#004

“Impossible!”

Count Linden shrieked in a high-pitched voice.

“There must be a malfunction with the Magic. The Dragon has gone mad, and surely, the barrier…!”

Before the knights could stop him, the Count lunged at the barrier. He charged directly at Cullen but was flung back with a loud noise. A startled scream rang out, and the nobles scattered hastily.

So that’s their logic, Cullen thought.

Cullen watched the Count, who had bounced back like a rubber ball and lost consciousness, with indifference.

The Duke, his brow furrowed, was about to say something to Cullen. The white barrier began to change form. The barrier, which had shimmered like light, now became a blue, burning flame, separating Cullen from the people. Many who were seeing this for the first time murmured amongst themselves.

To escape the commotion, he turned his body.

The space behind the massive door looked like an underground temple. Countless statues made of white stone filled the walls densely.

Cullen read a gold plaque carved at the base of the nearest statue. Belemyr.

In the Larciel Empire, that is, in this world, only Larkans can write four-letter names. Nobles or priests use three letters, and commoners like Cullen use two letters.

Naturally, they cannot have surnames. Therefore, this must be a statue of an Emperor.

Belemyr Larkan was not the Emperor of Cullen’s era, but he was a figure who left his name in history for his innate ferocity. He was the one who ordered the great massacre that occurred before Cullen was born.

It was a story known even to infants: how the Dragon, revealing its full form after many years, crushed the rebellious nobles of the eastern regions with unquenchable fire.

Cullen briefly examined the statue before moving on. The interior was quiet. A pleasant warmth enveloped him, and yellow lights, resembling stars, twinkled from the high ceiling. They seemed to be made of precious glass.

Passing through the tomb-like space, he stopped before another door. Smaller in scale than the outer one, it was decorated with gold and blue dye.

Cullen grasped the doorknob. He felt something cold spread inside, and before he could even turn it, the door opened. He furrowed his brow slightly.

Is this also Magic?

Magic was everywhere. Cullen felt displeasure at a situation he could not control. If even inanimate objects used Magic, there was no way to prepare for unforeseen circumstances. He had to find a way to control it somehow.

“……Come in.”

The conflicting emotions churning within him scattered at the quiet voice from inside the room. He entered cautiously.

“You must be the protagonist of the oracle.”

The voice came from a bed draped with purple curtains. Only a dark silhouette was faintly visible. A round disc like the moon hung from the ceiling; silver light flowed shallowly from the outer disc, which seemed to be engraved with constellations.

The room was both warm and cold. The season was turning towards spring, but this place felt like the north where Cullen had been.

“Come closer.”

Cullen approached him. The unexpected happened then.

Clang!

His dagger fell with a loud noise. Cullen quietly looked down at his feet. The dagger, concealed invisibly at his waist, lay on the floor. He reached out his long arm and grasped the dagger’s hilt. But it wouldn’t budge.

“It will be useless. The Dragon has cast a spell on it.”

Cullen applied more force. But as if it had been fixed to the floor from the beginning, the dagger showed no sign of moving. He quickly conceded. Damn this place full of Magic.

“This room is made so that no weapon can come near me. Only the owner of the room can wield a weapon.”

The low, muffled voice spoke slowly and with effort. Breaths were interspersed between words. He seemed to be struggling.

A thin, pale hand emerged from behind the curtain and pointed to a chair beside the bed. Pulling over a dark brown chair carved with a dragon’s head, Cullen sat down. Then he asked,

“Then what about poison?”

“Poison is also ineffective. For the same reason Magic is ineffective.”

“But death is unavoidable, is it not?”

A low laugh was heard. A coughing sound followed, and the hand slowly drew back the curtain. On the bed lay a middle-aged man leaning against a high pillow.

Under the silver light, his dark purple hair cascaded loosely. The man, with occasional streaks of white hair, looked too young to be on the verge of death. He seemed to be no more than forty years old.

As the man slowly turned his head, Cullen’s eyes widened. The features beneath his thick eyebrows were undeniably those of a handsome man, but his transparent purple eyes and the shape of his lips were no different from his mother’s in his memory.

“It is the price for power that is too great for a human.”

The man coughed and reached for a handkerchief. Wiping his mouth, he continued,

“All Larkans die early. Most meet their end before the age of fifty. I have lived longer than average.”

He let out a listless, long sigh and quietly observed Cullen. After a moment of silent stillness, the man, no, the Emperor, spoke again.

“You resemble Ella.”

At those words, his throat tightened.

The Emperor’s voice was tinged with longing. The reality that had not quite settled in since entering this room crashed upon him with that single word from the Emperor.

The Emperor resembled his mother too much to be denied. The purple eyes he had seen only in his mother, and the voice calling her Ella with such longing, were too cruelly theatrical to be mere pretense.

Cullen chose his words carefully. His mind was blank. An uncomfortable emotion, difficult to define, gnawed at his gut. It was not affection or wistfulness. It was closer to anger. He quietly clenched his fists.

The Emperor did not know the form of death his mother had met. If he had known the life she had lived, he would not wear such an innocent expression. There was nothing regal about his mother’s funeral. It was cold and horrific.

