On this Midsummer evening, in the 11th year of His Majesty King Philip the IV’s reign, in Helena’s name, I, Darcy Stoutfist, your humble servant and Magistrate of Lakeridge, greet you.

  Your Majesty, I once again find myself writing to you, imploring for aid. As of late, our fair town of Lakeridge has been beset by countless trials and tribulations. As I have written in the past, our defenses are minimal, relying heavily on the safety of the water for much of our protection, which, even now, comes under scrutiny after a gigantic wave rose from the depths out of the blue, seeking to destroy our home. We need more soldiers, your Majesty, I beg you. We cannot rely on the kindness of adventurers forever, for we both know they hold more allegiance to the guild than any crown, long may yours last, and they are as fickle as they are flighty. The sudden blizzard has passed, in thanks partly to said adventurers, who offer nothing to us save paltry trinkets, with which they demand much in return. We cannot count on them to protect the fleets that we rely on for the majority of our food, which has become a staple in trade with those to the east.

  And speaking of food, I must now begin in earnest to describe the newest threat to our lands: Food Terror. An unknown assailant has crept into our town, and despite the best efforts of myself and my staff, we’ve been unable to rout the interloper from our streets. They assault our senses! Lay siege to our stomachs! They taunt our noses and our tongues with a feast we cannot taste! Such brazen disrespect for authority is an outrage, and affront directly to the royal-

  ?

  Moeldywn closed her weary eyes.

  “Food Terror”.

  Moeldywn could already imagine it: something so delicious that it made the dwarf furious because she couldn’t eat it right this very second. How absurd.

  This was not the only report she read today that had been skimmed through or passed over by the kingdom’s aides and advisors. She doubted they reached the king’s eyes at all. In the case of the last one, though, Moeldywn could admit that the dismissal was warranted.

  Darcy Stoutfist had cried [Wolf] one too many times. Now, no matter how valid her concerns, King Philip the IVth, her grandson and current king of Eutevor, would never take her seriously.

  To be honest, Moeldywn was having trouble taking her seriously right now, too. Not because she didn’t believe what she was reading, but because she could see deeper into the situation than the Lakeridge Magistrate, and she found it infinitely more amusing than alarming. In fact, she saw a little bit of poetic justice, or perhaps some beautiful karmic reversal. It was nice seeing somebody else on the receiving end of that damn, silly dragon’s outrageous whims. What was the word the ancient heroes often used?

  Schadenfreude.

  Moeldywn knew herself well enough to admit she took a little bit of pleasure from other people experiencing her own pain. She pushed the report aside, all of its secrets spent, no longer of any value.

  They were not entirely worthless.

  Her network was assembling a working map of the dragon’s movements, and this practically confirmed her presence in Lakeridge. It was a pity the revelation asked more questions than it answered.

  Some were easy to speculate on. Such as the obvious question: why Lakeridge?

  To those who knew, there was an obvious answer. The Obsidian Mansion, Meliastraza’s private residence, was hidden in those mountains between Serenity Forest and the Sienna Ranges. Very few people were privy to that information, as the last fools who used it inevitably perished when they brazenly attacked the dragon for her treasure. That was the end of the Age of Upheaval, in more ways than one.

  Moeldywn knew of other motives.

  Her network informed her that Meliastraza most likely attached herself to a rag-tag group of adventurers. A [Paladin], a [Hunter], a [Mage], and an [Alchemist], if the reports were to be believed.

  Why? To what end?

  The initial profiles she received of the individuals indicated that none of them were exemplary. Neither did they have any connection to any other heroes of old.

  The [Paladin] came from a modest but pious home of bricklayers. The youngest son did not wish for the life of a [Mason], and he left the nest with his parents’ blessing.

  The [Hunter] was perhaps as opposite as opposites could be. The eldest of 9 siblings, her mother was a [Barmaid] and her father a [Woodcutter]. Respectable, simple folk, working to put bread on the table.

  The [Mage] was the daughter of Count Barnes, which made Moeldywn raise a brow. Her first thought was that the young girl was running away from familial responsibilities, but she was informed that she was not being pressured to wed a suitor and that her family had given their blessing. On top of that, she was studying magic at not just any academy, but Arcanus Scholastia.

