible monument to the spoils of war. His ancestors once brought the heads of enemies home to boast of their achievements, but that barbarous custom had gone out of style. Anyone who tried that nowadays would be more disdained than respected. He needed to be cautious; there was already deep-seated prejudice against his plan. One wrong step, and he would be treated as a monster. Even if it was humans he was fighting.

Irritated, the Black Dog delivered a sharp kick to a helmet that had tumbled off the pile. The wound in his side throbbed. The helmet smacked hard into the mountain, then bounced back with a terrible clamor and found its way back to his feet. The head of a boar with bared tusks sneered up at him. It looked identical to the margrave’s lazy son, who commanded the margrave’s army.

He was completely incompetent, with indolence being his sole defining feature. In fact, his greatest accomplishment had been essentially punting his command duties to the Black Dog and his men. Just as well. If that man had actually opened his mouth, nothing good would have come out of it.

If this had been an opportunity for the Black Dog to make a name for himself, that would have been different. However, the fellow was not called the “lazy son” for nothing. He had claimed nearly all the Black Dog’s accomplishments as his own. He only moves cleverly when it comes to such vile misdeeds. In the end, all the margrave’s public praise—and all the medals from the Assembly—had gone to that imbecile.

Of course, everyone knew whom that victory truly belonged to. The margrave’s soldiers knew, and so did the margrave himself. That old orc who ruled the northernmost border had been his patron, lifting up the Black Dog—no more than a mercenary from the southern tribe—and making him an executive in his army. He rated the Black Dog especially highly and had privately sent him praise, money, and an apology for the public disregard. He also scolded him for allowing himself to be wounded, but that was out of genuine concern.

Even so, the Black Dog felt slighted.

He kicked the helmet again. This time, he kicked it away from the mountain, and it didn’t come back.

So be it, he whispered to himself. I’ll get another chance. I still have control over the margrave’s army. Though he doesn’t have much time left.

The Black Dog loathed the idea of growing famous under the lazy son’s reign after the margrave passed away. Thus, he needed to develop his reputation as much as he could before that happened.

One of his men came to report that the preparations were complete. On the Black Dog’s signal, a line of large ox-drawn wagons started to move. The margrave had pleaded for their loan from the empire’s main army, and they had arrived just the other day. While the Black Dog normally preferred something more agile, they would be the most effective tool to break through the current predicament.

At the end of his sights, the head of a massive carved water dragon glared at him and his men from the depths of the valley.

***

“Hero! Hero!”

The voice came from nowhere in particular. Where am I? Oh, right. It’s my thirteenth world. I was sent here to save it.

I mustered my motivation and endeavored to drag myself back to consciousness.

My vision swimming, I imagined I saw a white robe-like vestment. Just like the ones she used to wear.

“It’s too early to run out of strength!”

But it wasn’t her voice I heard. It was an old man. My mind began to fade away again.

Bang! An impact rattled my brain. The pain rapidly brought me to my senses. Before my eyes stood a scowling, bald-headed priest holding a staff that looked like a large pestle. He claimed that it was an ancient and honorable staff that was permitted to smack any head, even if that head belonged to the king.

“I don’t have all the time in the world. I’m here because I got a request from the hero himself.”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m not sleepy anymore, so please go on.”

He let out a deep sigh before returning his eyes to the bookstand. His monotonous voice picked up where it had left off reading from an oversized and splendidly ornamented book of vellum paper.

“And that year, Elron was blessed with his fifth son from his third wife. The child was named Wargan, and once he grew, he wed the daughter of Gauls to be blessed with four sons, but eventually, the first two would fall in the war with Berion; the third son drove off the fourth and became the protector of the clan. He himself would wed the daughters of the first son and have his sons wed the daughters of the fourth. Once the family was united once more, on the first moon of the year of fire-moons, Wargan raised an army. To combat this, Berion joined forces with Verdemoth, son of Gauls, and met them on the plains of Morlang. It was an intense clash of armies. The battle lasted three days and three nights, while the plains were covered in bodies and blood. In the words of those days, Morlang meant the blood bog. It was Wargan who eventually came out on top, and after severing each of Berion’s limbs, he buried them deep and far from one another. He buried the torso right where it was slain and displayed the head at his own manor. Verdemoth became a prisoner of war, although he was eventually treated as a guest. The next year, he fell to illness…”

It had been my idea to study history. While the field marshal appointment ceremony had gone off without a hitch, the dragons had yet to return. I thought I might learn about this world in my free time.

