Chapter 86: The Dragon’s Bride and the Whispers of Alastair

“My Lady Fafnir, is this pressure to your liking?”

In Fafnir’s cavern, Brunhilde knelt before her, his hands bound by shackles, as he massaged her pale thighs.

Fafnir reclined luxuriously in her throne, her legs crossed, humming a nameless tune.

Her mood was exceptionally good. Though Sleipnir had only recently escaped her grasp, and a brazen human had dared to provoke her, the old adage held true: a setback often concealed a blessing. This despicable human, Brunhilde, had finally recognized the true state of affairs, willingly submitting to her and agreeing to become her spouse.

This brought immense satisfaction to Fafnir’s heart. Overwhelmed by delight, Fafnir had even granted Brunhilde a measure of freedom, allowing him to roam the cavern at will, albeit still shackled, and bestowing upon him the privilege of touching her body.

“Hmph, human, I am quite pleased,” Fafnir declared, slowly opening her eyes as the tune concluded, and lightly nudging Brunhilde’s abdomen with her foot.

“Do you know why?”

“No, My Lady Fafnir.”

“Because you are a pragmatic creature, understand? I favor obedient slaves; I tolerate no defiance.”

“Thank you deeply, My Lady Fafnir.”

Fafnir let out a soft “Hmph,” her folded wings behind her giving a slight flutter. Then, she kicked Brunhilde aside and rose from her throne.

After stretching languidly, Fafnir, without so much as a glance at Brunhilde sprawled on the floor, swept out of the room.

“Very well, human, you may leave now. I have matters to attend to.”

“Yes, My Lady Fafnir.”

Brunhilde dusted himself off, casting a glance in the direction Fafnir had departed.

That was the resting area for Fafnir’s subordinates, a place Fafnir typically avoided, for she detested the scent of humans. She would never set foot there, unless it was to meet with the Old Woman.

‘…’

Brunhilde returned to his room in silence. Lifting the mattress, he revealed a small, glowing stone nestled beneath – the very tool Roalsa had given him not long ago for transmitting intelligence.

The reason Brunhilde had hidden such a crucial item beneath the easily discoverable mattress stemmed entirely from Fafnir’s aversion to humans. Fafnir would never touch anything used by humans; even if she accidentally did, she would immediately wash her hands until every trace of the human scent was gone.

Yet, with so much time having passed and no communication from Roalsa, even Brunhilde had begun to feel a pang of disappointment.

‘If that’s the case, why did she insist on finding me…?’

Just as Brunhilde, feeling a surge of dejection, prepared to replace the mattress, the stone began to emit a faint glow. He instantly tossed the mattress aside, fixing his gaze intently on the stone, not daring to blink, lest he miss a single detail.

Following a brief, faint flash of light, a small letter and a pencil materialized upon the stone.

Brunhilde’s eyes immediately lit up. He snatched the letter and unfolded it, reading with the utmost speed.

The letter’s contents were remarkably simple, merely requesting Brunhilde to confirm certain physical characteristics of Fafnir. The entire message spanned only a few lines.

At the very end of the letter, however, nestled a small rose petal. Beside it, Roalsa had drawn a smiling face, followed by her elegant handwriting.

“Rest assured, I will save you.”

‘Hmm,’ Brunhilde mused, carefully folding the letter and placing it on the bed frame before gently covering it with the mattress.

‘Confirm the features of Fafnir’s dragon horns, as well as her tail, feet, hands, eyes, wings, and neck.’

Brunhilde silently committed the required observations to memory, then scratched his head.

In his daily life, he had rarely paid much attention to Fafnir’s physical traits. Driven by fear of her, Brunhilde dared not even meet Fafnir’s gaze, for in her eyes, a human presuming to look directly at her was nothing short of a provocation.

‘Hmm, there’s no time to lose. I should go find Fafnir now.’

After a moment’s consideration, Brunhilde decided to act immediately. To him, every minute saved in relaying information to Roalsa meant a minute closer to his own rescue.

Passing Fafnir’s throne, he opened an iron door in the wall, revealing a narrow passage ahead. Brunhilde proceeded cautiously, hugging the wall, holding his breath, and daring not to make a sound, lest he attract Fafnir’s subordinates.

Fafnir utterly abhorred any form of communication between Brunhilde and her subordinates. In Fafnir’s eyes, Brunhilde was her possession, and she tolerated no one vying for what was hers.

In fact, the previous confinement of Brunhilde in the treasure-filled chamber had been for this very reason. Fafnir viewed Brunhilde as no different from her other treasures—mere objects. Yet, despite this, the inherent avarice of dragons compelled Fafnir to forbid anyone from touching her possessions.

