Chapter 25: The Deal

Midraon Ritenigarn was the regent of the Western Diorseon Dragonkin Nation.

A distant descendant of the ancient dragon Egarn, he had held the real power in the kingdom ever since he crushed a civil uprising 431 years ago—becoming a national hero in the process.

When the previous king passed away 197 years ago and Queen Minedraca II ascended the throne at the young age of 139, he had his loyal vassals blind the queen to the truth.

Then, on the queen’s 250th birthday—her coming-of-age ceremony—he officially became regent under the guise of praying for her longevity.

His power, by then, had already pierced the heavens.

“First, you need to know about the civil uprising he suppressed with his army,” Therese said.

Western Diorseon had been ruled by monarchs of the Ritenicalkart dynasty for generations. Long ago, it had been a powerful country—until the Drakilaina Human-Only Empire, led by a hero’s blade, drove it to near extinction. To survive, they ceded half their kingdom to the empire.

Thousands of years passed.

Young dragonkin, ignorant of the ancient war, rose up in rebellion, crying, “Let’s reclaim Eastern Diorseon from the evil human empire!”

They called the Ritenicalkart dynasty too submissive, and demanded it be overthrown.

“There were two theories,” Therese continued. “One says the rebellion was instigated by influential dragonkin from Eastern Diorseon. The other says someone simply used that as an excuse to incite the youth and seize power.”

“Wait,” I interjected. “I’ve been wondering—what’s the average lifespan of a dragonkin?”

“It depends on how much of the ancestor dragon’s blood they inherited. A first-generation dragonkin doesn’t age and doesn’t die unless killed. But on average, they live about 1,000 years. Even with very diluted blood, 300 years is common.”

They live a long time.

Back to the story.

The rebellion was crushed by Midraon, the great general at the time.

“Here’s a question for you, Cornelia.”

“A question?”

“Which of the two theories do you like more?”

“……Hmm.”

Honestly, I felt Eastern Diorseon was just a convenient excuse.
But considering how long dragonkin live…

“I guess I prefer the one where they wanted to return to their homeland. I can sympathize with that more.”

“Really?”

Therese tilted her head, surprised. She slowly nodded—twice.
But her face said it wasn’t the answer she wanted.
Not that she seemed too upset, either.

Well… it was enough to weigh on my mind.

“Actually, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“…Pardon?”

You’re the one who said I needed to know, you tomboyish young lady…

“The important part is that Midraon, after crushing the rebels, got drunk on power and became one of the very tyrants he fought against. Meanwhile, the descendants of the rebels—those few who survived—packaged their revenge as ‘patriotism.’”

“That’s ironic.”

“Yes. But do you know what’s more ironic?”

Therese smiled.

And just then, the carriage we were riding in came to a rattling stop.

Bad timing.

The window opened.

A soldier in faded but once-glorious armor peered in.
Therese and I were dressed in pitch-black monastic habits.
White-collared veils. Long, flowing dresses.
A nun’s habit—complete with a lace veil that covered our faces.

No bare skin. No exposed hair. Not even a hint of an eyebrow.

In some ways, it probably made us look more suspicious.

“Hey. Take that off and give me your pass.”

“…….”

I silently handed over our documents.
I didn’t remove the lace veil.
Though it looked like a chapel veil, the weave was tighter. No one could see in.

I couldn’t even see Therese’s face next to me.
Yet somehow, I could see outside clearly—as if magic was involved.

“Hmm…….”

As the soldier examined our documents, something metallic clinked onto the ground.

A large gold coin. Shiny. Untarnished. Recently minted.

The soldier looked around, pocketed it discreetly, and returned the document.

“Pass.”

“Pardon? Corporal Oben, who is it?”

“A pilgrim. Are you going to block the path of a servant of the Lord?”

He scolded the subordinate and even closed the window for us.

The gate creaked open.

Beyond it stretched the vast wilderness that separated the empire’s Eastern Diorseon from the Western Diorseon Dragonkin Nation.

“Where were we?” Therese asked.

“You were about to tell me what’s more ironic.”

“Ah, yes.”

She pulled off her veil and lace the moment we crossed the border, exhaling loudly.

“As I was saying, those so-called patriots filled with revenge knew they didn’t have the power to kill Midraon. So they tried to borrow the strength of the empire.”

“That’s a complete reversal.”

“Isn’t it sad? The empire refused. It was more beneficial for them if Western Diorseon remained exactly as it is.”

Western Diorseon was a natural buffer.

To its west lay scattered beastmen nations. It was far easier to let the dragonkin manage that volatile border than to intervene directly.

