Walking through the forest, finally alone, Oathran took a long, sorrowful breath.
He looked down at his still-intact left hand, clenching and unclenching it. Then his gaze fell to his torn right arm. Seeing his own reflection on the river's surface had been a brutal reality check.
Oathran knew he had always been a monster. The terrifying kind whose mere presence made the forest's critters burrow into the ground and the very trees tremble in fear.
Now he wasn't just a monster. He was an ugly monster.
A mangled cheek and jaw… a torn arm, a broken leg, not even intact horns.
He had a hunch Cecilia was avoiding asking what happened to him. Perhaps out of pity.
Pathetic.
Rubbing the center of his chest, he felt the bond with her, her name etched into his very soul.
Such a good woman…
No! She was just a little girl seventeen years ago!
"GRH!"
CRASH! CRACKLE—
Oathran's face grew paler as he slammed his forehead into a nearby tree, splintering the trunk in two.
"A vile old beast you are, Oathran!" he snarled at himself.
Shameless!
Why would the gods answer his dying wish, the whim of wanting to bond with a good, talented lady like her? He had been ready to die! Why become so pathetic in his final moments?!
Well, yes, he would be considered young for a dragon, but he was still ancient for her. Twenty-five years… she had barely lived. He never understood how other beasts his age could take young human ladies as their brides, though he supposed the logic was there… to bond with them while they were still in their prime.
After bonding with a human, a beast could extend their mate's life to match their own.
A dragon's life expectancy stretched for three, four thousand years. The oldest could reach five millennia. And the stronger they were, the longer they could cling to life.
To be bonded with him… that would be a special kind of cruelty for a human. Their minds and souls weren't made to endure for five thousand years. And to be shackled to him on top of that would be a fate worse than the death he had originally sought.
Unless, as he had so jokingly mused last night, it was fate.
Oathran coldly scoffed. Fate? Him?
But at the very least, he could still be of use to her. This divine intervention, saving them both… it had to mean something.
And that something was clear. It means, the news about the emergence of the "real" saintess had to be a lie.
Last night, he was truly about to die. It was strange that when he woke, his wounds no longer festered. Yes, there were still exposed bones and mangled flesh, but there was no pain. He was… fine.
Well, of course he was functionally fine. He was a dragon. These outer wounds could be fixed with enough mana and self-medication. Even the torn bits could be restored in time.
No, what he was talking about was his inner wound. The reason his outer wounds had festered, refusing to regenerate and burning with a constant, searing pain, was because the damage inside was killing him. A rot that no poultice or spell could touch.
This was why he now believed, with every fiber of his being, that Cecilia Araceli was a true Saintess.
She had healed something even a Dragon Lord could not heal himself.
There was a certain point in a dragon's life where they knew their own body better than any other being. A miracle doctor? Dragons were so rare that even the best physician in the world wouldn't have enough experience to cure them. Nor would they live long enough to gain it.
That was how dragons had survived as a long-living species. They evolved to become their own healers, inventing new medicines from mythically rare ingredients, pioneering regenerative magics, and becoming the one superior race that could take a form closest to humans.
But Saintess Cecilia had surpassed all of that.
Somehow.
So, how could anyone dare to call her fake?
Alright, perhaps this 'real' saintess they'd brought in to replace her could see the future. But could she do what Cecilia did?
Not only that, Cecilia was the only human—no, the only person he knew who could live without a heart, and bond without a heart.
Wouldn't that, by definition, make her something closer to a goddess?
Thanks to their bond, she could now extract his magic and continue living. Humans couldn't use magic without a bond to a beast. But never mind her current achievements. Even in the past, without a bond, she had answered a question of his that no one else could.
After that, she had ventured out to become a figure people looked up to, solving both problems of the mind and problems of the heart.
The peace between Werebears and Werefoxes… solving the murder of a human kingdom's Prime Minister… stopping the attack on the Werejaguars' Tribe a full week before it happened…
If people claimed she had no foresight ability, then wouldn't her accomplishments be even more impressive?
"Unfair…" he darkly chuckled to himself. For a woman of such caliber to be born in a human body…
Her human form must have been a cage. A limitation. And now, thanks to 'fate' or whatever this was, she could use his magic… and finally reach her true, unfettered potential.
He floated quickly under the shade of trees, his feet touching the ground only when necessary. His heightened senses caught something half a mile away, and he stopped, blinking once.
His narrowed eyes pinpointed a lone boar. Disgust, mixed with a flicker of regret, painted his half-mangled, still-handsome face. "If I bring you to Saintess Cecilia… she'd actually believe I have a taste for orc meat."
The boar was lucky today.
After wandering a while longer, he found himself at the edge of a large clearing where a herd of elk grazed. These animals had evolved to sense the presence of dangerous beings like him, but not so well that he couldn't mask his aura with a simple breathing exercise and a suppression of his mana. No need to scare them off just yet.
He stopped at the tree line and unhurriedly opened his mouth.
"Hear."
One word, spoken with the weight of his Dragon Tongue, and the elk herd froze mid-movement, turning their heads in unison toward the sound of ultimate authority.
Wild animals might not form complex thoughts, but in the presence of the Dragon Lord, the Lord of the Lords of Beasts, instinct took over. They knew they couldn't outrun him. They knew their only choice was to obey.
"In the name of the God who made me, I, Oathran Alicei, offer you an opportunity," his voice echoed in their minds. "Sacrifice your body to be sustenance for myself and my beloved. In return…"
He stood at the edge of the shade, looking down upon the herd. "Whichever of you dares to step forward, I will grant you the most painless death this world can offer. You will be free from the burden of existence, the worry of growing old, the biting cold, the gnawing hunger, and the fear of illness."
He whispered his compelling promise.
"Come to me."
His left hand reached forward, palm open, calling forth. His cold eyes warmed, a gentle smile gracing his lips.
Then he blinked, his majestic composure faltering for a second as the entire herd began to walk toward him.
"Ahem…" he cleared his throat. "...one. One of you."
It occurred to him that he had never actually gone hunting for food before…