  The [Alchemist] was a bit of an enigma, since she was not born a resident of her kingdom. Moeldywn’s collectors needed to travel further afield to hear anything intriguing. Sadly, it was more of the same. She ran away from home, not to escape a troublesome situation or inconvenient relationship, but because there was simply no avenue for her to pursue her dreams. [Alchemists] were not exactly a copper a couple in the Republic, but they had more than their fair share. Enough for it to become a difficult field to break into unless you were born into one of the families, which this catkin apparently was not.

  What did Meliastraza see in them? Was it the same thing that the dragon saw in her, so many years ago? Did she simply have a thing for latching onto lost souls wandering the world without direction?

  That would at least explain why she took them under her metaphorical wing.

  …literal wing?

  Perhaps Moeldywn needed to re-evaluate “the shadow” Magistrate Stoutfist warned them of, which the king’s advisors dismissed.

  It would not explain why Meliastraza reappeared now. The world as it currently stood was not nearly as encumbered by overpowered idiots as it once was; the gods would not wield their weapon so brazenly.

  Or would they? Moeldywn was no [Priest], and she rarely attended services beyond what was expected of her. They already taxed her coffers; they had no right to tax her time as well.

  But Moeldywn’s mind was drawn to the appearance of some [Frost Giants]…and their just as sudden disappearance.

  She connected the dots and drew a suspiciously dragon-shaped line.

  …maybe she would attend a service at the Bastion over the weekend. A few prayers would not go amiss if the gods really did recall Meliastraza as the Destroyer.

  But what would the dragon be doing in Lakeridge? That floating town had nothing to offer someone like her; she wouldn’t even fit inside its streets to block all their post offices.

  And then a detail from the Magistrate’s letter made her bark out a laugh. Food. Of course, the dragon was obsessed with food. And it sounded like she decided to host an impromptu cookout.

  Moeldywn’s mouth began to water, and she hastily raised a dainty hand to her lips to check for drool. It had been many, many years since she had sampled Meliastraza’s cuisine, and nothing in the capital compared. Not even the dragon’s protégé. The thought of those young adventurers stuffing themselves silly, not fully comprehending exactly what they had going on was both hilarious and maddening. But when Moeldywn thought of the, what had the Magistrate said? Food terrorist. That was it. When Moeldywn thought of the food terrorist, she could not stop the massive grin that broke out across her face.

  And the best part was, Meliastraza had absolutely no idea what sort of fresh hell she unleashed upon those poor, miserable citizens. On this, Moeldywn would stake her biggest wager.

  She probably wouldn’t bet her life, but she’d easily risk a significant fraction of her fortune against how well she knew the dragon.

  Which, sadly, was probably the only thing keeping Moeldywn from rushing out the door to confront her on why she hadn’t stopped by to say hello.

  Meliastraza was painfully oblivious.

  What she did not know, she did not know.

  And would never occur to her.

  Moeldywn was not afraid of being forgotten, though on occasion a tiny thought would worm into her mind, whispering doubts and stoking jealousy. She knew their reunion was inevitable and it would be…probably not glorious, if she was honest. But it would certainly be amusing. She was still plotting all the ways she could elicit a reaction out of the gnome. Meliastraza was fun to tease in just the right way because of all the different expressions she could make.

  Her recent obsession with finding the dragon put Moeldywn in a very nostalgic mood. She pushed her chair back and stretched her arms high above her head, listening to the satisfying sound of stiff joints popping.

  “My lady,” an attendant said softly, stepping near to the side of her desk, “You’ve been at your desk for nearly 10 hours. Perhaps it’s time for a stretch?”

  If the attendant seemed slightly patronizing, she should be forgiven, since it was mostly an optical illusion due to Moeldywn’s young appearance. She didn’t mind; in fact, she encouraged her attendants to bring her such reminders. Otherwise, she would forget she was mostly mortal and do something silly, like work through an entire day, and then she’d have gigantic bags under her eyes for days.

  She already had troubles being taken seriously with people who didn’t know who she was, and constantly correcting pompous strangers was bothersome.

  “A short walk, then,” Moeldywn replied. Another two maids appeared out of thin air to “escort” her from a discreet distance. They were her normal attendants today; the dragon’s [Retainers] were busy elsewhere. While clearly a step down, her [Maids] were not subpar in the least, having many levels in protective classes, which, despite being a requirement for those in her service, was not the norm for domestic staff. They did serve a very passable set of tea and scones when the situation called for it.