Gale, a close friend of his father, had carried the family’s corpses to the mountains. His father’s arms, wrapped around his mother, had stiffened so much they could not be pried apart. Gale had no choice but to cut off his friend’s arm, which had begun to rot, as he could not extract his mother, sleeping in his embrace, and Sasha.

Cullen had been insane for a year after burying his mother, her eye sockets blackened. If Gale had not taken him in and brought him to the mercenary band, he would likely have starved to death in the mountains.

It was too tragic a death for a good person.

Something inexplicable boiled up like lava, then subsided. It was a futile act. He no longer wanted to feel anything. His emotions had been buried along with his Wolfdog and mercenary band five years ago.

“Is that so?”

“You have Ella’s eyes. Your calm disposition is similar too.”

The Emperor briefly averted his gaze. His eyes flickered to the dagger Cullen had dropped, and he added,

“Even your meticulousness.”

His mouth felt dry. Cullen composed his slightly disheveled expression.

“I did not come here to become Emperor.”

The Emperor gave an answer contrary to his expectations.

“That is not for you to decide. The next Emperor will be chosen by tradition.”

“Surely, any person would prioritize their own blood descendant?”

“But we are Larkans. Not just any person.”

The Emperor sat up. Even with his sickly appearance, his presence was dignified. Cullen countered with a voice devoid of emotion, calmly,

“My mother was human. A human who could not even avoid a mere blade. Emperor, my mother, who bore the blood of Larkan, was found with both her eyeballs gouged out. The same eyes you say I resemble.”

The Emperor, who had maintained his composure, closed his mouth. With trembling hands, he brought a handkerchief to his mouth. Coughing sounds were muffled within the cloth.

Cullen waited for his coughing to subside. The turmoil within him, which had been shaken for a moment, settled. The target of his resentment was not the Emperor.

“I searched for a long time for the barbarians who attacked my village. But I could not find anyone like them anywhere nearby.”

Gale remembered the attire of the attackers who had suddenly massacred the village and disappeared quickly. From the time Cullen had become capable of taking care of himself, they had searched for traces of the barbarians.

But the unidentified group that attacked the village, as if they had sprung from the earth, never appeared anywhere.

“Among the undead, only my mother had her eyes taken.”

Of the events that had occurred in the past few days, only this part was important. That he had finally found a lead.

“My mother was murdered. Therefore, I believe the landslide that occurred on the way to the temple was also for a reason.”

Cullen revealed the question he had held in his heart for sixteen years, the sole purpose that kept him alive.

The surroundings were steeped in a chilling silence. Even the lighting, which spread like moonlight, seemed to have darkened. The Emperor wiped his mouth with the white handkerchief stained with blood and slowly opened his mouth.

“The carriage was enchanted. A Magic that transports the Princess to the Imperial Palace if she is in danger. A magnificent Magic, performable by only one being.”

Cullen recalled one word.

Dragon.

Magic was a word that appeared in everything connected to it. It was a natural order of things, yet it made me wary. I had a bad feeling.

“Ella should not have been tainted from the outside in any way. If things had gone as planned, Kashyella would have been summoned to the Imperial Palace. Therefore, there is no explanation other than a problem with the magic. A Dragon is a being bound by the duty to protect Larkan’s bloodline. A Dragon is involved in that child’s death in some way.”

I don’t believe everything the Emperor says. Cullen doesn’t believe it himself. So, it’s no different for the Emperor.

But there was some truth to it. It wasn’t magic cast by just anyone, but by a ‘Dragon’. The fact that my mother couldn’t return doesn’t add up.

“It’s a contradiction.”

Let’s assume the Emperor’s words are true for now. Then, was the landslide also caused by a Dragon? And after endangering my mother like that, did it fail to cast the magic properly, leading to her death?

If so, another question arises. Why my mother, of all people? What motive does he have?

“Yes, it doesn’t make sense. A Dragon cannot act in any way that contradicts what it has said. My father did not agree. There was nothing I could do.”

The Emperor, who took a labored breath, leaned back against the pillow, seemingly out of strength. Between the short yet long conversation, his face had lost even more of its vitality.

“Be wary of the Dragon. Keep your distance from him. He is a dangerous being, not just to Larkan, but to the world.”

The Emperor closed his eyes with those words. Letting out a breath that scraped his lungs, he reached out with his other hand. Gripping a rope braided with gold thread, he gave Cullen his dismissal.

“I am tired. I must… rest now.”

The Emperor looked utterly exhausted. His complexion was so pale that it wouldn’t be strange if he died then and there. Cullen stared at him expressionlessly before rising from his chair.

“I will take my leave.”

The Emperor nodded.

“The Imperial Palace is your home now… rest comfortably.”

Cullen did not reply. Instead, as he slowly turned the drawn curtain back, he heard the Emperor ring a bell. Strangely, it echoed and grew louder, as if amplified outside. Cullen quietly took in the scene.

The Emperor, speaking of the Dragon as a dangerous being, within a room maintained by the Dragon’s magic.