POV: Meruem
The killing of the innocent, he held, was a phrase fashioned by men who feared the consequence of their own actions. Innocence was not a condition inherent to Issei, nor to any creature that drew breath beneath the indifferent sky.
Innocence is merely a title granted by consensus, and consensus itself was a fragile republic, prone to dissolution at the slightest pressure of will.
What men called morality was a ledger kept by the weak, a careful accounting designed to bind the hands of those capable of writing history in broader strokes. In this ledger, the innocent life was entered as something inviolate, something sacred, yet no such sanctity existed outside the agreement of those too feeble to contest it.
Remove the witnesses, dissolve the agreement, and the sanctity vanished like mist beneath the sun. What remained was only the fact of the boy, and the fact of his utility.
Others would call the act evil. The accusation, however, was without substance. Evil was a word that sought to anchor judgment in a world where no fixed ground existed. Men spoke it with conviction, yet conviction was not proof, and no tribunal beyond their own invention stood ready to affirm their claims.
A man might condemn another for the taking of a life, yet if he lacked the strength to prevent it, his condemnation was revealed as little more than a preference, no more binding than a wish cast into the wind.
He regarded the notion of innocence as particularly suspect, for it presumed a moral order that could distinguish the deserving from the undeserving, as though existence itself operated by some hidden charter of fairness.
But the world, as he understood it, did not recognize such distinctions. It permitted the flourishing of one thing only at the expense of another. The hawk did not inquire into the virtue of the hare, nor did the storm consult the worthiness of the village it erased. In this, he saw a refusal of the world to indulge in the fictions that men found so comforting.
Issei, then, was not wronged in any ultimate sense, for there existed no court before which such a claim could be argued. There was only the convergence of wills. Isse's will stood against his own, and in that contest the outcome was already inscribed.
To refrain from acting would merely signal a submission to a code he neither recognized nor respected. There was no virtue in such restraint.
The deception was that men mistake their revulsion for revelation. They feel horror at the thought of the act and take that feeling as evidence of its wrongness, yet feeling is the most fickle of instruments, swayed by upbringing, by fear, by the silent pressure of the crowd.
If one man recoils and another proceeds, which of them has apprehended the truth? There is no measure by which to decide, save the measure that resolves all disputes of consequence, and that is the measure of power.
Thus the question of whether Iseei should be killed dissolved, in his estimation, into a simpler inquiry: whether the act could be done, and whether it served his purpose. All other considerations were ultimately irrelevant.
In his view, the only honest posture was acceptance of the world as it presented itself, a theater in which every actor must assert his role or be written out of the script. Issei's death, if it came to pass, would thus not be a proof of a moral failure or triumph in itself. It is merely another event, one more stroke in the ongoing composition of history. And history did not concern itself with the righteousness of its authors, only with their success.
Meruem understood that better than most. He wasn't just living in a new world, he was living in one he already knew. What was uncertain to others was familiar to him.
That difference changed everything.
Take dragons, for example. To most devils, Tiamat was a force of nature. A being you avoided, respected, and never tried to provoke. To Meruem, she was …still dangerous, still unreasonably powerful, but also something that can be nudged into a direction he wishes to. She had a history, a personality, and most importantly, a very specific grudge.
That made her predictable, which meant that she could be used.
The problem he was dealing with made that kind of thinking necessary. The Eye of the Pit was a constant drain on House Beleth. A hole in reality sitting right in the middle of their territory, endlessly producing monsters that had to be contained.
It wasn't something you could ignore, nor was it something you could brute force your way through either.
The problem was that killing the beasts didn't solve anything. They just kept coming. The source of the problem was the connection to the Dimension Gap. As long as that remained open, the Pit would never truly be cleared.
Which meant there was only one real solution- close the wounds.
That, unfortunately, was where things got complicated. Fixing something like that required power at the absolute top end, at the very least someone at the level of a dragon king. The kind of power that only a handful of beings in the entire world possessed.
Even if you found someone capable, there was no guarantee they would agree to help. Especially when interfering risked drawing the attention of Tiamat, who might just take it as an insult.