  Moeldywn’s nostalgic mood guided her feet away from distant parts of the castle. She had more than enough space in her private quarters that it should probably be called less of a wing and more of an entire palace on its own. She found herself standing in an out-of-the-way terrace, one she hadn’t really used for years, as it was small and inconvenient for entertaining guests. The view was astonishing, though, having been built along the edge of the castle bordering the cliff, and it had a very small garden, little more than a lawn with a single manicured tree, where she could watch the waves of the ocean as they rolled in from the distance.

  This was, perhaps, the most fateful room in all of her kingdom.

  The Royal Court, with its audience chambers, hearing rooms, and other places designed to house delegates of foreign powers and built to massage the fragile egos of self-important nobles, paled in comparison. They were grand, filled with the finest furniture and decor the greatest craftsmen in the lands could create. Elaborate, embroidery-filled, majestic tapestries and masterpieces painted by legendary artisans filled the walls, while sculptures so beautiful, with such attention to detail, stood on countless plinths, threatening to come to life and walk down the halls they adorned.

  Yet none of that compared to the half-forgotten space connecting two separate sections of the castle, barely two dozen paces across and half that wide. The patch of lawn, the small tree, and a simple wrought iron table with two rather uncomfortable chairs, built to withstand the weather more than provide cushioning, had done more for her kingdom than perhaps her entire treasury.

  It was here she first met the dragon.

  Of course, back then, when Moeldywn was truly small, innocent, and naive, she knew nothing of such things. She was a fourth princess, placed as far out of the way as could still be deemed acceptable, ready to be called upon for some political marriage to some foreign power. She did not need, nor was she given, proper quarters for entertaining important guests. If anything, her furnishings were made even more crude after her father realized her request to invite adventurers into the castle was not made in jest. Uncouth and unclean, he did not want them walking off with the kingdom’s finery as they regaled his spoiled daughter with outlandish tales of fantasy.

  It was also the case that the dragon did not appear first in her real form. True, Moeldywn did not know what her younger self would have done if she were presented, face to face, with a real-life dragon. The ambassadors in her father's court seldom showed their true forms, even if it was known who they were, so Moeldywn was left wondering who “the important people with the strange eyes” were.

  Those were the days before peace with demonkind.

  Moeldywn always had an insatiable curiosity and fondness for strange, unusual, or bizarre critters and creatures. Even now, so much later in life, she was famous for it. In her youth, she was overjoyed to be visited by a gnome, rare as they were, when nearly every adventurer to visit her had been human.

  Meliastraza had not been the first visitor, either.

  Looking back, Moeldywn couldn’t tell if the delay in her first visits was due to the dragon being cautious or simply unaware. In the past, Moeldywn amused herself by imagining a flabbergasted Meliastraza, unable to comprehend a perfectly good princess, just sitting there, ripe for the taking, and deciding she needed months to investigate. An offer like that was surely too good to be true.

  And really, it was.

  It would not become relevant for years to come, but those early days were instrumental in forging the bonds that gave her the strength to overcome oppression, survive attacks, and ultimately carry on the Eutevor bloodline when it seemed certain to be lost. At one point, she was the only surviving member of the family capable of producing an heir…and she did. Now, once more, they were thriving…when looked at in a certain light.

  Moeldywn did not wish to dwell on the politics and drama of her grandson’s court. Most of her direct family no longer truly understood what she was. She was resented and hated by many of her grandchildren, now growing older, looking older, while she remained relatively unchanged. She was often introduced to her great-grandchildren as “auntie,” if at all. She had a few descendants who were close, but across the dozen or so families now sharing her blood, courtesy was not the norm.

  Moeldywn wondered what her great-granddaughter, a young girl not much older than she had been, would do if she had met the dragon. It was rare, but she saw a bit of herself in several of her relatives. Her curious and adventurous spirit had not been contained.

  Moeldywn thought back to those early days. Had she really demanded gifts from visiting adventurers for the privilege of speaking with a princess? The mature woman she was now held back a chuckle. She really had been a brat, hadn’t she? And then she had the audacity to bribe them with cheap tea and bland crumpets.

  To be fair, it wasn’t like the treats were actually hers; they came from her father. Any slight from her, a child of nine summers, really would have been seen as a slight from her father…the king. But one person did not seem to care in the slightest, a warning sign those around the young princess should have picked up on.

  And the gnome had no reservations whatsoever when it came to lavishing her with gifts.

