Monsters Wag Their Tails Only at Me

Even while dying, Ordin had worried about Kaldrok’s child.

He had lamented whether there truly was no way to save that child.

But judging from Morpha’s reaction, it seemed they had no desire to hear that suggestion from someone who knew exactly how Ordin had ended up dying.

“So?”

“So what do you mean? There’s a dragon imprisoned in the royal palace. Of course we should save them!”

“A traitor who abandoned their own kind and sided with humans. You may not understand, but betraying one’s own kin is the gravest sin among dragons.”

My lips parted uselessly before closing again, and Morpha pressed the attack sharply.

“Lord Ordin was the wisest and greatest king in Dravergh history. Yet he was ultimately destroyed by the very one he kept by his side his entire life.”

“That’s...”

“No. No reason can justify it. Kaldrok betrayed Dravergh’s trust and tried to sell out his own kin. He is nothing more or less than a traitor to his race.”

It was the first time I had ever seen Morpha this emotional.

Oddly enough, this expression felt stranger than any face they had ever transformed into.

Kaldrok really had betrayed Ordin.

But that had only happened because his child had been taken hostage.

More importantly, Ordin had known Kaldrok’s circumstances. Even while dying by his hand, he had never blamed his fellow dragon.

But none of that was something I could interfere with.

The unwritten laws of dragonkind and what it meant to break them were not matters for a human to meddle in.

My strength drained away, and I released Morpha’s wrist.

Then I stepped back.

“Right. Sorry. This isn’t my place to interfere.”

When I forced out an awkward smile, Morpha let out a long sigh.

Their exhausted face looked especially sharp and sensitive today.

At that moment, Varen stepped forward from beside me. He jerked his head toward Morpha, telling them to follow him.

As I watched the two men leave the tent, I raked a hand through my hair.

Even before the meeting had started, cold tension had hung between Morpha and Varen.

And somehow, I kept getting the feeling the relationship between the two dragons was gradually worsening because of me.

It was the kind of problem that would never produce an answer no matter how much I agonized over it alone.

I roughly scrubbed my face before leaving the tent as well.

“Lord Ceryl.”

Margon was waiting for me outside.

I gave a weak smile and patted his back. Margon awkwardly tugged at the corners of his lips in return.

“There is something I need to tell you.”

“...Haah, right. We do have things to discuss.”

Just like Varen, I also had things I needed to say to my loyal retainer.

Margon and I headed into the forest to escape the chaotic atmosphere.

As we walked over the fresh green grass, I unconsciously frowned and covered one ear.

Margon looked at me worriedly before asking:

“Are you feeling very unwell?”

“Hm? What?”

“Your ears. I heard they’ve become far more sensitive than even a dragon’s.”

“Ah... I’ve gotten a lot more used to it now.”

I tried to act fine, but Margon’s expression only darkened further.

He silently walked along the forest path before finally speaking in a voice thick with restrained emotion.

“Lord Phiren... no, Phiren. I dealt with him myself.”

I already knew that fact.

But hearing it directly from the person involved still made my heart sink heavily.

I stopped walking and looked up at Margon.

Avoiding my gaze, he fixed his eyes on an innocent pebble on the ground instead.

“I carried the bastard deep into the forest while he was unconscious. I could’ve killed him right away, but... after slapping him across the face several times, he woke up.”

“You deliberately woke him?”

“...Yes. I had to.”

Even though he had been the one to bring it up first, Margon looked deeply uneasy.

His eyes wandered aimlessly through the air, and the bearded lower half of his face trembled faintly.

He looked exactly like someone burdened by guilt.

I quietly maintained my silence, drawing out Margon’s confession.

“There was something I absolutely... needed to hear from him. I... I wanted Phiren to apologize. I wanted to see him beg for forgiveness and admit he was wrong... no matter what.”

There had only been a handful of important people in Margon’s life.

To be exact, only two.

Ceryl Aylos, who in childhood had practically been his savior.

And Leibin, the closest friend who had supported him through every hell imaginable.

Both of them had fallen into traps carefully dug by Phiren.

Like a swamp that dragged you deeper the harder you struggled, it had been an inescapable curse.

So to Margon, Phiren was nothing less than a mortal enemy.

His thirst for revenge had been obvious.

“Did Phiren beg you?”