Most people wouldn't even consider it worth the risk.
Meruem, unfortunately, didn't have that luxury.
Waiting until he was strong enough to handle it himself was an option, but it was a slow one. Too slow for his liking. House Bael had already insulted him, and he intended to answer that insult properly. For that, he needed the Eye of the Pit dealt with sooner rather than later.
Which left him with the one option that actually worked.
Go to the source.
Tiamat herself.
Normally, that would be suicide. Dragons didn't respond well to people meddling with their affairs, and Tiamat was no exception. She was reasonable, by dragon standards, which still meant proud, greedy, and easily offended.
You didn't ask something from a being like that unless you had something worth offering.
Fortunately, Meruem did.
Tiamat had been chasing after Ddraig for a long time. Ddraig had once taken from her hoard, and even after being sealed away, that insult remained for a dragon's possession was indistinguishable from their sense of self. The Boosted Gear was a direct link to the one who had wronged her.
It was an opportunity.
And right now, that opportunity had a name.
Issei Hyoudou.
"Are you ready, Valerie?" he asked his bishop, who had just finished inscribing her magic circle upon the floor and arranging a careful assortment of magical herbs and candles along its intricate lines with meticulous care.
"If you would, master?" she replied politely, gesturing toward the unlit candles that stood waiting upon the circle.
He snapped his fingers, and at once every candle in the Hyoudou living room flared to life in perfect unison, their flames rising steadily as though guided by an unseen will, casting a warm, steady glow that softened the shadows along the walls and filled the room with a quiet, almost ritualistic stillness, as the faint scent of herbs mingled with the flickering light to create an atmosphere that sacred.
Ever since his transmigration into this fictitious world of dragons and devils, a single question had troubled him, returning to him time and again no matter how far his ambitions stretched.
What to do with Issei Hyoudou, the supposed protagonist of the reality he now inhabited?
At first, he had chosen to ignore the boy almost entirely, in part because doing so would allow him to preserve a semblance of the original flow of events, which he could later exploit to his advantage, and in part because Issei himself was, at that time, simply irrelevant to him.
The Boosted Gear was undoubtedly a powerful Sacred Gear that would play a significant role in the future, yet Meruem had no desire to claim it for himself, as his pride rejected the notion of relying upon a tool forged by another to attain power.
He likewise had no interest in bringing the former protagonist into his peerage, as he saw no value in surrounding himself with individuals who did not align with his standards.
However, Meruem, for all his pride, was neither foolish nor blind to opportunity. He recognized the undeniable advantage of having the wielder of the Boosted Gear aligned with him rather than against him.
That was precisely why he had brought Valerie with him now, intending to test a hypothesis that had taken shape in his mind.
"Can you place the boy's body at the center of the circle, master?" Valerie asked calmly.
Meruem rose without a word and walked toward the couch where Issei's unconscious form lay sprawled, his breathing steady and oblivious to the events about to unfold. He lifted the boy with measured care before placing him within the heart of the intricate formation inscribed upon the floor.
Valerie knelt beside the unconscious body, resting her hands gently upon his chest as she closed her eyes. Meruem felt the activation of the Sephiroth Graal as a faint holy presence spread through the air.
Valerie extended her other hand toward him, which he accepted without hesitation as he allowed her to guide his consciousness inward, descending into the depths of Issei's soul.
"YAAAHWEEEEEEEEEEH!"
The roar that greeted them defied comprehension, a sound so vast and overwhelming that it seemed to tear through the very fabric of existence, carrying with it a suffocating weight of ancient fury that pressed against his very soul with crushing force.
Meruem felt his consciousness buckle beneath it as his knees gave way involuntarily, striking the unseen ground as if compelled by an unseen hand, while beside him Valerie collapsed in the same instant, her form trembling under the sheer magnitude of the presence that bore down upon them.
It was a declaration of supremacy that reverberated through every layer of his being, as though the dragon's will sought to overwrite his own. For a fleeting moment even Meruem, an Ultimate-class devil, felt the edges of despair claw at his composure, his thoughts scattering under the relentless assault as his very soul quaked beneath the weight of domination made manifest.
