IHFMC 62

Chapter 62

A dead man coming back to life?

Unable to believe what he was seeing, Shtern asked Derwin how such a thing was possible, but Derwin simply reacted as though he had no idea what Shtern was talking about. The comrades who had grieved Derwin’s death with him, and even the many soldiers who had witnessed it on the battlefield, remembered nothing. None of them recalled Derwin’s death.

At first, Shtern suspected maybe it had all been a dream. But that wasn’t possible.

Though weakened, Shtern still possessed the Finet tribe’s ability to discern truth from lies. Using it, he questioned them—yet every single one insisted with unwavering truth that Derwin had never died.

And yet, Shtern bore the scar he had received beside Derwin’s dying body. The arrow that had pierced through Derwin’s throat remained in Shtern’s possession too, unchanged.

It was then Shtern first began to suspect—Derwin might not be human.

And the same thing happened again. In battle after battle, Derwin would die, only to return alive, carrying the mysterious black longbow, as though nothing had happened. And no one ever found it strange. No one—except Shtern.

In the end, Shtern guessed that Derwin was some other race, most likely… a dragon.

Dragons, of course, were living beings as well; they could not simply die and revive. And yet, Shtern suspected Derwin was a dragon because dragons were said to possess three dragon hearts, the equivalent of a human’s heart.

Another reason was the legend of Shtern’s own ancestor—the very first dragon slayer of the Miaché family.

Each time Derwin revived, the memories of those around him seemed to shift accordingly. Shtern wondered if this was the work of dragon magic.

According to records, his ancestors had once been granted immunity to dragon magic thanks to the help of their friend, Hassen the Green Dragon. That bloodline had passed down to Shtern, perhaps explaining why he alone resisted the memory-altering magic of dragons.

But all of this was only speculation. Nowhere in the Miaché family’s archives was there any mention of an immortal dragon or a dragon capable of rewriting memories.

Thus, Shtern couldn’t simply drag Derwin into the dragon’s cave. He had already witnessed Derwin die and revive—who knew what unforeseen events might occur if they took him there? And besides, there was still a chance Derwin was not a dragon.

Then, Shanelica appeared.

From the moment they met at the tavern, Shtern’s Finet ability revealed she was a non-human. He didn’t know what kind at first. But when she volunteered to act as “translator,” he suspected she might be a dragon and chose to help her.

As expected, Shanelica’s ability to translate between numerous languages made it clear she was indeed a dragon. That was why Shtern used Ferdin as a spy—and through this, he discovered that Derwin was not just a dragon, but a Dragon Lord.

Derwin… you are the Dragon Lord.

As for the Dragon Lord, Shtern knew that somewhere within the vast Miaché family library lay a record about them.

He himself had never met the leader of all dragons, nor did he know where that record was. But if he could find it, he might uncover a way to target the Lord. Now that things had taken such a dire turn, Shtern had no choice but to seek it out and discover a method of attack.

He could not—would not—back down.

That thought had consumed him during his entire imprisonment. Shanelica was one problem, but the one beside her—the Lord—was what he truly had to deal with.

In the darkness, Shtern’s crimson eyes gleamed fiercely.

At the center of Speecher Island lay the Dragonia Mountains, and within them, a massive volcanic crater simply called the Crater.

This vast place, dormant for fifty thousand years, had served as the council hall of the Dragon Elders for thirty thousand years.

And today, five elders gathered there. Dragons who had lived over eight thousand years, radiating such awe and dread that any living being who gazed upon them would quail in terror.

But despite their majesty, the elders were deeply shaken.

[What in the world is happening?]

Elder councils were convened only when serious problems arose in dragon society. Such problems were exceedingly rare—dragons almost never broke laws or caused trouble.

Dragons were born on Speecher Island, each with their own lair. With their immense intellect and magic, they wanted for nothing. Most of them even spent a third of their lives asleep, indulging in slumber. Quarrels among their kind were nearly unheard of; if bored, they could amuse themselves by traveling to the continent.

Though some perished during such excursions, their deaths mattered little to the rest.

Even bonds of parent and child were meaningless once a dragon matured—death was simply considered that dragon’s fate.

Only in the case of bonded partners did death weigh heavier, as their shared dragon hearts meant one heart ceased with the other, leaving the survivor in agony for a time. Still, such pain was never enough to summon the council. Dragons, with their long lifespans, were not a race overly sensitive to death.

Thus, the elders’ chief concern was usually the birth and protection of hatchlings. The strongest law in dragon society was the absolute safeguarding of hatchlings.

