-----Narrator POV-----
The murals along the walls had lost all color, buried under scorched black from the flames. Cracks split the floor in jagged lines, and craters pitted the stone where blasts had struck. Chunks of broken rock lay scattered across the chamber, and the cold air shimmered above the blood pooling around the two fallen beasts at the center of the room.
In the middle of that ruin, a girl with messy blue pigtails slept on the stone as if the chaos had never touched her.
Beside her, a circle of intricate symbols glowed faintly in the dim light.
Bing.
The glow sharpened, and a blue flash swept across the chamber, filling every corner of the circular room.
"Mhm…?"
The sound stirred the girl awake.
ZING.
Roxy pushed herself upright just as a large figure stepped out of the circle, a red‑haired child held securely in his arms. Her eyes lit up the moment she recognized him, and she broke into a run toward the man emerging from the fading light.
"Matheus!"
Reinhardt lowered the boy, the shift in weight stirring him awake just as Roxy crashed into him with a tight hug. He steadied himself as he held her until she finally pulled back. She grabbed his hands, relief softening her face, until her gaze drifted past him and towards Reinheardt.
"And Sebas!?"
Matheus dropped his eyes to the floor while Reinhardt stood motionless.
The warmth in Roxy's chest drained as the silence stretched. Her fingers loosened around Matheus's hands, and her breath thinned as she waited for an answer that didn't come.
Reinhardt stepped aside and brought out a small snow boot from behind his back, the leather stained dark along the rim.
Roxy's lips trembled as her eyes lowered to the floor.
The room fell quiet. The fading glow from the magic circle flickered across the cracked floor, catching on the dried streaks of blood and the broken stone scattered around them.
Reinhardt pulled the small boot against his chest and walked towards the exit. His steps pressed faint prints into the dust and ash on the ground. Roxy followed a moment later, her pace slowing as she stepped over a fallen chunk of stone.
But Matheus... Stayed where he was, his feet planted on the cold floor, his arms hanging loose at his sides. The dim light from the circle washed over his face, but his eyes didn't shift toward either of them.
Roxy stopped mid‑step. She turned back, her shoes scraping lightly against the stone as she walked toward him. She came to his side and lifted her hand, holding it out in front of him, her fingers open and waiting.
"Matheus..."
The child lifted his gaze a little, his eyes settling on the hand held out to him. His fingers twitched, but he didn't reach for it. Instead, he turned his head to the side, his eyelids squeezing shut as his shoulders tightened, holding back the tremor running through him.
Roxy watched the small movement. A faint, brief smile touched her lips before she stepped to his side. She reached for his hand herself, her fingers wrapping gently around his, and she guided him forward, leading him toward the exit where Reinhardt had already gone ahead.
The cavern walls were scorched black, long streaks of burnt stone climbing toward the ceiling. Deep impact marks spread across the surface, each one cracked at the edges, and the wide craters scattered along the floor showed where the heaviest blows had landed. They walked past broken slabs of rock and overturned boulders, the path marked by the traces of a fight that had torn through the chamber.
Cold air drifted through the cavern, brushing against their skin as they moved. The chill settled into their arms and legs, sinking deeper with every step. Each breath pulled in the cold and left their mouths as faint clouds of warmth that faded quickly in the dim light.
And that was only because they were alive.
Reinhardt was alive. Roxy was alive. Matheus was alive.
Only the living felt the cold.
Matheus frowned as the sting built behind his eyes. He pressed his lips together, trying to steady his breath, but the tears pushed through anyway, sliding down his cheeks in uneven lines.
He bit down harder, his jaw tightening as a wave rose from his stomach and forced its way up his throat. A sharp sound escaped him, thin at first, then breaking apart as his breath hitched.
The empty cavern carried the sobbing echoes of the living.
-----
Just outside the entrance of the Red Dragon's lair, the three survivors stood before a small mound of stones stacked together. The rocks were uneven, some still carrying soot from the cavern, others marked with faint streaks of dried blood.