When Meruem finally managed to gather himself, forcing his trembling form upright through sheer force of will, he lifted his gaze and found himself staring into a sea of crimson.
Before him stretched scales of immense size, each one larger than a cliff face, layered seamlessly over one another as they shifted with a fluid, almost liquid motion.
Their surface reflected a deep, burning red that seemed to pulse faintly as though alive, and the heat that radiated from them rolled outward in suffocating waves, pressing against his skin with such intensity that his body broke into a sheen of sweat simply from standing in their presence, as though he had been placed before an open furnace whose flames never dimmed.
The dragon itself rose in full before him, a colossal western beast whose sheer size defied reason, its body spanning hundreds of meters as it loomed like a living mountain of crimson flesh and scale, its form embodying raw power in its purest expression.
Its head alone was vast beyond measure, crowned with jagged horns that curved backward like blades forged from living flame, its maw lined with rows of teeth that gleamed like sharpened swords, each one capable of rending through steel and bone with effortless ease.
Its eyes burned with a fierce and unrelenting intensity, slit pupils set within molten irises that seemed to glow with an inner fire, radiating malice and an unyielding sense of dominance that made the very air feel heavy beneath its gaze.
Its talons dug into the ground like colossal spears, each claw longer than a man was tall and sharper than any blade, capable of tearing through armies as though they were nothing more than scattered leaves.
Its wings, vast and imposing, stretched outward like the banners of a conquering god, their immense span capable of blotting out the sky itself, each movement carrying the suggestion of hurricanes waiting to be unleashed.
Its tail coiled behind it with terrifying weight, thick and powerful, each subtle motion carrying the force of a thunderbolt that could shatter mountains and flatten entire landscapes.
And yet, for all its overwhelming majesty, it was bound.
Massive chains coiled around its body, ancient constructs of unimaginable strength that wrapped around the dragon like a serpent constricting its prey, each link as colossal as the creature it restrained, their surface etched with faint, divine patterns that pulsed with a power that rivaled the beast they held.
They bound its limbs tightly, shackling its claws to the ground, restraining its wings against its sides so that the child of the sky was denied even the freedom of flight. They coiled around its torso and neck with relentless force, anchoring it to the earth in a manner that reduced one of the mightiest beings in existence to a prisoner within its own domain.
Meruem felt a quiet sense of awe as he beheld the dragon, recalling the countless legends that spoke of its battles, of the gods it had slain and the eternal rivalry it shared with Albion, the White Dragon.
And yet despite that immeasurable power, it stood helpless before the chains that bound it, a truth that stirred a fleeting sense of despair within him as he contemplated the entity capable of forging such restraints.
The dragon rose to its full height as they entered this inner world, its movements sending tremors through the ground that reverberated through Meruem's very bones, and it lowered its massive head slightly, its gaze fixing upon them with a cold, appraising intensity, as though observing insignificant creatures that had dared to wander into its presence uninvited.
"What is this?" the dragon spoke, its voice deep and resonant, carrying a serpentine quality that coiled around each word, laced with madness, and a lingering confusion. "I am Y Ddraig Yoch, the heavenly Dragon who stole the principles of domination from God. I laugh at the infinite, and I grieve at the dream. The shadow of my wrath lies upon the world, and all that is in it bends slowly and surely to my will. You dare trespass within my domain uninvited, unworthy, and unannounced! Come, then. Step forward and claim the fate that awaits all who dare stand before me."
"No, thank you, O Ddraig, greatest among dragons," Meruem replied with a courteous bow. "Your generosity is noted, but I didn't come for rewards. I wished only to see you with my own eyes, to judge whether the tales spoken of your greatness held any truth. I couldn't believe that any being could truly embody such legend."
"Do you now?" Ddraig said, a trace of amusement entering his tone, as the inherent arrogance of dragonkind found satisfaction in such flattery.
The dragon stepped forward, the ground trembling beneath its weight, yet before it could close the distance, the chains binding it pulled taut and halted its advance, eliciting a low snarl as its eye twisted with irritation toward its restraints.