“So, since they were denied support, they invaded the empire’s border?”

“Partly to vent. Partly for loot.”

And partly to provoke the empire.
To get them so fed up that they’d storm in and crush Western Diorseon entirely.

“Is that a good idea?”

“I don’t know. I thought about it yesterday and… maybe it’s not so bad?”

“How should I know?”

Though I really don’t know where Therese’s fiction ends and the truth begins…

The carriage rolled on in silence for a while.
About an hour passed.

A small window connected to the coachman’s seat opened.

“My lady, we’re almost there.”

“Alright.”

Therese groaned and put the veil and lace back on.

Outside, military tents came into view—large ones, like Mongolian gers.
The carriage stopped. We stepped out.

The guards greeted us immediately.

“We have been waiting.”

The gates opened.

Normally, we’d use teleportation. But Orlevette was monitoring the records—so this was the only way.

We were guided to the largest tent.

“Great General! The beloved of war has arrived!”

“Let her enter!”

“Please, come in.”

Beloved of war.

Somehow, that title had stuck to Therese.

Since she often had to hide her identity, a nickname was natural. But I didn’t like it.
It sounded fancy—but wasn’t it just a polite way of saying b*tch of war?

I could never bring myself to ask Therese if she felt the same.

She didn’t seem to mind, though she wasn’t pleased either.

‘I think it’s a name that suits me.’

That’s what she’d said the first time she heard it. With a blank face.
Not sad. Not proud. Just… quiet.

The tent flaps opened.

Dragonkin warriors stood in formation, and at the center, seated proudly, was a man.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Great General.”

“Long time no see! I, too, could not sleep at night, missing our goddess of victory!”

“A goddess? That’s not something you should call a nun.”

“Haha. My mistake.”

Therese didn’t say more. She summoned a box.

Not the usual firearms. This time, it was filled with wands—given by a professor from Norndeasel.

A dragonkin approached, opened the box, and frowned.

“Great General! This is not a gun—it’s a tree branch!”

“A tree branch?”

“It’s a wand.”

Enraged, one of them flipped the box, scattering the contents.

“After ignoring us for so long, you bring this junk!?”

He drew his sword.

I reflexively drew mine. My wound hadn’t fully healed, but I could buy enough time to activate the return tool.

At the same moment, every dragonkin in the room drew their swords.

It was like a gangster movie scene—everyone pulling blades at once.

“This may look shabby, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Enough! I’ll cut off your head!”

“You’re the one who should stop!”

The general barked out the order. The furious warrior clenched his jaw but held back.

“I’m sure there’s a reason. Will you explain?”

“I said—this isn’t such a bad item…”

Therese sighed and summoned a document before the general.

In truth, these wands were originally meant for the beastmen.
So, yes—they were relatively inferior.

But still—relatively.

The general examined the papers.

“…Hmm.”

“If you have complaints, take it up with the Inquisitor.”

Inquisitor?

Was Orlevette an Inquisitor…?

“You must be in a difficult position too. I understand.”

“Great General!! Are you letting this merchant mock our nation!?”

“Don’t forget—our enemy is Midraon. We can’t afford new enemies when we barely have allies.”

“Or maybe we should make more enemies?”

Therese’s calm voice silenced the tent.

I turned to her, stunned—then remembered what she’d said in the carriage.

“What do you mean by that?”

The general’s voice was sharp.

But Therese only smiled faintly and continued, unbothered.

“I may be afraid of the Inquisitor, being a citizen of the empire. But you, Great General—you have no reason to be.”

“Are you asking me to lend you my sword?”

“What a snake of a woman!”

“Execute her! Deliver her head to the empire—they might reward us!”

“Hey! Kaldon!!”

A voice rang out.

Someone rushed forward with a blade. I blocked it just in time.

He was bigger than me—but I didn’t back down.

Steel clashed all around. Yet Therese still stood quietly.

No. She was trembling.

Only I noticed.

But her voice didn’t tremble at all.

She really was incredible.

“In short,” she said, “what matters is that a dragonkin kills a precious Inquisitor of the empire.”

“Ugh!? Th-that!!”

“And if that happens, wouldn’t the empire’s wrath fall on the nation’s ruler—who failed to lead his people—rather than some rebels in the wasteland?”

“…Everyone. Sheathe your swords.”

“Great General!!”

“And you, beloved of war. I will not pay for these tree branches. Leave at once.”

Therese bowed.

Then she summoned another box—this one filled with explosives—and placed it atop the wands.

And without another word, we left the tent.