I asked as calmly as possible.

Part of me hoped Margon’s boiling rage had settled at least a little.

But contrary to my expectations, Margon’s fierce eyes rapidly filled with tears.

“Y-yes. He begged me. He... got on his knees and begged desperately.”

“...I see.”

“He begged me to spare him. Said to pretend I hadn’t seen anything just once. Promised that someday he’d reward me with enormous wealth.”

It was a fitting end for Phiren, a man who had dug his own grave blinded by power and greed.

I listened to Margon quietly, my expression bitter.

Margon repeatedly steadied his breathing before forcing out the rest.

His broad chest rose and fell like someone trying to swallow food that was still burning hot.

“Lord Ceryl... he apologized to you too... and Leibin... damn it, that bastard. He couldn’t even remember Leibin’s name. But still... I received an apology for Leibin’s share too. But...”

Margon raised a hand as large as a pot lid and covered his face.

Through the gaps between his fingers, I could see tears streaming down.

“Damn it, fuck... it doesn’t feel satisfying at all. I wanted this so badly, so why... why the hell...”

Margon was being swept away by emotions raging like a storm.

Yet he himself did not understand the name of the thing crushing him.

Slowly, I raised my hand and patted his shoulder.

I stroked down his trembling arm before gently pulling away the hand covering his face.

“Hhk... ngh... damn it... I don’t know why I’m like this... ngh...”

Just touching his skin caused his emotions to flood into me like a tidal wave.

Without realizing it, I lifted both hands and cradled Margon’s head.

Then I gently pressed our foreheads together.

As I closed my eyes and focused on Margon, it felt like I could see directly into the twisted mess inside his mind.

The scene from several days ago repeated endlessly in flashes—Phiren sobbing and begging for his life while Margon drove a blade through his heart.

Old thoughts drifted through the gaps between those scenes.

Most were happy memories shared with Leibin.

Some were dusty memories unearthed again for the first time in years.

I grabbed hold of one black-and-white fragment and sank into it.

It was one page from Margon’s memories more than ten years old.

“What is it that you hold in your hand?”

“A sword.”

Young versions of Margon and Leibin appeared before me, still too young to grow beards.

Standing before them was a thin man with glasses and a small frame.

The man looked strict at a glance. With his hands clasped behind his back, he paced in place while repeatedly questioning the boys before him.

“What is a sword?”

“A sword is... for cutting.”

“You idiot.”

The man smacked the blond fool on the forehead.

Leaving Leibin clutching the top of his head and groaning, he turned toward Margon this time.

“Margon. You answer.”

“Umm, a sword is...”

After seeing his friend harshly scolded, young Margon rolled his eyes nervously.

Then at last, an idea struck him, and he smiled innocently.

“A sword is something used to protect one’s lord.”

“Correct. You’re slightly better than that idiot.”

At their teacher’s words, both boys frowned at the same time.

Each was offended at being compared to the other.

The man laughed heartily and continued teaching them.

“Haah...”

After reading that fragment of Margon’s memories, I slowly opened my eyes with a deep sigh.

Then I looked at the present-day Margon standing before me, crying like a waterfall.

“Hngh... ngh... hhk...”

This was not Margon’s first time killing someone.

But he felt guilty over killing Phiren.

To him, swordsmanship existed to protect precious people.

He had always swung his sword to protect his lord, and killing had merely been a secondary consequence born from that.

But several days ago, Margon had drawn his blade for one purpose alone—to kill someone.

Despite gripping a sword countless times before, true murder had been a first for him.

“L-Lord Ceryl... I... ngh...”

I gently stroked the head of the sobbing Margon.

For some reason, it felt like I was the only person who could truly understand his heart.

“Revenge isn’t such an easy thing, is it?”

“...Ngh... hhk...”

At my comforting touch, Margon’s massive shoulders collapsed as he lowered his head.

I spread my arms as wide as possible and patted his back.

Thanks to Varen, hugging bodies far too large for me had become strangely familiar.

“Margon. Don’t leave your heart in hell.”

A heavy ache formed inside my own chest as I comforted him.

What kind of world was this, that even revenge was not granted peacefully to someone kindhearted?

“Hhk... ngh... damn it...”

No matter how much I thought about it, the world always seemed unfair to good people.

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