Even if she had lost interest in a particular item, Fafnir would still fly into a furious rage should anyone dare to lay a hand on it.

‘Phew…’

Fortunately, the passage was deserted. The bandits frequently captured men passing through the forest for their own pleasure, and at this very moment, someone was undoubtedly suffering. The thought added a distinct unease to Brunhilde’s relief.

As he ventured further, Brunhilde began to faintly discern the steady voice of the Old Woman, interspersed with Fafnir’s scornful laughter.

Brunhilde paused by a wooden door. He could hear clearly that the voices emanated from within, and Fafnir’s unmistakable tones were among them. Thus, instead of pushing the door open immediately, he decided to listen in on Fafnir’s conversation with the Old Woman.

“So, you summoned me with such urgency merely for that mare?” Fafnir’s voice carried a distinct edge of impatience, yet the Old Woman’s remained perfectly composed.

“You must understand, Sleipnir is a formidable combatant. Losing her represents a significant detriment.”

“Hmph, you underestimate me greatly. I am a dragon, a noble dragon; how could I possibly require a mere mare’s assistance? Hmph, had it not been you who awakened me, I would have slain you long ago.”

As she spoke, Fafnir’s voice rose several degrees, abruptly changing the subject.

“Rather than discussing that mare here, you would do well to tell me how to quickly regain my strength. Once I am fully recovered, who among them could possibly contend with me? Yet, you merely send my subordinates to capture slimes for me, claiming they enhance my venomous breath, but I have felt no change whatsoever.”

“And these humans, their power is weaker than the last. At this rate, when will I ever fully recover?”

“That is merely because My Lady Fafnir’s power is inherently immense, rendering minor changes imperceptible.”

“Enough! If what you say is true, then how long will it take for me to fully recover? Can you not see? Humans are practically riding roughshod over me now. If this continues, how am I to preserve my dignity?”

The Old Woman’s voice fell silent at this, and only after several minutes did it resume.

“If My Lady Fafnir is truly so desperate, I do have a rather promising method. However, the risks are considerable, and I wonder if My Lady Fafnir can indeed bear them.”

“Is there any risk I cannot bear? Ridiculous.”

Fafnir’s voice was distinctly tinged with impatience; Brunhilde knew she was on the verge of a full-blown rage.

“Arebos.”

“Arebos?”

“Arebos, currently confined in Alastair. If My Lady Fafnir were to release it, share a portion of your power with it, and allow it to wreak havoc unrestrained, it would undoubtedly cause countless casualties. At that point, My Lady Fafnir could then exploit the chaos, absorbing the magic from the deceased and slaying any knights wounded by Arebos. The magic would then flow ceaselessly into your body.”

“My Lady Fafnir must surely understand the total population of Alastair? If you could absorb such an immense amount of magic, your power would reach unprecedented heights, and at that time, the entirety of Midgard would be yours for the taking.”

“…”

Fafnir fell silent then. Brunhilde waited for a long time, yet no response came from her. He leaned his ear closer, hoping to discern more clearly. It was precisely at that moment that the wooden door abruptly swung open, and Fafnir suddenly lashed out, seizing Brunhilde by the neck and lifting him into the air.

“Hmph, human, what are you eavesdropping on?”

Fafnir’s grip tightened around Brunhilde, her eyes fixed on him with a fierce intensity. She seemed to be in a fury, the rage in her gaze like sharp daggers piercing Brunhilde’s very being.

“N-no, My Lady Fafnir, I, I was merely…”

Brunhilde trembled and struggled, his gaze darting ceaselessly over Fafnir’s body.

“Merely what?” Fafnir’s body exuded a fierce, oppressive aura as she raised her hand, threatening Brunhilde.

Behind Fafnir, the Old Woman watched Brunhilde in silence, uttering not a single word.

“Her spouse, you say…”

The Old Woman’s eyes flickered. She then let out a low murmur and gently pressed down on Fafnir’s hand.

“Enough. Release him for now. He hardly appears to be a threat.”

Fafnir glanced at the Old Woman, then glared ferociously at Brunhilde before tossing him to the ground.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, I merely missed My Lady Fafnir and wished to spend more time by your side.”

Brunhilde knelt on the ground, answering fearfully, yet his eyes seized the opportunity to continually scrutinize Fafnir’s form.

“Hmph.”

Fafnir let out a cold snort, dismissing the thought.

After all, he was merely a human, and a male one at that. Fafnir hardly believed Brunhilde capable of any mischief. She kicked Brunhilde’s leg and spat in contempt.

“Begone!”

“Y-yes, My Lady.”

Brunhilde scrambled to his feet at once, hastily exiting the room. Behind him, the Old Woman stood in silent observation, uttering not a sound.