  Moeldywn left the small courtyard and entered a nearby room. Originally, it had been a storage room, and technically, a storage room it remained. But to look into it now, one would think they stepped into a museum of fine art, or perhaps a gallery of rare and priceless collectibles.

  Teddy bears.

  The room was stuffed with teddy bears. It was not a small room, either, originally designed to serve several halls, though in later years it was remodeled for a single purpose. Housing and showcasing her collection of genuine Melii Bears.

  What would Meliastraza think if she found out all those gifts she had given on every visit had turned into their own cultural phenomena?

  And once again, it was unlikely that the world at large would ever associate something so cute, adorable, and precious as even a single one of these bears with the Destroyer of Worlds. The dragon had made them under one of her many, many aliases, an enigmatic [Tailor] named “Melii”. It was so easy to connect the dots once the secret was spoiled, but nobody knew that the mythical craftsman, shrouded in mystery, and the horrifying dragon were one and the same.

  Moeldywn walked to the closest bear and admired the beauty of its simplicity.

  ?

  [Brown Teddy Bear]

  ?

  Quality: 5 stars

  Level: 0

  Rarity: Common

  ?

  Decoration: a cream colored teddy bear with black eyes.

  ?

  Made by: Melii

  ?

  It was the last line of that simple description that made this piece truly priceless, as Meliastraza left no other maker’s mark when creating her masterpieces.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  In her youth, during her reign, and for many years afterward, Moeldywn had all these bears on display. They were certainly impressive, and she wanted to share her wealth with her kingdom as a whole. Each bear was as unique as it was so wonderfully crafted; Meliastraza had spared no expense in crafting these gifts to her princess. They were made with the finest materials, the softest fabrics, and the most durable threads. Royal [Appraisers] had valued the materials to craft a single bear in the hundreds of gold alone. And that wasn’t the most impressive part.

  Each bear was approximately 6 feet tall.

  Why on Ebonvale had the gnome decided to make the bears life-sized?

  Granted, little Moeldywn had been absolutely over the moon to smother herself in a giant teddy’s embrace. Sometimes, current Moeldywn wished she could lose herself inside them, too.

  And Meliastraza had given her thousands of them.

  Now, very few of the countless duplicates that had been made over the years ever came close to the same quality, and certainly never the same size.

  But miniature ones were popular, and it was something of an open secret that the crafting magnates who controlled the bear market released more of one type than another to drive up scarcity.

  …why did everything have to come back to politics? Moeldywn sighed and figured she had stretched her legs enough.

  ?

  When she returned to her office, she found a messenger waiting.

  “Your highness, you have a visitor. A high-level adventurer is insisting on seeing you, but we weren’t entirely sure of your schedule. We’ve seated him in a drawing room for the moment until we can confirm with you.”

  At first, Moeldywn’s pulse spiked. Had Meliastraza come for her? But then her rational mind caught up.

  Meliastraza was most certainly not a “he”, and she would never introduce herself as a high-level adventurer. She’d certainly leave that tiny tidbit for others to discover on their own.

  “Very well,” Moeldywn nodded. “Give me a moment to freshen up.”

  She waited until the messenger confirmed that he understood her orders before she stealthily sniffed at her shoulder.

  …armpits were armpits, royalty or no. To her knowledge (and regret), there was no high-level skill designed solely for removing body odor. She had been walking, and the summer’s sun was not kind, making the heat unbearable even in the shade. Thankfully, the enchantments she installed in all her quarters were quite effective at cooling her down, even if they were exorbitantly expensive to run. But thinking about various mana gems led her to consider their import costs and viable trade routes, which was work. Moeldywn was already failing to avoid her current workload; she didn’t need to add more.

  “Who is this visitor?” she eventually asked. “Why should I see him?”

  It wasn’t Moeldywn’s policy to send everyone away, but she did not need to entertain every random citizen who came to call. That being said, if somebody was well-informed enough to know how to find her, they were usually worth hearing out. One of her attendants stepped forward and handed her a small portfolio.

  “Sable Lane…?” Moeldywn muttered. One of the benefits of running the kingdom’s intelligence was that her attendants were exceptionally competent and thorough. Lane was a highly decorated adventurer, and her folder contained every piece of information available from the guild. Both the good…and the bad. Moeldywn read the short file quickly and her brow wrinkled with distaste. She glanced at a nearby clock and made her decision.

