The soft hum of torches echoed down the stone hall as Carrion lay in a dimly lit chamber, wrapped in thick sheets. His chest rose and fell with slow, labored breaths. Around him, healers worked in quiet urgency, placing special healing runes across his arms, neck, and legs. Golden runes shimmered briefly before disappearing into his skin. One of the nurses whispered, "Even in his Royal Beast form... he didn't stand a chance. I've never seen anything like it."
Outside the room, a group of soldiers and staff were still buzzing about the fight that took place earlier.
"I counted ten pressure points in under five seconds," one soldier said, his eyes wide.
"Ten?" another replied. "I saw thirteen—he hit both the anterior and posterior nerves. Carrion didn't even get to swing that halberd."
Middray, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, smirked. "That's the difference between brawling... and martial mastery."
Another soldier added in awe, "And did you hear him? He was giving a lesson while doing it!"
"Yeah," a female knight said while replaying the moment in her mind, "He said something like 'Pay attention, I won't repeat this.' And then—bam—wrist hit, elbow fold, shoulder lock. It was like watching a symphony of destruction."
The training had ended hours ago, but the energy hadn't faded. The great dining hall was alive with celebration. Torches burned in golden sconces, casting a warm glow across the polished floors. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted boar, seasoned grilled fish, fire-braised vegetables, and desserts as colorful as stained glass.
Laughter echoed as goblets clinked and stories from training circulated like wildfire.
Milim sat at the center of the longest table, munching through a mountain of turkey legs, juice dripping down her chin. Frey leaned back sipping a glass of moonfruit wine, calmly observing the chaos around her. Middray was arm-wrestling three beastmen at once—and winning.
Yujiro Hanma, the Ogre of Earth, sat quietly at the far end of the table. His massive frame was hunched slightly, tearing into a thick, crimson steak with the ease of a man snapping twigs. His crimson eyes glinted as he listened—but never said a word.
Then the moment everyone had been half-waiting for happened.
Carrion emerged from the hall's side corridor.
His golden mane was down, eyes dull from exhaustion but alert. He looked around, momentarily confused—like a man who'd woken from a nightmare. A soldier noticed him and immediately ran over.
"My Lord Carrion! You're awake! Everyone's in the Grand Hall... they've been talking about you—well, mostly about Yujiro, but... it's good to see you walking."
Carrion gave a tight nod and walked in.
As he stepped into the light of the hall, the music softened slightly. Frey spotted him first. "You knucklehead," she said with a smirk. "Finally woke up, huh?"
Milim, face stuffed with food, waved excitedly. "Carrion! Over here! Come sit!"
Carrion approached cautiously. His pride still stung, but something about the warmth in their faces—especially Milim's—eased him a little. He sat beside her, the heavy wooden bench creaking under his weight.
Yujiro didn't even look his way. He just chewed, calmly. Slowly. Smirking.
Carrion's fists balled up for a moment—but he remembered. He remembered every hit, every nerve he couldn't control, every humiliating second. And he stayed quiet.
Milim, as energetic as ever, clapped her hands and said, "Okay okay, introductions again! Carrion—this is Yujiro, my soon-to-be uncle. Yujiro—this is Carrion, fellow Demon Lord and King of Eurazania!"
Yujiro finally looked up.
His red eyes met Carrion's.
There was something ancient in them. Something that looked at a Demon Lord and didn't blink.
Didn't flinch. Didn't care.
Yujiro gave a smirk and a small nod. That was all. Then went back to his meat.
Carrion hesitated, then gave a slight nod in return.
The moment passed.
Maids brought in trays of desserts and fresh wine. Plates refilled, and chatter returned. Frey, ever the diplomat, smiled and leaned in.
"So Carrion, what was it you said earlier? You had news?"
Carrion cleared his throat, pushing aside a roasted pepper. "Yes. It's about Veldora—the Storm Dragon. He's been sealed. By an unknown human hero. Deep inside a cave in the Jura Forest."
A sudden pause.
Yujiro gave a low chuckle without even looking up. "That reckless lizard? That'll teach him."
Carrion blinked, startled. "You… know him?"
Milim jumped in, excitedly waving a drumstick. "Oh yeah! Yujiro's beaten Veldora before!!"
Carrion's eyes widened. He turned to Frey, silently asking for confirmation.
Frey sighed and shook her head. "It's true. He's defeated Veldora. And Guy Crimson. And Velzard. And Luminous."
Carrion's jaw slowly dropped.
Middray, leaning in with a devilish smirk, added, "He even beat Lady Milim and Lady Frey. Same style. No magic. No skills. Just pressure points, speed, and sheer, brute dominance."