History is important. It tells of how the world came to be, the standing of each power, the characteristics of each region, and the ethical traditions, among other things. But despite everything there was to learn, my mind could not keep up. Whomever had sent me to this world had not enhanced my brain. This was the problem every time, and I was all too often reminded of my own stupidity.

The man presenting the lecture was a scholar who was the king’s very own tutor. I knew I shouldn’t complain when I was the one who made the request, but I was starting to wonder if the problem lay in his teaching style. His lesson consisted of nothing more than reciting from a history book. There was no question-and-answer involved.

It would be better if I did the reading myself, I thought. But when I asked for the book, my request was curtly denied.

“That is forbidden,” he told me.

Apparently, anyone who did not have the qualifications of a scholar— even including the king—was forbidden from touching the temple’s books. Books must be a priceless commodity here after all. Still, if this is how it’s going to be, perhaps I’d be better off hiring a minstrel. My knowledge of history might turn out rather biased, but it wouldn’t be so boring.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Rigel entered, a look of joy on his face. It was rare to see that earnest man wearing such an expression—in fact, this was the first time I’d ever seen it.

“Do you have good news?” I asked.

“The dragons are back!”

Oh, that’s very good news.

“Let’s go see them at once! I have a horse for you!”

He pulled me out of the room without waiting for a reply. I looked back to see the abandoned scholar preparing to leave, expressionless.

We reached the dragon rider HQ twice as fast as last time—Rigel had the horses galloping at full speed practically the whole way. As we left the horses at the stable at the bottom of the hill, a massive shadow passed overhead. I looked up to see a dragon touching down on the cliff.

Oh…that’s rare.

We arrived up top to find the dragon surrounded by its keepers. One dragon keeper was thrusting out a long stick to attract the dragon’s attention, and while it was distracted, the others parted its plumage to check up on something.

“The dragons here have feathers, I see.”

“Are they different in other worlds?” Rigel looked at me, perplexed.

“Yes, that’s right. I’ve seen fourteen worlds, this one included, and seven of them had dragons. Only one other world had feathered dragons.”

What’s more, those feathered dragons were a special breed that dwelled in the mountains of the north. The other dragons of that world had scales. Ah, perhaps it’s the same here. Maybe the south has naked dragons.

This dragon was between five and six meters in size. In silhouette, it resembled a tyrannosaurus, but its entire body was covered in richly colored feathers, and instead of forelimbs, it boasted a massive pair of wings. In contrast to the bright colors that caught the eye at first glance, its underbelly was an ashen gray.

The keeper with the stick wrapped its end in several layers of cloth and then dunked it into a barrel. Once the cloth was thoroughly soaked in whatever liquid it contained, he placed it where the other keepers were indicating. I could see a faint red tint. It seemed they were trying to apply some salve to an injury.

The instant the shaft touched its wound, the dragon started to thrash about. It flailed its long tail at the keeper, but he easily dodged, seeming quite practiced. The other keepers raised warnings as they stepped away, taking the ropes from their belts and swinging them around. I saw that there were loops at the ends of the ropes. They’re practically cowboys.

They threw the ropes in unison, but the dragon brushed them all aside.

“He probably fought over a female dragon in the mountains. Most of the dragons are injured when they return from breeding seasons. They need treatment, but they’re pretty rowdy for a short period after they return. This is when the dragon keepers have the most trouble.”

Rigel’s voice was as level as ever. This had to be a common occurrence.

