Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Truly Beautiful

“Understood.”

Ruri at last gave up attempting to sway the unyielding Ferda. Even though she had given him a severe caution and fully presumed he would retreat, she ultimately yielded to his request.

After Ferda finished his meal, Ruri guided him toward an open space within the garden.

“I must hold you for a moment.”

Ruri, who had previously shown utter reluctance to come into contact with him, now took the initiative to grab him herself.

“Go right ahead.”

“In that case…”

Ruri took hold of Ferda’s clothing. In that very instant, the radiant glare of the sun vanished as an enormous silhouette blocked his line of sight.

A pair of immense wings unfurled from Ruri’s back. Flapping with tremendous force against the ground, she launched straight into the sky.

A rushing tempest enveloped them.

The sensation of gravity disappeared entirely, substituted by the fierce drag of the rushing winds tearing against Ferda’s form. It would have surprised no one if he had vomited his morning meal right then. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to endure the intense air resistance and the cutting gusts.

The dizzying rush and physical strain were over in mere seconds.

“We have arrived.”

Hearing Ruri’s voice, Ferda opened his eyes. The view around him had shifted entirely in a heartbeat; they were now situated on the very peak of the mountain.

Hardly three seconds had passed. Had they truly reached the summit that quickly?

It was not spatial magic. If she had scaled the heights purely through sheer velocity, she was unquestionably the swiftest among the Dragon Spawn.

No—she might very well be faster than even the true Dragons.

“You should not be looking at me.”

“Pardon?”

“Look down.”

“Ah, of course.”

Ferda shifted his gaze. From the crest of the Lonely Mountain, he peered toward the east. Stretched out beneath him was an endless expanse completely drained of life and color.

The Land of Demons.

It was a desolate territory tainted entirely by the demise of the Demon King. Even from this immense height, he could discern things squirming on the horizon.

Monsters.

These were the invaders that had ravaged the land, steadily pouring inward ever since the appearance of the Demon King. Even up to the moment Ferda slew Valdrova in his previous life, no one knew their origin or how they were spawned. The solitary truth known about them was their objective, identical to the Demon King’s from a century and a half prior: to turn the entire world into a realm where only death could thrive.

Their mission was to eradicate and conquer every living soul. And presently, Ferda observed the horrors surging forward from the East.

As expected of the eastern borders, these fiends were colossal.

They were gigantic. Having emerged from the Land of Demons—a corrupted territory beyond any purification—they possessed bodies so staggering that merely tumbling over would crush a stronghold. They represented calamity-level catastrophes that no mortal warrior could dare confront.

Yet across the grim, colorless plains of despair, a solitary, vivid crimson blaze erupted. No—looking closely, it was not merely a fire.

It was the Red Dragon, Valdrova.

The maiden set to become Ferda’s betrothed was locked in fierce combat below.

Valdrova was immense, as was typical of her kind, yet her frame was barely half the bulk of the monstrosity she fought. Although drastically outmatched in physical mass, Valdrova proved to be no fragile adversary.

A tremendous roar shook the earth.

The bodies of the beast and Valdrova slammed into one another. Despite the sheer disparity in scale, she did not yield a single pace. Instead, the atmosphere trembled violently, unleashing a shockwave that tore through the woodlands below and ascended all the way to the lofty peak where Ferda stood.

“Ugh…”

Ferda’s muscles locked up entirely. An ordinary mortal would have been immobilized out of pure panic, but he knew the precise cause: the Dragon’s mana had permeated the rushing air, pressing directly into his skin.

Dragon Fear… he realized.

So that was the true nature of the Red Dragon.

A sensation of profound powerlessness on an entirely different scale—one he had never tasted even when he was an Archmage—washed over his senses.

Valdrova’s assault showed no sign of pausing.

Flesh ripped and bones cracked under her onslaught.

Embodying the Aspect of Power and reigning as the Master of Fire, the Red Tyrant’s manner of battle was absolute devastation. She stripped away tough, leathery hide with razor-edged claws and severed the creature’s blood vessels and sinews with her crushing jaws. She navigated the battlefield with such agility that the flailing monstrosity seemed clumsy by comparison. She ruthlessly struck its blind spots, denying her foe any chance to retaliate.