Reinhardt stepped forward. He lowered himself onto both knees, the stone scraping softly beneath him. His hands rested on his thighs for support as he leaned toward the mound, his head bowed over the small pile.
Roxy stood beside him, her fingers tightening around Matheus's hand. The boy's gaze stayed fixed on the stones, his shoulders drawn in as he stood close to her side.
The wind from the cavern mouth brushed past them, carrying the faint smell of ash and cold stone as the three of them faced the quiet marker together.
"I ask Roxy to take Matheus back to the village."
Roxy nodded and gave Matheus's hand a gentle pull. The boy looked up at her, his eyes still red, a small crease forming between his brows as he searched her face for an answer.
She glanced back at him, catching the question in his expression. A faint smile lifted her lips.
"Reinhardt is performing a warrior's mourn."
They began descending the mountain path, the wind brushing past them as Roxy continued speaking.
"A warrior's mourn is a practice from the north. It's carried out with strict honor and integrity."
Her steps pressed small marks into the frost‑coated ground as she guided Matheus along.
"It's usually done by the leader or the comrade responsible for that warrior's life. In this case… that's Reinhardt."
Matheus kept his eyes on the trail.
"And Reinhardt… he has to recall every moment he shared with Sebas. Every time he watched over him, carried him, taught him..."
Her voice thinned. She paused mid‑step, her breath leaving her in a slow cloud.
"All of it comes back during the mourn… so depending on how much time they spent together, Reinhardt will stay seated there for quite a while."
Matheus lowered his head, his grip tightening around Roxy's hand. His fingers curled inward, pressing against her palm as he tried to steady himself.
Roxy tilted her head at the small pull. Then, as if catching the meaning behind his silence, she lifted her gaze toward the sky.
Above them, a creature with long, thin ears glided across the open air, its body stretched out as it rode the wind. Smaller ones followed behind it in a loose line, their wings catching the light as they drifted after the larger figure.
Roxy watched them for a moment, her eyes tracing their slow path across the sky before she looked back down at Matheus.
"Mhm… What is a warrior, Matheus?"
Matheus looked up at her, his brows pulling together in confusion.
"… Someone who is strong enough to fight dragons?"
Roxy glanced at him, catching the quick flick of his eyes before he looked down again. A small grin tugged at her lips.
"Is that so? You fought all those dragons in that cave? Even A‑rank adventurers would think twice before challenging an apex predator."
She gave his hand a light squeeze as they walked.
"But power alone doesn't make someone a warrior, Matheus."
The boy slowed. For a moment, Roxy's outline overlapped with his mother's face, his mouth parted slightly as the memory surfaced.
"How… How do I become a warrior?"
Roxy placed her index finger on her lips, her eyes drifting upward as she searched her memory.
"That… you will—"
"Excuse me, Madam."
The rough voice cut through the mountain air.
Roxy and Matheus stopped at once and looked ahead. Six men on horseback stood across the trail, their mounts covered in reinforced gear that clinked softly as they shifted. The horses snorted, hooves scraping against the stone while the riders tightened their formation.
Roxy straightened at the sudden blockade. She pulled Matheus behind her with one firm motion, her arm sweeping back to shield him. Her other hand slid to her staff, gripping it with both hands as she brought it across her body in a diagonal guard.
A textbook neutral stance used by mages when defensive spells were primed and ready rather offensive ones. Among adventurers, it served as a courtesy to show restraint and avoid provoking unnecessary conflict.
Despite the clear signal, the armored riders didn't dismount. They stayed on their horses, hands near their reins, bodies steady in their saddles. The choice carried a message that violence hadn't been dismissed.
Roxy scanned them quickly. Each rider wore the same crest on their chestplate—an engraved lion, its mane shaped in sweeping lines of gold embroidery. The symbol caught the light with every movement of their armor.
That's Matheu's family crest...