The dragon roared, baring its sharp fangs to intimidate the keepers. They threw their ropes again, and this time, a young keeper managed to get his rope around its neck. The others rushed to help, but before they could, the dragon swung its muscular neck, sending the young keeper flying through the air and crashing into another keeper.

Now their coordination was thrown off. The man on the floor, who must have been leading the effort, barked instructions from the ground, but the others hesitated. The dragon swung its tail again, knocking another keeper off his feet.

“Oh, that’s not good!” Rigel raced off to help, and a number of dragon riders rushed out of the cave.

I considered following him, but I had no idea how to handle the situation and thought I might just incur the dragon’s wrath. I didn’t know how dangerous this world’s dragons were, but I decided to stay where I was.

After a struggle, Rigel managed to straddle the rampaging dragon. He stroked it, and it immediately grew docile and was lured into the cave by its keepers. Three keepers came out of the effort with broken bones, while Rigel took a few strikes and some light burns.

Rigel returned with a bitter smile, saying, “I’m sorry you had to see that.” After he got a bit of first aid, I followed him into the cave.

One third of the caverns were already occupied; the rest of the dragons would be back in two or three days. There were keepers busily running about, and unlike last time, they were brimming with energy.

“This is Greilgon, my trusty steed.” Rigel introduced me to an emerald-green dragon with vivid red flight feathers. Like the other dragon, its lower half was light gray. I could tell it was fluffy just by looking at it.

“Could I touch him?”

“He’s a calm one. You should be all right.”

Great. I fluffed him up. Oh…how soft, warm…and splendid.

“I knew it. You have the talent.”

“Talent?”

“Indeed. The talent to convey your thoughts to dragons. Anyone who doesn’t have it can’t ride.”

“How can you tell?”

“Dragons hate to be touched by those without talent. At times, they’ll bite them to death if they get too close.”

He could have told me that earlier.

“Then I’m able to ride dragons?”

“The talent itself isn’t that rare. I’d estimate around one out of every ten people can touch dragons. The keepers are all selected from those with talent. That said, very few can handle them as freely as a dragon rider. It depends on your affinity with the dragon too.”

I see.

“Would you like to try it out?”

Rigel led me to another chamber. The reddish-brown dragon stretched out there was so elderly that its age was obvious even to a layman. For some reason, its eyes felt gentler than the others’. Rigel pointed at the base of its wings.

“Try touching it there.”

He’s not going to fly into a rage, is he?

“What happens if someone without the right talent does it?”

“They will be killed.”

Well, I’m glad I asked.

“Don’t worry. I can already tell you have a certain level of talent. He’s always been a gentle soul, so it won’t be that terrible.”

I took a deep breath and reached out.

The dragon showed absolutely no reaction when I touched it. Was that really the right spot?

“Looks like you’re in the clear. I expect no less from a hero. The rest is a matter of compatibility.”

Hmm, apparently, I have the talent to be a dragon rider. Or perhaps it was simply the effect of my hero powers.

“How do we determine compatibility?”

“That’s something only trial and error can reveal. First, you should learn to fly on Igergon here. I was taught to fly on him too. Come to think of it, have you ever ridden dragons in other worlds?”

“Yes, but only once. I’ve ridden eagles and griffons too.”

The dragon I rode was covered in hard scales, could communicate with telepathy, and had mastered the art of magic. To be honest, it was more accurate to say he let me sit on his back.

“In that case, you might pick it up quickly. The most important thing is to form a bond with your dragon—”

Suddenly, we heard some kind of disturbance outside of the cage. An old man, likely a keeper, ran up.

“Captain Rigel! Big trouble!”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Veralgon! He’s back! He’ll be touching down soon!”

“What?!”

Rigel’s face turned grim. “Keep the young ones out of it,” he said. “We’ll need seasoned hands.”

“Yes, sir!”

The old man ran quickly out of the cave again. “Get Rhayner and Gadoss!” Rigel called to the attendants who followed him and was about to leave as well when he suddenly turned to me.