Tremendous strength, swiftness, and an unmatched combat instinct.

The monster shrieked in agony.

With its tendons torn to shreds, the creature could no longer offer resistance and plummeted to the dirt. It would have perished even if left alone, but Valdrova’s savagery did not abate.

With a brutal tear, she drove her talons straight into the fiend’s abdomen, ripping it wide open. Even from high above, Ferda could see the creature’s violet blood and sickly green viscera spill forth. Simultaneously, Valdrova’s chest expanded dramatically. An intense, fiery glow blazed brilliantly through the white scales of her underbelly.

Fire Breath.

A blazing torrent surged forth.

The breath of the Red Dragon, reputed to surpass the infernos of the abyss, utterly consumed the monster’s internal organs.

A final, strangled wail escaped the beast, but even that agonizing cry was swiftly extinguished. Valdrova’s scarlet flames burst out violently from every single cavity in the creature’s frame. Its innards were not merely scorched; they were utterly reduced to ash. Its entire structure dissolved into drifting smoke and cinder, leaving only the Red Tyrant standing tall upon the defiled earth.

A deafening roar erupted from Valdrova, reverberating with such force that it shook the very fabric of reality.

“Gah!”

Ferda could maintain his footing no longer and dropped hard to his knees.

So a Dragon Roar carried this much sheer might?

It was an overwhelming pressure he had never encountered even during his days as an Archmage. His limbs shook uncontrollably and his teeth rattled. Ferda was, in every sense of the word, paralyzed.

“This is the genuine nature of the one you intend to wed.”

Ruri broke the silence from beside him.

“The blood of a Red Dragon bears an uncontrollable urge to slaughter—the very heart of what mortals term an Evil Dragon. It is not an issue of demeanor, but of fundamental essence.”

Ruri put deliberate weight behind the word essence. Ferda grasped precisely why she spoke those words.

One’s fundamental nature could not be altered.

An Evil Dragon would eternally remain an Evil Dragon. Her thirst for violence could never be purged, and there was no certainty that it would not one day turn toward Ferda himself.

“A Red Dragon is a creature incapable of existing without causing ruin. If you remain at her side, you must brace yourself to be crushed in her wake day in and day out.”

Ruri’s detached gaze seemed to silently demand: Do you finally understand how reckless your choice was?

Her might without doubt invoked sheer dread.

Even across the vast distance, her presence was so striking that it felt as though it were burning into his consciousness. It was an inescapable, undeniable reality.

Yet he felt no terror.

While her fierce visage remained etched in Ferda’s mind, Valdrova’s inner heart also resonated within him. The impressions of what she perceived and experienced helped him comprehend every single deed she had carried out until this day.

All of her actions were undertaken for the preservation of this world.

Just as she concealed her true identity out of love for this realm, she personally hunted down these horrors to safeguard what she cherished.

She was labeled an Evil Dragon.

Yet she was simultaneously a warrior of pure nobility and the continent’s steadfast Guardian Dragon. She was a solitary wanderer striving toward a noble purpose that could never truly be attained.

“Truly…”

Because of that, the creeping fear within him transformed entirely into deep reverence.

“Magnificent.”

A brilliant spark flickered within Ferda’s gaze. A smile spread across his face.

Ruri despised mortals.

As a being carrying the bloodline of dragons, harboring such contempt was second nature. However, her sovereign, Valdrova, held deep affection for the lesser creatures beneath her.

And she had suffered greatly as a consequence.

Ever since the assassination of the 3rd Imperial Prince, Ruri’s resentment toward humans had grown far more intense than anyone else’s.

Because of this, she was well aware of what occurred when a mere mortal laid eyes upon the true manifestation of a Red Dragon.

He had brought this fate upon himself.

Ferda had adamantly demanded to see it, and Ruri had transported him to the peak herself. She had not even bothered to restrain him further, convinced that her initial warnings were more than sufficient.