  “Tell Mr. Lane that I will see him in 30 minutes. Allow him use of the facilities if he should need to make himself presentable, or he may return in time for his appointment. That is all.”

  The attendant bowed and left the room. Moeldywn sighed and walked to a nearby full-sized mirror. The reflection of a young woman in the flower of her youth stared back at her.

  She was old, even if she didn’t look like it. She didn’t have the patience or the mindset of a frail teenager. Her etiquette lessons from nearly a century ago did not really apply to her anymore, and if they did, she was the exception, not the rule. She did not need to make herself presentable. People came to see her, not the other way around.

  That didn’t mean she wanted to be sloppy, as first impressions mattered, even for her. Especially for her, if she wanted to be taken seriously without resorting to fearmongering and using her considerable power to influence those around her. Unless she put in the effort, all people would see was an inexperienced teen who was far out of her depth.

  But she didn’t want to change dresses, or rather, putting on a new full-sized gown would be time-consuming and probably run over the 30 minutes she allowed herself before this unexpected meeting. Her current outfit was fitting for her work as Royal Spymaster, and even if she wouldn’t be caught dead with it when sitting on the throne, it was presentable enough to give a presentation before an assembly.

  It was a silver dress that complemented her platinum hair and highlighted her cold blue eyes. The silk was thin and breathable, with subdued damask patterning and a moderate bust. The corset was cinched but not overly tight, giving her some flexibility while preserving a sense of maturity. Moeldywn lifted a hand to her hair, which was somewhat messy from her earlier expedition, but before she had a chance to call out, one of her attendants rushed forward to help pin it into an elaborate updo.

  She took nearly the entire 30 minutes adorning her “regal face” which she always tried to present to the public, lest she be mistaken for one of her own great-grandchildren. Just as she was seating herself behind her desk, a knock from the door resounded throughout the room, and she motioned for it to be opened.

  “Enter,” she called in her lazy, unaffected voice, something that took decades of practice to master. In walked Sable Lane, and though she knew this already from his dossier, Moeldywn cast [Identify].

  ?

  [Sable Lane]

  ?

  Level: 818

  Class: Dragoon

  Title: Giant Slayer

  ?

  Sable took 5 confident steps into her office on his long, slender legs…and tossed a large, messy bundle roughly onto the floor in front of him, which quickly resolved into a much smaller, weaker-looking man that appeared decidedly worse for wear.

  …thankfully, her dress was quite skillfully [Tailored] and was of [Superior] quality, with the stats to match. And besides, if somebody was foolish enough to attack her, she was level 1372. She could fend for herself.

  “I see we have not one, but two visitors,” Moeldywn idly remarked. Though she said it with the same bored tone, it was meant to convey both caution and a threat…as well as subtly remind her staff that she expected more of them. The stillness of the corners of her room shifted slightly at the rebuke, her hidden servants chastising themselves in place of their master.

  “I apologize for my rudeness, your majesty," Sable began bluntly, “But it was imperative that I speak with you as soon as possible.”

  Moeldywn took his fiery eyes with cold ones of her own. She held his gaze, unflinching, as she sat in silence, contemplating his words.

  He was not actually sorry, nor did his tone suggest that he ever would be. However, he was clearly making an attempt to politely address somebody who he felt at least deserved a modicum of respect, if his awkward wording that stumbled blindly from “noble court” to “back alley” was anything to go by. Moeldywn was more intrigued than she was upset, something that could not be said for many nobles being addressed by commoners.

  But he had not answered the unasked question.

  “The title is ‘your highness’,” she casually remarked. It was hard for people who didn’t mingle in upper-crust society to understand the difference; she understood that, but she was not looking to undermine the crown. “And tell me, who is your guest?”

  Sable snorted while the man struggled at his side. Moeldywn’s curiosity only rose as she noticed for the first time that the second man was being restrained.

  “Not a guest, your highness,” Sable said sharply, “And he’s the reason I’m here.”

  Moeldywn gave the man a second, closer look.

  ?

  [Adventurer]

  ?

  Level: 523

  Class: Thief

  ?

  Two things stood out to Moeldywn, both related to the man’s class. Contrary to what people believed before they received such classes, things like [Thief] and [Assassin] were not illegal. Simply having a class didn’t put one on the wrong side of the law, but what they did with it mattered. Of less immediate importance but equally interesting to Moeldywn was the man’s name. The lack thereof told her he had some sort of subterfuge skill masking his identity from the masses. She was powerful enough to see his class through the deception, but the system did not deem it necessary to give his name.