A rider without a helmet urged his horse a step forward. The top of his head was bald, with white hair gathered along the sides, and a thick mustache framed his mouth. He looked down at Roxy, his chin lifting just enough to give her a slow, condescending stare.
Roxy met it without shifting her stance. Her fingers tightened around her staff, and her eyes narrowed in a steady, unblinking return of the unfriendly look.
"State your business."
The old man didn't spare Roxy a glance. His eyes moved past her, searching behind her robes until they landed on the red‑haired child half‑hidden at her back.
"Matheus Boreas Gresham," he said, voice firm and practiced. "The Gresham family has ordered you to return home."
Roxy's eyebrow twitched. She drew in a slow breath, steadying the irritation rising in her chest.
"Matheus is going nowhere."
The old man shifted his gaze toward Roxy, looking her over from head to toe. The battle in the Red Dragon Mountains had left its marks on her—scorched patches across her robe, torn fabric along the sleeves, hair tangled from smoke and wind, and streaks of black dust clinging to her skin. Her expression was tight, her breathing still uneven from the climb.
From a butler of a powerful family that governed the city, her appearance was far from impressive.
"Who might you be?"
"My name is Roxy Migurd. I am an A‑Rank adventurer."
Roxy pulled her adventurer's card from her robe with one hand, keeping her staff firm in the other.
The butler barely glanced at the stone tablet.
"Migurd… as in the demon‑kin Migurd race?"
"…Yes."
The old man's eyes narrowed just slightly, as if the confirmation only deepened whatever judgment he'd already formed. His horse shifted beneath him, metal plates brushing together while he continued to stare down at her.
"I am here under direct orders from the family head. I can't exactly return empty‑handed, can I?"
Matheus's small frame trembled. His fingers dug into Roxy's robe, clutching the fabric with desperate strength.
Roxy's frown tightened. Behind the butler, one of the armored riders shifted his stance—his hand drifting toward his weapon, posture lowering into an offensive angle. Roxy reacted instantly, tilting her staff forward, the tip angling toward the butler as she pulled Matheus even closer behind her.
The butler raised one hand.
The rider froze mid‑step, then slowly backed off. With the tension easing by a thread, the butler placed his right hand over his chest, fingers spreading across the engraved lion crest.
"Now, now… let's not get ahead of ourselves. I apologize if that came out the wrong way. I dislike violence. That is why I am attempting a discussion."
The sweetened tone did nothing to ease the tension in Roxy's shoulders.
"So a man of sense should understand that Matheus is going nowhere."
"A‑Rank adventurer Roxy Migurd," the butler said, his voice dipping into a polite mockery, "a demon‑folk like you traveling the Central Continent must encounter… difficulties, do you not?"
Roxy's jaw tightened.
"With the backing of the Gresham family, we can provide special envoy status. It would clear your entry into every kingdom on the Central Continent. Preferential treatment among our allies could prove extremely useful—"
"Are you telling me to sell out the child?"
Roxy's interruption wiped the polite veneer off the butler's face. His jaw tightened, the corners of his mustache twitching downward.
"Do you have any idea who that child is?"
"..."
"Despite his innocent look, not only is he a miko child… but he has also been blessed by the Fighting God himself."
Roxy's eyes widened as she shot a quick glance at the boy behind her.
If that man is speaking the truth... Then Matheus is not a liability to the Gresham family...
Roxy tightened her grip on her staff, her knuckles whitening as she shot a hard glare at the old man.
He caught it—and smiled.
"You understand, then. Our family is in a complicated position. With the previous head gone and the current head still recovering, our strength has waned. That is why we need Matheus's power to support the family in these delicate times."
His gaze slid past her again, sharp and deliberate.
Then he raised his voice.
"MATHEUS! WHAT ABOUT YOUR SISTERS!"
The words hit the air like a thrown spear.