Up until this moment, everything had unfolded exactly according to Ruri’s assumptions. Ferda had merely stood there, paralyzed and quivering under the crushing weight of Dragon Fear.

A completely predictable response.

That blank expression would soon morph into raw terror. He would rue his foolish decisions and plead for his life.

When that happened, her Master would also see the truth.

She would finally understand that a human and a dragon could never walk the same path.

Ruri was certain he was walking the expected path, but reality shattered her expectations.

“Truly… magnificent.”

Incomprehensible praise spilled from Ferda’s lips. Ruri whipped her head around, suspecting her ears were playing tricks on her. Yet when she looked upon him, her bewilderment only deepened.

He was smiling.

She could not fathom it. How could someone smile while observing such brutal slaughter and blazing carnage? Shouldn’t he be consumed with fear that he might meet the same end, like a fragile insect trampled into the earth?

Hold on…

At that moment, an epiphany struck Ruri like a sudden crash of thunder. She finally understood how this mortal could stay so unbothered after accepting the role of Valdrova’s betrothed, and how he could possibly wear a smile in the face of such horror.

If that was the truth, everything fell into place.

You sick, twisted degenerate.

Ruri’s revulsion toward Ferda mounted to an entirely new height.

For the rest of that day, Ferda remained lying upon his mattress, unable to shift his body in the slightest.

He had been directly subjected to Dragon Fear and weathered a full Roar. A common mortal would have lost their sanity entirely. By contrast, because Ferda’s intellect remained completely sound, his physical vessel had absorbed the entire burden of the trauma.

Am I truly unable to lift a finger?

It seems there is nothing to be done.

The fact that his mind remained this lucid was nothing short of extraordinary. The wisest course of action was to rest quietly and lose himself in contemplation.

He was going to waste an entire day.

He already lacked adequate time to concentrate on breaking through his Circles, yet here he was, confined to his bed.

Why was I so set on observing that battle in the first place?

Perhaps it was an instinct telling him that the clash would offer the clarity he sought.

So, had that intuition proven true?

That was precisely what he needed to determine. Ferda chose to review everything he had seen. He guided his mind back to the moment he reached the mountain peak. The crisp scent of the air, the chill against his flesh, even the texture of the rough stones under his boots—he reconstructed the memory in vivid detail.

Within the landscape of his inner vision, he cast his gaze downward and contemplated her fight. That was not the rampage of an infamous Evil Dragon.

It was a sacred battle waged by an honorable Red Knight.

She was the maiden who would soon be his lifelong companion. At that exact instant, a stirring sensation erupted deep within his Dantian.

This is…

Ferda recognized this turbulence instantly. It was the exact same upheaval he had experienced when cast out by the Rosnova family.

A Red Circle is beginning to manifest.

A Red Circle, brought into existence through a surge of intense emotion. Because Ferda had originally aimed to forge a Blue Circle, he should have instinctively fought against this change.

This feels different.

Yet Ferda did not reject it. He sensed that this emerging Red Circle possessed an entirely distinct essence.

This feeling does not arise from wrath or a hunger for vengeance.

It was a breakthrough fueled by a sentiment wholly unlike what he had experienced in the past. This feeling held a boundless strength that rivaled any rage or thirst for retribution.

I felt this very sensation while envisioning her in combat.

The feeling returned now. As thoughts of Valdrova filled his mind, the inner pathway began to take definitive shape. Was this why he had felt compelled to witness her battle?

If that were true…

Then this was undeniably the answer. Ferda no longer suppressed his feelings regarding Valdrova—the deep awe he harbored and her breathtaking display of power. He recalled her words, structuring and amplifying the memories within his spirit.

He meticulously guided the storm birthed by this emotional upheaval. Gathering the wandering currents of energy, he compressed and refined them into form.

At last, he forged a single, flawless circle.

A Red Circle.

Basking in the soothing warmth of triumph and quiet satisfaction, he looked inward to confirm the origin of this power.

It was not born of malice or bitterness.

That ensured there would be no repeat of the past, and no recurrence of his former errors.

It is finished.

Ferda quietly celebrated the achievement, his breath steadying as the newfound strength settled securely into his vessel.