  However, neither informed her directly of why this man was lying in a heap on her office floor.

  The [Thief] was wearing subtle leather armor designed to blend in with a working man’s everyday clothes, which spoke to a person of means, as those would have been more expensive than simple workwear or basic equipment. They obviously hadn’t done the job, as they were torn, scuffed, and ripped in places that suggested he hadn’t simply found himself outmatched. His body was also filthy and covered in bruises, so either this man was a transient who had fallen into hard times, or he was beaten. Severely. Moeldywn cast her eyes back to Sable, silently demanding an answer.

  Sable shifted, his cocky, self-sure attitude faltering under her unflinching gaze.

  “Your highness, I think it best if…no. Ah, if it seems reasonable to you, maybe…I’ll be honest, I don’t know exactly how to begin.”

  “Try by starting with being blunt,” Moeldywn sighed. “It’s clear you have no practice speaking in cultured circles. I’d rather risk a little rudeness to my face than waste both our time, since you obviously made the effort to seek me out.”

  “Thank you, your highness…what should I call you?”

  “I suppose that depends on why you’re here. What capacity did you hope to find me in? As a gatherer of intelligence? A ruler?” Moeldywn purposefully omitted her title of The White Witch.

  Somebody in a position of power was the obvious intent, but she wanted to hear it from his lips. Especially from a man who had clearly worked hard enough to become one of the more powerful individuals in her kingdom. People above 900 were vanishingly rare these days, though several companies of adventurers existed in Horizon with such members in their ranks.

  “All of the above, I guess,” Sable said, his tone instantly dropping the faux polite cadence and tone. “My thanks, your highness. But, if I had to narrow it down, I would say the Queen Dowager or the Immortal Princess is who I wish to see.”

  A brief twinge of annoyance spiked through Moeldywn as she rose instinctively to her feet. It wasn’t anything personal against the [Dragoon] in front of her, but she did not suffer fools lightly who sought to extend their natural lives without giving due consideration to the ramifications.

  “Let me tell you something, Mr. Lane,” Moeldywn said as she walked fearlessly up to the tall man, who towered over her by more than a head, yet cowered under her icy, undisturbed demeanor.

  “Immortality isn’t all it's cracked up to be. Not when all it gives you is the chance to watch your loved ones grow old and die.”

  Sable visibly gulped and slowly nodded. “Duly noted, your highness,” he said, “But I think I’d rather not die in the next few days, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Moeldywn raised an eyebrow and moved to a small coffee bar to the side, where several refreshments were laid out. She needed something to do with her hands more than she wanted to wet her lips, so she kept her eyes on the two men as she set about pouring herself a cup of long-since-cold coffee.

  “I won’t insult us both,” Sable sighed. Moeldywn didn’t know if the sigh was from him finally getting to the point or from his reluctance not to be an ass. “I’m sure you’re aware of the greater goings-on in the kingdom, on top of all its dirty secrets.”

  The fact that the kingdom had an intelligence network was well known. Most would probably speculate it was located inside the castle, and certain people understood what the “collectors of stories” actually did. Moeldywn’s position as Spymaster was not openly advertised. While not strictly hidden, the fact that Sable Lane, [Dragoon] adventurer, was able to figure it out told her he’d done his homework.

  “Anybody living under a rock could have told you that a dragon appeared in Serenity this month. I’m sure you’ve heard of the so-called ‘attack’ on Abbyton. At the very least, I know you know about what happened later.”

  “Oh?” Moeldywn was intrigued. She did know all of this, but she was curious how Sable found out and why it was relevant. The man in question took a deep breath, as if firming his resolve.

  “I know you bought the scale.”

  That changed things. Asdufah’s Auction House did not disclose the identities of buyers in its hidden auctions. As far as the official records knew, the historic and respected auction house wasn’t involved with the “black market” at all.

  Most people knew the truth.

  Moeldywn regarded Sable coolly, debating on what she should do with such information. The man was better connected than she thought, but in the end, there wasn’t anything she could do. Not if she wanted to uphold the laws, many of which she herself put in place.

  “And this piece of trash was the one who sold it.”