Matheus flinched. His fingers spasmed around Roxy's robe, gripping it so tightly the fabric twisted under his hands.
The butler watched the reaction with cold calculation.
If I can't convince the mage, I'll provoke the young lord instead.
The butler's eyes narrowed.
With his temper, he'll snap. And once he does, this confrontation becomes justification to incapacitate the boy... And kill that filthy mage.
A faint curl touched the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile that never reached the eyes.
Roxy leaned down just enough for her voice to reach the trembling boy behind her.
Stay with me.
Matheus's wet eyes lifted toward her, his grip loosing around her robe.
Roxy straightened and faced the butler again, her stance firm as her staff angled across her body like a drawn line in the dirt.
"That is the patriarch's responsibility," she said, her voice steady and cutting. "Matheus's mother entrusted him to me. He is not going anywhere."
Her eyes narrowed, and she added without hesitation:
"And I wouldn't trust a creepy‑looking bald man to take care of children."
Roxy's staff began to glow, a soft pulse of mana running along the carved wood. Her solemn voice settled heavily in every man's chest, and the riders exchanged uneasy glances after her unnecessary—but accurate—comment.
The butler's eyebrow twitched. He closed his eyes and released a long, weary sigh.
He lifted his chin toward the sky. The orange horizon was being painted red by the sinking sun, its rays glinting across the landscape.
They were beautiful and bright— just like the polished top of the butler's bald head, which reflected the light with almost divine clarity.
That radiant sight filled the man's heart completely.
He opened his eyes.
He smiled.
"Kill her."
-----Thorkell POV-----
"BLERGH!"
A foul stench flooded my nose, thick and rotten, and a burning sting tore up my throat. My face was pressed against the ground, and a dark crimson smear spilled from my mouth, soaking into the dirt beneath me.
My strength drained in an instant. It felt as if something had ripped a piece of my soul apart and shoved the fragments back together wrong. My limbs refused to answer. My body rolled sideways on instinct alone, my belly turning toward the ceiling as my vision swam.
"Is this... Hell? URGH?!"
I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, gasping for air as I heard wet footsteps slapped against the ground beside me.
I forced strength into my arm and pushed myself up just enough to lift my head. My neck trembled under the weight.
A tall, green‑skinned creature stood there. Its body glistened with slime, each step leaving a slick trail behind it.
"Frug... What is happening..."
The frog snorted as he walked past me. I followed him with my gaze and froze.
My party lay scattered around me, all in the same dazed, beaten state… except they weren't wearing anything.
…Huh?
A jolt shot through my chest. I looked down at myself.
I was completely bare.
My heart kicked into a sprint as the realization slammed into me. Panic burst out of my throat before I could stop it.
"My armor?!"
My voice cracked, echoing across the damp stone. Only dirt, bruises, and the cold air biting at my skin were left.
"It is gone."
I turned toward the low, monotone voice. Agnar sat on the ground with his legs crossed, one elbow resting on his knee, his head propped against his hand. His dark skin was streaked with dirt, his gray hair hanging over his eyes.
"Agnar? What's happening? You were dead—"
"It's that bastard's curse."
His voice cracked with anger. He shut his eyes, and a deep frown carved itself across his face.
"Without the hydra's head… I can't become village chief. Going back alive will only bring me shame. I can't even die with honor."
Agnar growled, slamming his palm against the ground. The impact echoed through the damp chamber. His teeth ground together as heat shimmered off his head.
I let out a long breath.
Now it makes sense... To think a frog could wield power like this… Why hadn't he said anything before?
Wet footsteps squelched behind me again.
I turned—and saw the frog carrying a child in his arms.
Since that child is naked as well... does that mean...?
"He even slaughtered a child."
I shifted my head just enough to see the black‑haired human sitting beside me. His eyes were unfocused and his expression twisted with the memory.
Chills ran down my spine as memories of our fight resurfaced... To think he could easily counter my armor's Evade Strike...
