Chapter 22
Thousands of years ago, the ruler of the vast continent bordered by the sea was the dragons.
Dragons who ruled over monsters and humans could never be on good terms.
With the dragons’ power behind them, the monsters steadily expanded their influence.
Human territory gradually shrank.
On the day even their final settlement was taken, humans smashed their foreheads against the ground and wailed.
They searched for their god.
“Why do you wail?”
Light poured down from the heavens, and a beautiful voice echoed.
“Please save us from death. Grant us the power to destroy those wicked beings.”
The goddess said nothing.
Instead, dark clouds covered the sky, and a torrential rain poured down. Lightning split the heavens.
And that lightning became a spear that pierced the dragon’s heart.
Before the god, the dragon was powerless, and the remaining humans established a nation.
Though the nation’s name changed, the god they worshiped and their founding myth did not.
It might have been somewhat exaggerated, but everyone in the empire, including Cleor, believed the story that had been passed down.
There was the lingering question of why dragons still lived only in the North, but it was easier to accept that Solstella’s divine protection did not reach that land.
“So there’s a living dragon in the temple?” Cleor asked.
“No.”
Yohan shook his head.
Having decided to reveal everything, his expression looked noticeably calmer.
Now that he had been captured in the North, death was inevitable anyway.
“Then?”
Cleor rubbed his chin.
He observed Yohan closely—how his eyebrows moved, whether his lips twisted, whether his pupils trembled.
Liars, especially those unskilled at lying, always revealed themselves.
But there was no sign of deceit in Yohan.
If Yohan was capable of concealing himself beyond Cleor’s perception, then he would be a once-in-a-generation fraud.
“There is a dragon’s corpse beneath the temple.”
“Ugh.”
Whitney and Cleor groaned at the same time, frowning.
“A dragon’s corpse? But you said you made it from blood.”
“Yes. A dragon’s corpse does not rot.”
Yohan moved his hands dreamily, as if a dragon lay before him.
His fingers brushed the air.
Cleor involuntarily imagined a dragon lying peacefully beneath Yohan’s hands, eyes closed.
It was the first time he had heard that a dragon’s body did not decay.
“It looks as though it is merely sleeping.”
“I have no interest in discussing corpses. What I want to confirm is the medicine Isabella takes.”
Cleor tipped the bottle and rolled it across the table.
It came to a stop at Yohan’s fingertips.
“The medicine I gave Miss Isabella is dragon’s blood mixed with various herbs. The herbs merely mask the scent and taste. The real medicine is the dragon’s blood.”
“How did you know?” Cleor asked.
“Know what?”
“That a dragon’s corpse lay underground, and that the corpse weakens the illness.”
Yohan recalled the past.
The only reason he survived was his own will.
After the priest who claimed to be his father left, Yohan investigated the Helsingten Count’s family.
His younger brother, the Count of Helsingten, had grown into a splendid noble, loved by their parents.
The moment Yohan saw that, rage surged through his body.
That rage soon turned into an obsession with survival.
He searched desperately for a way to live.
The temple housed countless ancient tomes.
There were even forbidden grimoires banned by the empire.
Herbalism, alchemy, black magic—he read everything, over and over again.
Then one day, he found a book so fragile it seemed it would crumble at a touch.
It was the diary of the first pope who founded the temple.
—Do not go underground.
That single line seized Yohan’s attention.
If it meant survival, he would have gladly drunk poison from a sacred chalice. Naturally, he went underground.
The basement was not marked on any blueprint, nor did it have a proper entrance.
Yohan volunteered to clean the temple’s first floor, pressing each brick one by one.
And eventually, he found it.
The entrance to the underground chamber.
There, Yohan saw the dragon.
The dragon lay as if asleep, its massive body overwhelming.
But it did not breathe. Even when Yohan cautiously poked it, there was no response.
Gaining courage, Yohan kicked it.
Still nothing.
‘It’s dead. This dragon is dead!’
At that moment, a page from an alchemy book came to mind.
—A dragon’s bones, flesh, and blood are the source of creating new substances.
If it was that powerful, couldn’t it save me too?
Yohan tore off a small piece of the dragon’s flesh and ate it.
It was revolting, but his desire to live overwhelmed everything else.
The result was more than satisfying.
His body improved day by day.
Based on repeated experiments, Yohan created medicine using dragon’s blood.
It was easy to store, low in odor, and highly effective.
“So! That means Isabella took this medicine!” Victor exclaimed.
He picked up the vial.
Raising his hand as if to throw it—
“Father! What are you doing?!”
Cleor grabbed Victor’s hand in shock.
Snatching the vial away, Cleor stepped back.
“That medicine isn’t necessary for Isabella. Throw it away at once!” Victor shouted, conviction ringing in his voice.
Cleor narrowed his eyes.
