Chapter 64
Spicher Island, the crater of the Dragonia Mountains.
For the first time in thousands of years, the Hatchling Protection Council was convened. Twenty dragons, including the five Elders, sat in a small circle at the vast crater’s center. All of them had taken human form, out of courtesy for the “Lord who had lost his memories” who was about to arrive.
Flash.
At the circle’s center, a white light of teleportation scattered. Soon, the silhouettes of two humans appeared where the light vanished.
“I am Cherpinebasis of the Green Clan. I have brought the Lord.”
Chell—still wearing a face resembling Shanelica—bowed respectfully and greeted the human-shaped figures in the human tongue.
The dragons present all froze in shock. Their faces paled at the sight of the Dragon Lord, Dershevio Nerf, in his human guise.
Black hair. Black eyes!
He went out to “play” in that form? What if the gods became enraged!
Every mind filled with the same thought: the Lord must have gone mad.
Among dragons, there was a strict custom: when leaving to wander the human world, one must never reveal one’s true scale color. Outwardly, the reason was to avoid being exposed during prolonged stays among humans—but the real reason was different.
For some unknown cause, the gods of this world and the Dragon Lord had never gotten along. The gods detested even the Lord’s excursions, which often led to friction.
Thus, to avoid offending the gods, the Lord began suppressing his dragon traits in his human form. The tension eased.
Later, other dragons imitated him. They discovered many advantages to hiding their scale colors while polymorphed, and soon it became universal custom.
But now, not just any dragon—the Lord himself—had brazenly revealed such a form! To the gods, this could only be offensive.
Does he not know that provoking the gods brings nothing good?!
“Welcome, my Lord.”
Yet the dragons all hid their fear, bowing deeply to Derwin in human language. He had lost his memory, and even if he hadn’t, none of them dared scold the absolute ruler.
Unaware of their thoughts, Derwin scanned his surroundings.
So this is the Spicher Island she lived on.
After declaring he would go there, he had closed his eyes and suddenly the world around him had changed.
A place he had never seen before. He had roamed the Hures continent countless times with his Black Longbow, but never had he seen such a vast, strange land. It was as if someone had gouged the earth apart by force—its grandeur beyond description.
He saw people of varied appearances bowing before him. Soon, he realized: they were dragons in human form, their eyes filled with reverence—but also with fear.
So the Lord holds power of this magnitude?
Suppressing the instinctive revulsion his body felt toward this alien environment, Derwin asked:
“Do you need me as the Lord who has regained his memory?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Seeing them all bowing in unison made Derwin feel sick. A yearning welled up inside him—to abandon this and return to the human world, to live as a man again.
But he restrained himself. For Shanelica’s sake.
“Then hurry. Restore my memories.”
He urged them. The longer it dragged on, the worse the nameless fear gnawed inside him. At any moment he might be swallowed whole by it and flee this dreadful place.
The dragons, eyeing him with puzzlement, whispered among themselves and then approached.
“Then, my Lord, we shall begin the forced release of the Polymorph spell.”
The five Elders, human-shaped and solemn, advanced toward Derwin. Surrounding him, they closed their eyes and muttered incantations.
Soon, an overwhelming black light engulfed him.
[Urgh!]
[Aaagh!]
“Hold on! Hold on, everyone!”
Groans of pain spilled from the Elders. The black light was so intense it blinded, completely shrouding Derwin. The Elders’ faces twisted grotesquely as they poured all their magic into the spell.
The power spilling from Derwin whipped violent winds across the crater.
The Elders realized for the first time how unbearable it was to stand upright on mere human legs in such winds—it felt like blades ripping them apart. The other dragons hastily revealed their true forms, conjuring their strongest magics to keep the Elders from being blown away.
Is this what it feels like to oppose a god? How vast is the Lord’s strength?
“To the utmost”—such words rarely applied to dragons. They lived leisurely, near-eternal lives, seldom forced to give their all. Even the ancient Elders had never known such strain.
[Even for the Lord, this is—!]
[I… I can’t hold it much longer!]
[Just a little more, endure it!]
The Lord’s Polymorph spell was too strong. The Elders’ power could barely match it. But they refused to yield. If they had come this far, they would see it through.
Boom!
In an instant, the black magic enveloping Derwin exploded skyward. The blast hurled everyone across the crater—dragons in true form and Elders alike.
[Wh-what happened…?]
[Still alive, it seems.]
Luckily, none had died. The black fragments scattered upward like snow, then slowly faded away.
The dragons, regaining their footing, stared tensely at the center of the blast. The black mist that cloaked the spot where human Derwin had stood was thinning.
At last, the haze lifted.
[…]
There stood a colossal Black Dragon.
Majestic as ever, black scales gleaming, radiating untouchable divinity. The sole ruler of the dragons—Dragon Lord Dershevio Nerf.
It had worked. No one had died.
The Elders instantly dispelled their own Polymorph. The crater, vast to human eyes, quickly filled with towering dragons.
[We greet the Lord!]
Their unified voices shook the entire Dragonia Mountain range.
Then, suddenly, piercing eyes snapped open.
Every dragon quaked. The instinctive terror before a superior being. In those black eyes burned savage killing intent.
[Why am I here?]
The first words were heavy. Though phrased as a question, they carried fury and reproach. The pressure was crushing.
[My Lord, you had been wandering for 199 years. When we brought you here, you had lost your memories.]
It was Yuribistany, the Blue Dragon Elder known as the wisest, who managed to speak under the weight.
[I lost my memory?]
[Yes. Thus, we dared attempt a forced release of your Polymorph.]
[Fools, all of you.]
The faint killing intent solidified in Dershevio Nerf’s eyes.
[Did it never occur to you that I might have erased my memories on purpose?]
Gasps.
Of course it was possible. Dragons did not simply “lose” memory. The very idea had been absurd. That was why they had been so desperate to force its return.
[We… we never considered that.]
[It was short-sighted of us! Forgive us, Lord!]
[We only thought we must restore your memory quickly, and so we erred!]
The Elders cried out together, trembling. And yet, part of them wondered—had the Lord truly erased his own memories? Did he possess such a power?
[So you forcibly unraveled the spell I cast upon myself. How bold.]
[My Lord, we only—]
[Do the Elders believe they have lived long enough?]
The killing intent deepened. The Elders shuddered violently.
The worst-case scenario had come. They had already feared tampering with the Lord’s magic might bring retribution, but hoped his position as their ruler might grant leniency.
Now they saw it had been wishful thinking. At any moment, their remaining dragon hearts might be incinerated under his wrath.
A Lord in ill temper could not be restrained.
The Dragon Lord. At once the ruler of the dragon race and a being no one could defy.
His lair lay at the Dragonia Mountains’ peak, sealed by barriers even dragons could not pass. There, the Dragon Lord was born, died, and reborn endlessly.
But there were no parents there. No other Black Dragons had ever been seen. Many speculated the Lord was not born of ordinary union, but bestowed directly by the gods.
Not impossible. After all, what creature but a god could grant such power—the strength to annihilate all dragons, and the ability to stand before divinity itself?
From the very beginning, the Lord had led and ruled dragonkind. Though his personality shifted with each rebirth, all dragons still lived upon the foundation laid by the First Lord.
Yet the current Lord was said to possess the worst temperament of them all—intolerant of even the slightest offense. A thousand years ago, the Mad Dragon had defied him and been slain on the spot.
The Elders would find no mercy. Despair’s shadow fell over every dragon’s heart.