“Hero, you…” He paused. “You come with me.”

Outside of the cave, a lone dragon was beating its wings as it slowly descended. It was around twice the size of the other dragons; pure white except for eyes that glimmered a fiery, ruby-like crimson. There wasn’t a single bloodstain on its pristine plumage. That was proof of its overwhelming strength. The keepers drew closer to make sure, looking nervous as could be.

The white dragon roared. The air quivered, and everyone who heard it froze in place. This white monster lorded over all the humans frozen in its domain.

Our eyes met. I could feel a chill run down my spine. Its red eyes took me in.

“Rigel.” I addressed the old man without taking my eyes off the dragon. “Can I have him?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?! Even an experienced dragon rider can’t—”

A keeper standing behind the white dragon quietly removed a rope from his belt and prepared to throw it. The dragon noticed him and spun around, and that was my moment.

“H-hero! Wait—oh, fine! Everyone, support him!”

Although its back was turned toward me, its long tail flew at me like a well-aimed whip. I abruptly fell to my knees to dodge it. A swoosh flew past my ears as that white whirlwind passed over my head.

The keepers all threw their ropes at once, distracting the dragon for the briefest instant, and I dashed out again. Dodging the kick it unleashed with its sharp talons, I slipped under its stomach.

Twice, three times it tried to crush me underfoot. But I was in its blind spot, and it missed. As the white dragon roared in irritation, I seized my chance—jumping up, I latched onto its neck. It swung its head viciously, trying to cast me away. All I could do was hold on—it was impossible to even attempt to clamber onto its back.

All of a sudden, the dragon lurched back and froze. In the instant of stillness, I let go of its neck to reach toward its back, but before I could grab hold, it started bucking wildly, throwing me to the ground. I twisted and thrust my body sideways as it smacked its whole underside into the ground, raising a tremor in its wake.

Now the dragon’s head came at me in a flash. I dodged it by rolling away into a stand, but just as I was up on my feet, I was struck by a wing. It was only a glancing blow, but taken by surprise, I was knocked off balance and thrown to the ground once more. Before I could react, a jaw lined with sharp fangs came at me. Just in time, I managed to roll to the side and narrowly avoid it.

“Now! Capture him!”

On that call, the many dragon keepers who had gathered during my struggle threw their ropes at once. The white dragon jerked back to brush them away, but two of the ropes managed to catch the claws on its wings.

The other keepers hurried to help the ones who had hit their mark, but the white dragon was too fast for them. The keeper who’d caught its left wing let go of the rope, realizing that help wouldn’t arrive in time, but the other wasn’t ready to give up. He clung to the rope and was flung about as the dragon twisted its body, knocking over the keepers who were rushing to the man’s aid as he sailed through the air.

Suddenly, the perfect opportunity presented itself as the dragon turned away from me. I ran up to it and, before it could react, leapt upon its back.

As long as I clung to its back, the dragon couldn’t reach to attack me, so while the strength of my grip held out, he was stuck with me. But now I realized: What was I supposed to do next? I had rushed out on the spur of the moment and stupidly had forgotten to ask the most important question. How was I supposed to get a dragon to listen to me?

I locked eyes with Rigel, my expression pleading for help.

“Hero!” he answered. “Hold down the base of its wings! You must have a conversation with its heart and win it over!”

What was that supposed to mean? How was I supposed to talk to it when it was in such a frenzy? The white dragon had begun thrashing to try to shake me off. Even if I wanted to, now I couldn’t dismount without risking injury. I had no choice but to try.

First, the base of its wings. I clung to the dragon with all my might and carefully reached out with my right hand. Unfortunately, no matter how stretched, I was about a head’s length short.

“Hero! Get down at once!” Rigel’s warning rocked my ears.

What was it? I looked around. Suddenly, the white dragon spread its wings and began to run at a speed unthinkable for its massive body. Its eyes locked on to the sheer cliff—the takeoff platform. By the time I realized what it was trying to do, it was already too late. Its white bulk sprang into the open air with wings spread wide.

