Altleno jumped down from the dragon's massive corpse, landing with a heavy thud that echoed across the desolate land. He raised his head and looked around.
What once was a lush, living forest — filled with tall trees, singing birds, and light filtering through green leaves — was now nothing but a wasteland. The ground was blackened with ash. Trees lay shattered and smoldering. Smoke curled from distant craters.
All that remained was silence.
Back in the village, the earth still trembled faintly beneath their feet. The people gathered outside their homes, watching the horizon where fire and dust rose like a mountain. Then, as the smoke began to fade, a sound broke through the air — the deep, final roar of the dragon falling.
The villagers gasped, then slowly, they began to cheer.
They fell to their knees, crying out in joy and prayer.
> "The dragon is dead!"
"Our hero… he did it! He saved us!"
For the first time, they shouted Altleno's name not in fear — but in praise.
Back at the battlefield, Altleno stood silently beside the dragon's fallen form. Its golden eyes, once burning with hatred, were now dim and empty. He could still feel the faint warmth of its mana radiating from the body — a monstrous power now his to claim.
He clenched his fists, and dark aura began to swirl around them, mixing with faint traces of red.
> "I won't waste this," he whispered.
The aura wrapped tighter around his arms, and he stepped forward. Placing his glowing hands on Nugst's neck, he began to tear through flesh and scale. The sound was raw — muscle and bone giving way beneath his strength.
Smoke rose as aura energy seared through the dragon's massive body. Slowly, painfully, Altleno ripped the dragon's head free from its shoulders.
He stood there, covered in blood and ash, holding the head of the Dragon of Death — the same creature that had almost ended his life.
The wind howled, carrying ash and embers across the battlefield. Altleno stared at the head for a long moment, then tied it with rope from the wrecked carriages nearby, preparing to drag it home.
The weight was immense, but he carried it with grim pride.
The forest around him lay in ruin—trees split, ground scorched, the sky still faintly glowing from the battle. With each step he took toward the village, ash and smoke trailed behind him like a storm following its master.
When he finally emerged from the treeline, the villagers were waiting.
They froze.
Mothers clutched their children. Men dropped their tools. The enormous dragon's head dragged across the dirt behind Altleno, its empty eyes staring at them like a warning from the gods.
He stopped before the village square.
Silence.
Some looked on in awe and relief. Others stared in pure terror, eyes darting between Altleno's calm face and the impossible trophy at his back.
The air around him still shimmered faintly with power—unstable, dangerous.
They could all feel it.
> "He's too strong now…" someone murmured.
"What if the power drives him mad?" another added.
Altleno heard their whispers but said nothing. His expression was unreadable—neither proud nor cruel, only coldly determined.
He looked toward the horizon where the forest still burned faintly red.
> "I did what needed to be done," he said quietly.
"Now this village will never fear monsters again."
He turned and walked toward the guild hall, the dragon's head leaving a trail of scorched earth behind him.
Some followed, bowing their heads. Others backed away, trembling.
That day, Altleno returned as both savior and harbinger.
The boy who once sought peace had brought death—and power—home with him.
And though the village prospered beneath his rule, a new fear began to take root:
> What happens when the one who protects you… no longer remembers why he should?