  Moeldywn’s eyes slid from the tall [Dragoon] to the man still lying on the floor. Normally, she would be a more gracious host to her visitors, and at the very least, she should have removed the man's bindings and the gag stuffed into his mouth. Perhaps it was a lapse of judgment that stayed her hand, or else her Spymaster’s sense that this meeting was anything but normal. Now, she was glad she left him on the floor.

  “That is…interesting," Moeldywn said at last. “But it doesn’t tell me two important things. What are you really asking for, and why should I care?”

  “I’m getting to that,” Sable said, licking his lips. It was an interesting reflex, Moeldywn noted. He’d done it several times in the small space of time since he’d entered her office. Perhaps he was simply in need of some effective lip balm, but something told her that wasn’t right. The other times he’d done so was when his captive squirmed, and she could see a hunger in his eyes, a barely disguised lust. For what…she didn’t want to think about. His file from the guild warned of certain…personality defects. The man reveled in the pain of others. This time was different. His eyes widened imperceptibly with a tinge of fear. He was scared of something, something primal.

  “That dragon scale you bought, the one this idiot sold…it wasn’t his to sell. He stole it from a bunch of kids.”

  Again, there wasn’t much Moeldywn could do about that. Most of the objects that went up for sale on the black market were illegal goods, and at least a third of them were stolen. There were several reasons it was allowed to continue operating unmolested. Better for her to keep her eyes on it than let the real garbage flowing through her city come in unseen through other means. As per the agreement with Asdufa’s House, there was nothing she could do. If she started prosecuting every common thief who put up the first stolen item their greedy hands came across, she’d have her dungeons filled and half the nobility demanding reparations for past grievances of stolen goods.

  However…she really didn’t like how Sable had brought up “kids”. She was piecing the puzzle together, and it left a pit forming in her stomach.

  “And they’re not even important,” Sable scoffed, his voice rising in pitch as his face took on a manic, almost desperate look. “Except for the fact that the gods-damned dragon the scale came from knows it happened.”

  Moeldywn’s eyebrows shot through the roof, but the [Dragoon] wasn’t finished. It was clear he was wrestling with some inner demons, and he wasn’t going to stop until he spoke his piece.

  “She’s in disguise, this dragon. I don’t have proof, you never have proof with those damn monsters, and you never know they’re hiding right next to you until it’s too late. Far too late…too late for me…ha…haha…haaa.”

  “Mr. Lane, perhaps you should sit down,” Moeldywn cautioned. “Perhaps a drink of water…?”

  “No!” he barked, but that did seem to bring him back to his senses. “...your highness. Thank you, but no. This dragon in disguise…she’s going around, masquerading as a gnome. A ‘high-level’ [Dancer]. Bullshit. I know a [Warrior]’s skills when I see them.”

  Moeldywn could excuse the lack of propriety because the man seemed to finally be getting to the point. Besides, she did tell him to speak bluntly.

  “You asked what I want?” he said with a crooked smile. “I don’t want to die. And I know that dragon thinks that I’m the one who stole her scale.”

  “Reasonable,” Moeldywn nodded. “But I’m not sure what-”

  “You’re the Queen Dowager,” Sable pleaded. “The Immortal Princess. The White Witch. I’m not asking you to stop that monster from coming after me. I don’t think anybody can, not even you. But surely you have connections. Know the draconic ambassadors? They’re supposed to be civilized! Don’t they have laws? I don’t want to wake up one morning and find myself as a dragon’s breakfast!”

  Moeldywn watched the man before her slowly break down into a nervous wreck, his eyes darting from the corners of the room to the shadows beneath her desk, as if a dragon might suddenly spring forth from the depths to swallow him whole. Despite her better judgment, she found she pitied the man. If only because he gave her something incredibly valuable, though she doubted sincerely he knew he did.

  She finally had a witness. A firsthand account that the dragon had returned. Only one dragon in the history of time met all of those requirements. A [Dancer]. A [Warrior]. High enough level to obliterate a level 1000 monster in a single attack. Attaching herself to random children as if they were more valuable than gold. Cooking obscenities in alleyways.

  And most of all…she was a gnome.

  With this, her remaining doubts were finally erased, and it was only a matter of time before they met again.

  For that alone, she felt the man deserved a reward, unwitting as he was.

  “They do have laws,” she eventually said. She would help the [Dragoon], but she didn’t want to make it easy on him. He was still incredibly rude, crass, and had obviously tortured a man and dragged him into a meeting with what was ostensibly the Kingdom’s highest power, looking to exchange one life for his own.