Gravity vanished. The dragon went into freefall—with me on its back. I thought we would plummet to the earth below us, but that feeling only lasted for an instant. Its spread wings immediately caught the wind, and we began to glide.

Higher and higher it climbed, beating its wings as if it had forgotten I was there. I used the opportunity to climb up to the base of its wings. My hands found their goal at exactly the moment that the white dragon shifted from ascent to nosedive.

My heart sank. Gravity was gone once more, and the ground approached at a breakneck pace. Touching the base of the dragon’s wings, I made a prayer. I don’t care how you do it! Just calm down! But the dragon rejected it. Yet, while I had been rejected, I felt it: I had brushed up against the dragon’s soul. Using that feeling of rejection as my point of reference, I wished even harder. The white dragon resisted me at every turn. Then harder, harder still.

The dragon finally gave in.

A new sensation was added to my five senses. My vision blurred to twofold. I quickly realized I was sharing the dragon’s eyes. I could feel the heavy air sliding over its wings.

Before I realized what was happening, the ground filled my entire field of vision, but right before we collided with it, the dragon spread its wings and curved upward, snaking back toward the sky. Gravity returned, pressing my body against the white feathers of its back. Just like that, the earth was left behind, replaced by a blue sky as far as the eye could see. For a moment, the sun scorched my eyes, but then it too was gone as the dragon continued its circle of flight.

As we tilted around, belly skyward, there were no longer any forces holding me down. The inverted horizon came into view, but I flipped over just before it could center, returning the upside-down heavens to their rightful position. With one deep breath, I looked around.

I could see three hundred and sixty degrees—there was nothing to obstruct my view. The ground was so distant now. The only sound came from those white wings slicing through the wind.

I could feel my body lift as one wing caught an updraft. Without a moment’s delay, we were swiveling left. I tried plunging the left wing into the updraft to return myself to level, but the air fought against it, and the tilt only grew worse. I instead angled the wings carefully to catch the draft with both.

We spun on the spot, finely adjusting to stay in that column of air. Once both wings had taken to it completely, we began gaining more and more altitude. With every new revolution, the world below grew farther and farther away. Sure, I could flap to ascend, but it was far easier just to catch a draft.

When I looked down, the now-minuscule dragon house caught my eye. Rigel and the dragon keepers were looking up at me, worried. Perhaps I had taken things a little too far. It was time to return. I angled the wings, escaping the column of air, spinning lazy circles as we began our descent.

My connection with the dragon was severed the moment we hit the ground. It started with my sight, then the sensation in my body, and then I was left all on my own. While I had simply been returned to my original state, my body was assailed by a peculiar sensation, feeling as if it had lost an integral piece.

“Hero! Are you all right?!” Rigel ran up to me. “How reckless can you be?! Without any saddle or reins, and it had to be Veralgon of all dragons! Think before you act!”

“I’m sorry. I just felt like I had to ride this dragon.”

I knew that was no excuse. But if I answered honestly, if I told him that the look in his eyes ignited my fighting spirit, I would likely be treated as a weirdo.

I staggered, unaccustomed to being on stable ground, and Rigel hurried to prop me up.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I think it’s because I don’t feel his legs anymore. My own body is confused.”

“What—you’re saying you already reached a union of soul?!”

Rigel stared at me, in his eyes a mix of exhaustion and awe. It’s not as if I myself have any amazing talents. It’s probably all thanks to whatever mysterious being sent me here, but I suppose I don’t have to bring that up every single time.

“To ride Veralgon so easily… The hero’s power is truly remarkable.”

“Captain, isn’t he the first since Macuel?”

“Indeed.”

Judging by their reactions, this was a particularly challenging dragon. However, it seemed he already had a rider. How unfortunate.

“Hero.”

“I know.”

“Please use this dragon however you see fit.”

Surprised, I said, “Are you sure? Isn’t he Mr. Macuel’s steed?”

“Macuel is my son’s name,” said Rigel. “He’s already left this world behind.”