Carrion couldn't believe what he was hearing. Each name struck him harder than the last. Guy Crimson—the Primordial of Red and the strongest demon lord, Velzard—the White Ice Dragon. Luminous—the Queen of Night. Milim Nava—the daughter of a True Dragon.
All beaten... by this man.
"No magic... no aura?" Carrion whispered. "Just martial arts?"
Milim nodded. "Yup! Crazy pressure point stuff! I couldn't move for two hours after our fight. He even knocked me out with one finger!"
Frey blushed slightly and added, "I didn't even know my body had that many pressure points..."
Carrion slowly stood up.
His legs trembled slightly. Not from injury—but from realization.
He walked over to Yujiro, whose gaze remained locked on his plate.
Carrion extended his hand.
"I can tell when someone's stronger than me," he said, his voice steady. "And I know when I've been bested. Let's forget what happened today… and start again."
Yujiro looked at the hand.
Then at Carrion.
He smirked.
"Very well," he said, gripping Carrion's hand. "As long as you know your place."
Carrion didn't flinch. He just nodded. "Loud and clear."
The hall burst into cheers and laughter again.
Milim clapped. "Alright! Now that everyone's friends again, let's eat!"
As the laughter grew and drinks were raised, Yujiro glanced at Carrion one last time. In his eyes: a flicker of acknowledgment.
And in Carrion's?
Respect. Maybe even... gratitude.
The laughter and clinking of glasses echoed through the grand living quarters of the Tempest estate. The long dining table was lavishly packed with sizzling dishes, freshly roasted meats, exotic fruits, steaming rice platters, and bottles of aged elven wine and dwarven ale. Flames from enchanted chandeliers flickered overhead, casting golden hues across the room, dancing over the silverware and sparkling off the eyes of everyone present.
Carrion, though still sore and mentally reeling from the earlier humiliation, found himself enjoying the warmth of company. Milim's loud laughter, Frey's elegance, Middray's smug grin, and Yujiro's looming, silent dominance all painted a surreal picture of a strange yet powerful family dinner. The mood had shifted—there was camaraderie now. Battle scars had opened the door to respect.
Carrion leaned slightly forward, sipping from a crystal glass filled with cool sapphire wine, its flavor smooth and slightly tart. He looked at Yujiro, who was devouring a whole slab of grilled dire-beast ribs, hands greasy, face unmoved by anything but the flavors in his mouth.
With a low breath, Carrion said, "Yujiro…"
Yujiro didn't respond immediately. He bit through a bone, then slowly turned his eyes toward Carrion—eyes that still glimmered with a predator's instinct.
"If you ever feel like… visiting Eurazania," Carrion said, choosing his words carefully, "perhaps to train my warriors… or give me a few more bruises, you're welcome. My kingdom can use your kind of discipline."
Milim blinked in surprise and gave Carrion a huge grin. "Oh? That's the spirit!"
Yujiro chewed slowly, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make Carrion wonder if he'd said something wrong.
Then, finally, Yujiro smirked. "I shall think about it."
Carrion exhaled with relief. A subtle nod passed between them. Not quite friendship—but recognition.
The room continued to hum with life as stories flowed. Milim bragged about her battles, Middray tossed in exaggerated retellings, and Frey occasionally brought everyone back to sanity. But outside the walls of Tempest, beyond the feasts and laughter…
Deep in the Jura Forest…
Moonlight filtered through thick trees like liquid silver. The ancient forest whispered in the language of rustling leaves and distant howls. In its heart, hidden behind a waterfall cascading over black stone, was a cave older than kingdoms. Inside, a divine pressure lingered.
Heavy. Oppressive. Silent.
There, bound by fate and a hero's forbidden magic, lay the Storm Dragon—Veldora.
Massive and coiled, his long draconic body shimmered slightly under the dim blue glow of arcane sigils etched into the walls. The seal pulsed faintly, a magical rhythm like a sleeping heart. Every breath he took caused the runes to ripple like disturbed water.
Veldora's golden eyes were open but dulled by centuries of solitude.
He let out a low grumble, the vibrations of his voice causing small pebbles to roll across the cavern floor.
"Another day… of nothing," he muttered in his deep, godlike voice.
He moved slightly, but the magical barrier. He growled and then relaxed.
"Hmph. Can't even stretch my wings. This is torture…"
He peered through the energy barrier sealing him in. His senses were dulled. He couldn't feel the outside world clearly—just glimpses of time, fragments of changes in mana in the air.
"What's even going on out there…? All those newcomers. So much power… I can smell chaos…"