By the third day, I was no longer a man.
I was caffeine, anxiety, and dust held together by sheer willpower.
Scrolls covered the floor. Books stacked taller than me.
Argos had come in twice to "check if I was still alive."
Honestly? I wasn't sure myself anymore.
Then finally—I found it.
The holy grail of nerds.
A scroll titled: "Pacts of the Eleven—Dragons."
"Bingo," I muttered, unrolling it carefully.
The ancient parchment spread across the table, faintly glowing with traces of old mana.
The air tingled as if the ink itself remembered its power.
I began reading aloud.
"When one pacts with a dragon, the companion will receive a fragment of the dragon's power, thus becoming a Dragon Rider."
"Okay, sounds cool so far."
My eyes skimmed further.
"Fire—ritual through flame baptism. The companion must inherit fire resistance to bond Ashgar, the Fire Dragon."
"…That sounds horrible. How am I supposed to inherit fire resistance?"
I sighed. "Whatever. Next."
"Lightning—must consume the lightning offered by Korax, the Lightning Dragon."
"Excuse me?! Consume what?!!"
I rubbed my face. "Breathe, Yurio. Breathe. It's the lifestyle you're choosing yourself."
"Sound—must drink the blood of Pixie, the Sound Dragon."
"Burf—yak—ump— oh, fuck, I'm gonna vomit. Who wrote these rituals? Sadists?!"
I gagged dramatically and moved on.
"Sapphire—replace it______ offered by Vegha, the Sapphire Dragon."
"Replace what!? Don't you dare fade on me now!"
The ink was smudged beyond recognition. Of course it was.
"Sea—aid in hatching the unborn eggs of Tiamat, the Sea Dragon."
"Gross."
"Moon—sacrifice of one's inner desire, offered by Lunar, the Moon Dragon."
"Okay. That one sounds… poetic. Maybe doable."
And then—
nothing.
The scroll ended mid-sentence. Torn clean in half.
I blinked. "Where's the rest?"
Flipping it over, shaking it, even blowing on it did nothing.
The remaining text—gone.
No mention of the rest of the dragons!!!
"Wait. Wait. WAIT—ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!?"
My scream echoed through the library, bouncing off the high walls like the world was laughing with me.
Three days of sleepless decoding—for half the damn page?!
I slumped forward, forehead thunking against the table.
"This is how people become villains. I swear."
The old librarian shuffled over, looking like I might explode.
"Y-Young Master, perhaps… rest?"
"Rest?! When dragon history's been censored?!"
I sprang up, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot. "Someone ripped them out! Who hides dragon pacts?!"
"Maybe… they were lost to time?" the librarian offered weakly.
"Or stolen by the author," I muttered bitterly.
"Au… author?"
Oh, crap. Almost slipped. "Nothing."
Desperation drove me to scour every corner—every chest, every box—until I found it:
a locked side chamber, sealed with ancient Dravara sigils.
Inside, hundreds of scrolls rested in silence, sealed in dark wax.
The old librarian stammered, "Those are written in a forgotten tongue, Young Master. Worthless things—no one can read them."
Worthless?
You're talking to a man who literally read this world like a novel!
"I'll take them all."
"B-but—"
"I SAID I'LL TAKE THEM!"
The man nearly fainted. "You'll… need Lord Dravara's permission—"
"…He already has it."
That voice—low, cold, and sharp enough to silence the air.
I froze.
At the doorway stood Lancel Darava.
Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable.
Argos bowed slightly. "My Lord, the young master hasn't eaten or slept in three days."
"Really?" Lancel raised a brow. "Is he… studying?"
Argos nodded.
Lancel actually looked… surprised. "And the sun still rises, I presume?"
Ha-ha. Very funny, Father.
You're looking at the future Dragon Historian of the Empire, thank you very much.
"I was just looking for the rituals of the pacts," I said, straightening my spine.
"Have you found them all?"
"No."
"Hmm?"
"Only six! Where are the other five? Even Ghidorah—our sigil's dragon—its pact is gone!"
"Only six?" Lancel's gaze darkened. "Son… after the seventy-fourth Lord, no one has seen another dragon except the Pixie."
I gulped.
The air suddenly felt heavier.
He surveyed the chaos around me—scrolls, crumbs, ink stains, even a broken quill stabbed into a loaf of bread.
"…I suppose there are stranger miracles."
"Father!" I held up the torn scroll. "The missing five dragon pacts were removed. Someone hid them—maybe even sealed them in another vault!"
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—recognition… and fear.
"The missing five," he said slowly. "Are you that desperate to dig them up?"
He turned to the librarian. "Unseal the vault."
"My Lord! Those scrolls are forbidden!"
"Do it," Lancel commanded, voice like thunder.
The librarian fled to obey. The walls themselves seemed to hum in response.
I looked back at my father. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then—he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"If you truly wish to awaken what sleeps, Yurio… be prepared to face what we buried."
The air grew thick. Candles flickered blue. My skin prickled with unease.
"What you buried?" I whispered.
His eyes met mine—dark and ancient.
"The reason dragons fell silent."
And with that, he left—leaving me surrounded by sealed scrolls that pulsed faintly… as if alive.
I exhaled shakily. "…Am I fucked?"
Probably.
Still, I cracked open the first seal—
and froze.
The lost tongue?
The fuck?
It's Korean.