He truly was the most terrifying person I have ever seen.
No—that wasn't a man. That was a demon wearing human skin.
My shoulders tightened on instinct, as if my body still expected him to appear behind me.
"What are you going to do with that child?"
"He is the blessed one we came for."
I turned back towards the frog. He held the unconscious child in his arms as a man with a monkey-face walked beside him.
"Geese, how can you be sure? There were two children in that chamber-"
"Wait, wait! Are you guys doubting my judgment?"
"Quit your bullshit. If you ever had even a shred of good judgment, you wouldn't have dragged us in front of that terrifying monster…"
"Okay, that was completely out of my control! How was I supposed to know the Dragon God was raiding the Hydra's lair at the exact same time we were?!"
"BY NOT BEING A COMPLETE MORON! How can you call yourself a guide when you blindly trust a single source of information? You also refuse to tell us where it comes from, so we can't even verify its authenticity?!!"
"Hey, relax, Thorkell! I can't just hand over my informant's background! If I did, I'd be voluntarily signing myself onto every informant's blacklist out there!"
"You're fucking crazy… you know that? You listen to that so‑called 'guardian angel' stuck in your head and gamble our lives just so you can chase a bigger pouch of gold—gold you'll blow in a single goddamn day. Are you still chasing that dragon, you sick bastard? Not only did I almost lose my life today— I LOST MY FAMILY HEIRLOOM!"
I stepped forward, closing the distance. Geese shrank back as I I looked him up and down, taking in the sight of the man cowering before me.
"Do you have any idea how much that's worth? And I'm not talking about something you can measure with coins. Even if I took the time to explain it, that materialistic head of yours wouldn't grasp the weight of a thousand generations of work!"
I turned away from Geese in a burst of rage—then snapped back toward him, my body moving before my mind caught up. My hand lifted into the air, fingers spread, hovering as if aiming straight for his neck.
"You're extremely lucky you're the only guide in this group... Otherwise I would've snapped your neck in two and sent you straight to heaven! But no—God's greatest joke is that you're the only one who can get us to the surface!"
I jabbed a finger toward his forehead.
"So tell that tiny man inside your skull to GET IT TOGETHER!"
Spit flew from my mouth. Geese flinched as a strand of it landed on his cheek, his face twisting in disgust while he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Blood throbbed behind my eyes. My head felt hot, my pulse hammering as I stared at the monkey‑faced man scrubbing his face clean.
I stepped back, the anger draining just enough for exhaustion to slip in. I moved toward a nearby boulder, sat down, and rested my elbow on my knee, my hand supporting my head. A long, heavy sigh left my body.
Silence stretched through the cavern.
"Frug..."
Breaking the silence, everyone turned toward the black‑haired man sprawled on the ground, his limbs splayed in every direction.
"I don't know about Thorkell or Agnar," he said, voice low, "but I still vividly remember my throat being pierced though… and the pain after I hit the floor with a hole in my neck."
His hand drifted up, rubbing the side of his throat as he stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.
"I know… for sure… I died there."
His fingers stopped. Then, suddenly, he began scratching at his neck—hard, frantic, like he expected to feel the wound again.
"How am I alive…"
The words slipped out of him, thin and trembling, swallowed by the cavern's cold air.
Everyone slowly turned their eyes toward the frog.
Receiving the full weight of our stares, he stepped close to a boulder and laid the unconcious child on top of it. Then he sat beside the boy, fingers interlocked, posture straight and solemn.
"The Viburnum's curse," he said quietly. "It revives the dead."
The words hung in the air like a blade.
"It is a forbidden curse. That is why I refrained from sharing it."
Crap… a forbidden curse?
Everyone knew what that meant. Forbidden curses always carried a price: crippling the caster, warping them, or killing them outright. That was why they were forbidden in the first place.
All eyes shifted back to the frog.
Feeling the pressure of our stares, he answered our question.
"The consequences... is that you lose a part of yourself."