Meruem remained carefully positioned beyond the limits of its reach. Even if Ddraig couldn't really harm him here, it was better to be safe. Chained or not, a dragon is still a dragon.
"The songs do you no justice," Meruem said, his voice steady. "They fail to capture even a fraction of your magnificence, O Ddraig, whose mere gaze is enough to drive both gods and mortals alike to despair."
"You have nice manners for a devil," the dragon replied. "State your identity and your purpose, for you stand within my domain and I would know the name of the one who dares address me."
"I am he who is called the Lord of Rings," he said, offering nothing further of his identity. It was neither prudent nor wise to surrender one's true name lightly before beings of immense power, least of all to the dragon of domination.
"Is that so?" The dragon hissed. "And what is it you seek to accomplish by intruding upon my domain with such insolence, He who is called Lord of Rings?"
"I would like to offer you a deal, one that might benefit both of us."
"You presume too much, little bat!" the dragon snarled, its voice thick with disdain. "I am the Red Dragon of Supremacy! I have cast down civilizations as easily as I have slaughtered pantheons of gods. The mere mention of my name heralds calamity. What could you possibly offer me that I do not already possess?"
"Freedom," Meruem answered simply.
A low, dangerous sound rumbled from the dragon's throat. "You are either bold beyond reason or a fool with no hope of redemption," Ddraig said, a low, mocking sound rumbling through his throat. "I soared through the heavens while your ancestors had yet to crawl."
"And now you are chained to the earth," Meruem replied evenly.
"And no less dangerous for it," the dragon countered, its gaze sharpening. "You should do well to remember that."
A heavy silence followed as the dragon regarded him, his gaze piercing and contemplative. It looked like some loutish knight be-riddled by a troll.
"Setting aside, for a moment, the questionable credibility of your claim," the dragon said at last, his voice carrying a measured skepticism, "What would you wish in return?"
"Oh, nothing excessive," Meruem replied, a faint, knowing smile forming upon his lips. "A partnership between us. You would lend me your strength when the need arises, and in turn I would extend mine to you when your circumstances require it. A mutually beneficial agreement between equals. What say you, O Red Dragon?"
An overwhelming pressure descended upon them, crushing and absolute, saturating the very space with killing intent so dense that it felt almost tangible. Valerie collapsed to her knees, unable to withstand it, while Meruem himself felt his senses buckle beneath the sheer weight of it, his consciousness threatening to fracture under the strain.
Even diminished by the chains, the dragon's presence was enough to make an Ultimate-class devil falter.
"You entered my domain uninvited, and I permitted it!" the dragon said, his voice low and seething. "You presumed to understand what might benefit me, and I tolerated that as well. Yet now you stand before me and dare to propose an alliance as though you were my… equal, and you expect to do so without consequence? Unpunished?! Hubris! Blasphemous!
"I am the Red Dragon of Domination. I have hunted your kind as a wolf amongst sheep, and I humbled your maker long before your ancestors ever came to be. I kill as I please, and none have the strength to deny me. I have shattered the champions of ages past, and there are none in this era who can claim their equal. My scales are layered as shields beyond counting, each one an unbreakable bulwark. My fangs surpass the sharpness of any forged blade, capable of tearing through all that exists. My claws strike with the force of spears driven by divine wrath. The sweep of my tail carries the power of a thunderbolt that rends the earth asunder. My wings command storms that ravage the heavens themselves. My breath brings death to all that lives. Begone from my sight!"
The final word struck with such force that Meruem's soul itself seemed to shatter under its impact, his consciousness violently expelled from Issei's inner world as though he had been struck by an unstoppable force.
His eyes snapped open, his body lurching forward as he coughed harshly, struggling to draw breath as dizziness overtook him. It took several long moments before his senses stabilized and the world ceased its relentless spinning.
So that was the effect of a dragon's roar when unleashed by a Heavenly Dragon, he thought, a faint smile forming despite the strain. Amazing!
All dragons possessed the ability to release a roar infused with mana drawn from their very soul, a manifestation of their will that could drive weaker beings into despair and panic, the intensity of which depended upon both the strength of the dragon and the resilience of the one subjected to it.