Hatchlings received such care first because they were physically fragile.

This was the time when their dragon hearts developed. Newly hatched, they had to grow their hearts through exposure to the outside air. Until fully mature, their incomplete hearts left them vulnerable to even the slightest threat.

The second reason was their very low birth rate.

Unlike other creatures, dragons rarely laid eggs. Producing a single egg required immense sacrifice, and over time dragons became more individualistic, choosing to live without eggs. Thus, hatchlings were exceedingly rare, and the survival of the race demanded their protection.

The last council meeting had been 199 years ago, when the Dragon Lord had taken a hatchling as a partner—an unprecedented event.

Now, the council convened again, for reasons even more extraordinary.

First: an unauthorized hatchling excursion.
Second: a hatchling endangered by humans.
Third: the Lord’s memory loss.

Three matters never before seen in dragon history.

It all began with the report of the Green Dragon, Cherpinebaisis, who had witnessed the hatchling’s peril. Any dragon who witnessed such danger was bound by duty to report it to the elders to summon the Hatchling Protection Committee.

Yet, this was not merely that committee—it was the Elder Council itself, meeting beforehand due to the gravity of the issues.

[In nine thousand years, I’ve never seen such things.]
[Indeed. A hatchling nearly dying at the hands of humans—preposterous!]
[The real issue is that no one noticed the hatchling left for the human world. How could such a reckless transfer be allowed? Tsk.]
[Do not blame Cherpinebaisis. Was the hatchling just any hatchling? No—it was the Lord’s partner. Sending it to the Lord’s side and this disaster ensuing… that fault lies with the Lord.]
[Enough. Now is not the time for blame. That can be handled in later committees. First, we must decide how to convene them.]

The Blue Dragon, Yuraivistani, silenced the heated exchange and directed the discussion.

[By law, we must summon both the Hatchling Protection Committee and the Disciplinary Committee. Hatchling Ashanerbekirael is critically wounded and currently under human care. Her injuries, both physical and mental, are severe enough that returning to her true form would be dangerous, so for now she remains as is. Until the committees convene, we have entrusted her to the Wind Spirit King for protection—she will be safe in the human world for the time being. The greater issue is that the Lord has lost His memory.]

The Dragon Lord—chief of all dragons. Possessor of incomparable might, second only to the gods, and the only being able to stand before them. To dragons, He was both leader and terror embodied.

None could oppose Him. None dared imagine such a thing. Submission to the Lord was etched into every dragon’s heart at birth, as natural as breathing.

That was why, 199 years ago, when the Lord claimed an orphan hatchling as partner, no one objected.

The Lord’s word was law itself. To defy it meant death. Those few who had ever dared resist had all perished—mad frenzy-dragons who had lost their sense.

And now… that same Lord was required to stand before both the Hatchling Protection and Disciplinary Committees. As the accused.

Yet whether He was accused or not hardly mattered. He was the Lord. No punishment would ever touch Him.

The true crisis lay elsewhere: how to handle a Lord who had lost His memory.

[We do not know why He has lost them, but according to Cherpinebaisis’s report, He does not even believe He is a dragon.]
[How can such a thing be…]
[Is there any way to restore His memories?]
[Perhaps if He returned to His true form.]
[But He cannot undo His own polymorph.]
[Then we… must force the release.]

At Yuraivistani’s words, the others fell silent.

Force release.

Polymorph could only be undone by the caster themselves. But in rare cases, high elders could combine their power to forcibly break it.

Yet the elders doubted. Could they undo a spell cast by the Lord Himself? Who knew how much power He had woven into it? If they miscalculated, the backlash could kill them outright.

[Even if we succeed, the Lord’s reaction afterward is the greater danger.]

There was a reason only the caster could release polymorph—it was a spell designed never to be interrupted.

Any dragon summoned to a hatchling committee could be forced awake from sleep or play. But to impose such rules on the Lord? Unthinkable. The elders knew His temper well. To forcibly break His polymorph was to invite a storm beyond imagining.

[At worst, we die.]

One elder spoke with resignation.

[…Indeed. We’ve lived long enough.]
[Then let us try persuasion first. Cherpinebaisis claims the Lord is mild in temperament now, in this state. If He can be persuaded to come willingly, perhaps even after His memories return, He will remain calm.]
[Do you truly believe that?]
[…No. But we must cling to hope.]

For dragons nearing ten thousand years of life, death itself was less terrifying than the Lord’s wrath. The memory of His power constricting their dragon hearts was so dreadful that even imagining it brought them pain.