  “As it so happens, we have been monitoring the appearance of this particular dragon,” she said as if discussing the weather. “I won’t go into details. Know simply that you will be safe from any reprisal.” Moeldywn paused. “She will come here eventually. I could arrange a promise from her own lips, if you desire.”

  Sable barked a harsh, raspy laugh.

  “I’m a sadist, your highness. Not suicidal.”

  No, Moeldywn shuddered, she would do this small thing for the man and nothing else. Wanting no further interaction with the adventurer, she turned her attention to the [Thief] on the floor.

  “Untie him.”

  Sable blinked a few times, because Moeldywn had not addressed him. He swore loudly as two gigantic [Retainers] materialized right next to him, one to his left and one to his right. A third was already kneeling down, helping the [Thief] to sit up. He’d never even known they were there. Moeldywn was about to ask the man for his name, but as soon as the cloth was removed from his mouth, he cried out.

  “I didn’t do nothin’!” he spat. Physically spat, as a small globule of errant liquid splattered against Moeldywn’s clothes.

  …she found she didn’t really care to find out his name, after all. She’d need to confirm his story and his possible innocence. But she could do that later, from the safety of her tower while he rotted away in a dungeon cell.

  “I see you have elected the path of most resistance,” she sighed. “Pick him up. Take him downstairs.”

  Layalee did so, quite literally. She picked him up like a sack of potatoes and tossed him over her shoulder. As she turned around, the man flailed wildly, desperately trying to resist.

  …against a level 1400 [Retainer] personally trained in [Warrior] arts by the [Destroyer of Worlds] herself? Not a chance in any frozen hell. The number of people who knew those [Retainers]’ true levels could be counted on one hand. She certainly wasn’t going to tell

  “And what about him? Bloody psychopath, he is?!” the man yelled as he inevitably reached the door.

  “No longer any of your concern,” Moeldywn sighed. “Besides, you could say I’m doing you a favor. Keeping you safe. Sable here really did get one thing right: you messed up tremendously when you stole that scale. If she found out it was you? There wouldn’t be a body. There wouldn’t even be any remains if she gobbled you up and shit you out. She’d incinerate you, not even any ashes would be left. Think of that, if you will.”

  The man went rigid on Layalee’s shoulder before eventually falling limp. She could hear gentle sobbing as the man disappeared from sight.

  Moeldywn wasn’t actually sure what Meliastraza would do. She’d never actually seen the dragon angry, but she heard stories of what happened to the disgraced heroes who coveted her hoard and attacked her in her home. She shook her head.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Sable. He was licking his lips again, staring at the retreating form of a maid and prisoner.

  And he wasn’t staring at the maid. Moeldywn repressed a shudder.

  “Mr. Lane,” she said, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. “You have my word. In this specific instance, from this specific dragon, you have nothing to fear. Let it be a lesson to you never to steal from somebody more powerful than you. Are you satisfied?”

  “As much as a man like me can be,” he grunted. “I’ve got that nasty feeling in my gut that we’ll cross paths again, that dragon and I. You know the one, I take it? You don’t reach our level without feeling it once or twice. When it hits, you listen. It did, so I came straight here. Your highness, my eternal thanks.”

  “I think, Mr. Lane, all the thanks I need from you is assurance that this doesn’t happen again. I hope, for both our sakes, that our paths don’t ever cross. Please see yourself out.”

  The [Dragoon] dipped his head and left without another word.

  Moeldywn sat down behind her desk, feeling all the tiredness of her century-long life. Those poor children. They didn’t deserve to get caught up in a whimsical dragon’s flight of fancy. But, since they had, they would emerge all the more powerful for it...if they survived.

  Moeldywn found herself smiling gently as she thought of the young adventurers. Perhaps she had just gained some more extended family herself. After all, Meliastraza tended to leave her mark on the things she cared about. Yes, in time, should they manifest titles of their own, they would discover them, and she’d seek them out.

  She glanced at a paper slightly hidden underneath an inkwell and an account ledger. It seemed laughable that only a few hours ago, she was gloating over Magistrate Stoutfist’s newest complaint.

  Joke’s on you, Moeldywn thought. “Food terrorist.” Deal with it for another day.

  Discord

  Patreon - 10 chapters ahead