“Do you know something?”
Cleor carefully tucked Isabella’s medicine into his coat and stared sharply at Victor.
Victor faltered under his gaze and sighed.
His lips twitched several times, as if he wanted to speak.
But in the end, he closed his mouth.
“Why don’t you both sit down? Two loud men shouting above my head is giving me a headache.”
Angela ended the standoff.
She rubbed her forehead as if it truly ached.
Victor immediately sat beside her, examining her carefully.
Before Isabella arrived, the Queen of the North had been Angela.
Cleor had no desire to upset his mother unnecessarily.
Especially not over something unrelated to Isabella.
He sat down as well, and Angela slowly spoke.
“Send him back.”
“Just… send him back?”
“Yes. Send him back quietly. No one must know he met us.”
“Mother, why—ah! Is it because of Isabella’s medicine? That won’t be necessary. We can go to the Forest of Lamentation and obtain a dragon—”
Angela raised her hand, silencing Cleor.
She frowned and stood up.
Cleor shut his mouth and looked up at her.
Angela lifted the corner of her lips.
It was a gentle smile—his mother’s smile.
But Cleor knew from experience that this was when he had to be most cautious.
He reflexively raised his hands to shield his face.
But his effort was futile.
Instead of a fist, Angela’s foot came flying.
“Ugh!”
“Send Yohan back without touching a single hair on his head. He is a very important person! Understood?”
Angela’s fists flew relentlessly.
Cleor blocked some and dodged others, but a few blows landed regardless.
“Mother!”
Cleor finally shouted.
Angela huffed, took several breaths, then spoke calmly again.
“Cleor, don’t you trust your mother? Send him away. Let him live his life as he always has. And there’s no need to receive medicine from Yohan anymore. I will prepare it separately.”
Angela knew something. Victor did too.
Cleor looked between them.
What were they hiding?
It was clear they had no intention of telling him.
They merely waved him away, as if exhausted.
Cleor felt a tight pressure in his chest.
Isabella was walking through the forest.
The snow beneath her bare feet felt soft.
Though she walked atop snow, her feet were not cold at all.
—Is it because this is a dream?
She reached out her hand.
Snowflakes settled into her palm.
As she quietly watched them shrink and vanish, a thick fur coat was placed over her shoulders.
—Isabella, even if you don’t feel the cold, this is too much.
The voice warmed her heart.
It was the same voice she had heard when she briefly fell asleep during the day.
—Who is it?
She wanted to see his face.
But the man embraced her from behind, preventing her from turning around.
His arms felt deeply familiar.
And there was a scent she had smelled before.
A cool fragrance—this was the scent of the North.
Cleor gazed down at Isabella sleeping in the darkness.
He had stopped by her bedroom just to see her briefly, disappointed he hadn’t seen her earlier that afternoon—and ended up sinking into a seat.
It had only been a short time, yet she felt unfamiliar, like someone he had traveled far away from and met again.
She had said she visited the library today.
How she walked, how many times she rested, what she said while looking at the corridors—Cleor knew everything.
To gather all this information, Cleor summoned even the servants who had merely brushed past Isabella late at night, questioning them again and again.
—More detail.
—How was her breathing?
—On which step did she exhale?
His questioning was relentless.
Only after hearing every moment from the time Isabella left her room until she returned did he dismiss them.
‘She grasped the railing and caught her breath twice. She rested three times going down to the first floor.’
Cleor’s gaze fell to her small feet.
How difficult it must have been on such tiny feet.
He felt proud that she could walk on her own—yet couldn’t hide his disappointment.
Soon, he would no longer be able to carry her as often.
They said Isabella had exclaimed in admiration while looking at the passage to the annex.
Does she like glasswork?
I should have the glass artisan bring items tomorrow.
If only he could hear her soft exclamations himself, he would build a castle of glass if he had to.
“Hm?”
Lost in his thoughts, Cleor stiffened.
Isabella had shifted in her sleep.
The movement was as faint as a butterfly settling on a petal, but to Cleor—who watched her so closely—it felt immense.
Her lips curved upward, as if she were having a pleasant dream.
It was a defenseless expression she never showed him.
The darkness in the room retreated at her smile.
Cleor stared at her, entranced.
A sense of déjà vu washed over him.
It felt as though he had always been with her.
His heart, already overtaken by her, and this space itself felt unbearably familiar.
Cleor closed his eyes without realizing it.
Isabella jolted awake, startled by something furry in her grasp.
Had a dog climbed onto her bed?
Had the knights guarding her room simply allowed a dog inside?
Isabella liked animals, but not encounters like this.
Still—why was its fur so soft?
Without thinking, she stroked the animal’s fur.
Then she slowly opened her eyes.
Isabella clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a scream.
The dog was… the dog’s true identity was—
