Chapter 13: Filial Piety Comes First

Hero.

This was the first time Sal had ever heard that word.

Although his dragon mother never deliberately avoided talking about human society during his education, the word “hero” had truly never come up.

He only knew that this world had adventurers — and countless other races.

He knew about the legendary holy ground that all adventurers yearned for — the Dungeon in the distant north, said to be the birthplace of the elves, large enough to rival an entire human kingdom.

But hero…

With all due respect — if there’s no Demon King, is there even a need for a hero?

Putting that word aside, Sal had always wanted to become an adventurer.

After all, his body possessed every natural advantage for it — thick skin, strong muscles, and an abundant reserve of magic.

If fate truly dictated that he must one day follow his dragon mother’s wish and sacrifice himself for the continuation of the pure-blooded dragon lineage, then before that day came, he wanted to do something that mattered to him.

To travel across the lands, meet different people, see new sights — and fill the empty shell of a soul that his previous life’s grind of 996 work hours and loneliness had hollowed out.

But that didn’t mean he would endanger the one person who had given him life and love in this world — his mother — just to chase his own dream.

In his previous life, he had never known a mother’s love.

So now that he finally had it, he cherished it all the more.

That was why he would never agree to Rayne’s condition.

Rayne, of course, understood this as well.

He guessed that Sal’s mother had never told him anything about Xiyan.

That was why Sal, unaware of the truth and knowing he couldn’t possibly defeat her, had still risked everything to cross into the human empire and post a request for help.

If Sal had known the truth from the beginning, there would never have been a fight between his parents.

But since neither side wanted to talk about it, Sal — an outsider to the whole affair — remained completely in the dark, mistaking Xiyan for a thief who coveted his mother’s hoard.

And even after learning the truth, Sal had still chosen to set aside resentment and come negotiate with Rayne — to plead for the life of a father who had never once fulfilled his duty.

From that alone, it was clear — Sal was a dragon who deeply valued family bonds.

Something quite rare among the pure-blooded dragons.

At that moment, Rayne suddenly felt a flicker of impulse.

He recalled the faint but distinct trace of pure-blood dragon energy he had once sensed in the castle — different from both Sal and Xiyan.

Now, he was almost certain that it belonged to Sal’s mother.

A part of him wanted to use that to threaten Sal — to force him to obey, to turn into a human female, wear a frilly dress, and become his ideal dragon-wife—

But that thought lasted only a heartbeat before Rayne snuffed it out himself.

He had never wanted to rely on threats or force.

What he wanted… was for Sal, one day, to open his arms to him willingly.

“If you say no, then no it is,” Rayne said lightly. “We can still talk.”

He remained calm, even gesturing with one hand for Sal to sit down again.

After all, that request had only been a test.

If Sal had agreed to take him to see his mother, Rayne would actually have thought less of him.

Sal, hearing this, took a deep breath.

Aware of the curious onlookers surrounding them, he fought to keep his anger in check — and to restrain the pair of golden-scaled hands itching to lash out from beneath his black cloak.

He sat down again and spoke in a steady, firm tone, taking control of the “negotiation.”

“I’ll give you twenty gold coins. Let her go.”

“How much?!”

The one who blurted that out wasn’t Rayne — nor Xiyan — but the elf woman sitting a few tables away, part of the adventuring trio who’d been eavesdropping this whole time.

As every eye in the tavern turned toward her and tension thickened in the air, she froze.

Realizing she had been caught listening, she grabbed her teammates and began stammering apologies, preparing to flee.

But just as they were passing Rayne’s table, his cold voice cut through the noise.

“Wait.”

The chill in his tone made the elf woman shudder.

Rayne didn’t care.

He took two steps toward her, leaned down, and closed the distance between them — his voice polite, but with a menace that was impossible to miss.

“You three… didn’t overhear what we were talking about, did you?”

The elf woman nodded furiously — but behind her back, her right hand crept toward the dagger strapped to her waist.

Her teammates said nothing, but their hands moved to their weapons at once.

Even the tavern owner, who had been quietly polishing glasses, immediately ducked behind the counter, hands over his head, waiting for the fight to break out so he could clean up afterward and charge the winners for the damage.

In this kind of tavern — one frequented by adventurers — fights were officially “forbidden,” but everyone knew that rule was meaningless.

Still, there was one unspoken code:

You could fight if you wanted.

But if you won, you had to pay for the damage you caused.

Of course, you could refuse to pay — but that would be the end of your adventuring career in that city.

No one would team up with you again, and worse, others might go out of their way to sabotage you.

So the tavernkeeper, though exasperated, wasn’t panicked in the least.

Even if they tore the place apart, he knew he’d get his repair money eventually — maybe even make a profit.

But this time, unlike other brawls that started with a spark, things didn’t explode immediately.

After a tense standoff, Rayne finally eased the pressure with a faint smile — and offered them a way out.

He would “forgive” them, on one condition: they had to order another dish for his and Sal’s table.

The hot-tempered dwarf opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, the elf woman — usually just as stubborn — clamped a hand over his mouth.

Clearly, she was the leader of the group.

Even the two burly men listened to her without question.

Dragging the half-orc and the dwarf with her, the elf woman hurried to the counter, still apologizing profusely as she called out to the shopkeeper.

And the reason for her sudden submission?

She had recognized the man before her — that supposedly unkempt mage who once crafted a miniature ice dragon figurine with his bare hands…

A mage with silver-rank strength — or higher.

After a quick thought, she made her choice.

“Add another dish to that table’s order,” she said. “Let’s go with—”

“Steamed horse head.”

A real delicacy.

One that would definitely please Rayne.