Even restrained as it was by the chains, Ddraig's roar had been sufficient to shake an Ultimate-class devil to his core.
I want that kind of power, Meruem thought, a gleam of ambition flickering in his eyes as the lingering dizziness faded, leaving behind a quiet sense of exhilaration and a trace of envy toward the immense being he had just encountered.
That was the kind of power he sought, a power that stood above all things without justification, a power that did not rely upon manipulation or subtlety, a power that existed in its purest and most absolute form, unrestrained and unapologetic, asserting its presence upon the world simply because it could.
He turned his gaze toward Valerie, who was coughing violently on the ground, her body trembling as she struggled to steady her breathing, and he moved without hesitation to kneel beside her, placing a firm hand upon her shoulder to help stabilize her as the aftershocks of the encounter still rippled through her form.
It was then that he noticed the blood.
Thin streams ran from her eyes, her nose, and the edges of her ears, staining her pale skin in stark contrast, and for a brief moment a flicker of concern passed through him as he assessed the extent of the damage.
"I'm fine, master," Valerie said before he could voice the question, her tone steady despite the strain. "I managed to block most of it, though I wasn't fast enough to shield my soul completely from the impact of his roar. What manner of monster was that? He's beyond anything I have ever seen."
"He's magnificent, isn't he?" Meruem replied, a faint smile forming as a trace of excitement lingered in his voice. "Excluding the Dragon Gods, he stands among the most powerful dragons to have ever existed, with only Albion considered his equal…. hahahah, I knew he was powerful from all the tales and my previous knowledge but experiencing it first hand is something else."
"Well, good thing he's sealed then," Valerie said with a soft, breathless chuckle as she steadied her breathing. "I wouldn't feel safe anywhere if a being like that were allowed to roam freely. Though I don't understand why he reacted with such hostility when you offered him freedom. Wouldn't that be the very thing he desires?"
"What do you think a dragon is?" Meruem asked in response, his expression thoughtful.
"An oversized lizard?" Valerie ventured, uncertain.
"Don't let them hear you say that," Meruem said with a soft chuckle. "Dragons are power given form, that's the most accurate description one can offer. Every dragon, from the smallest hatchling to the mightiest Dragon God, believes itself to be the greatest dragon to have ever lived, one that stands above all others without equal. Their pride is so absolute that they don't form societies, nor do they gather among their own kind, for they deem no creature, not even another dragon, worthy of sharing their presence.
"Ddraig stands at the pinnacle of that hierarchy, and as such his arrogance is equally unparalleled. It was never freedom that he rejected. It was the implication that a being he considers beneath him would dare to offer it, and more than that, that such a being would presume to bargain with him as though they stood on equal footing."
"But that's illogical," Valerie replied, her brows furrowing in incomprehension.
"That's what dragons are," Meruem answered with a faint smile. "It wasn't as though I expected anything else, but it didn't hurt to ask. You never know what fate has in store if you don't dare test it."
"Well, fate had an angry dragon in store for us this time," Valerie answered dryly.
"Hopefully better luck next time," Meruem said, his gaze drifting to the still-unconscious body of Issei. "Did you have enough time to test it?"
"Yes," Valerie said with a slight nod. "As we discussed, I attempted to see whether I could separate the Sacred Gear from Issei's soul and claim it for ourselves, though unfortunately that's not something I am capable of accomplishing now."
He had three ideas regarding what to do with Issei. The first option, the one with the lowest chance of success, was to somehow convince Ddraig to work with or for him, and thereafter discover a method to break the divine seals that bound him.
Aside from this option being liable to be violently shattered by the sheer disparity in power between him and Ddraig which was so vast that there would be no way for Ddraig to meaningfully cooperate with him, at least not as equals.
There was also the utterly unrealistic requirement of becoming a master of sealing arts to the extent necessary to break God's seals, something that might as well be impossible, not to mention the foolish errand of attempting to convince a dragon to think rationally which placed the entire plan firmly within the realm of improbability.
As such, he had never truly expected this plan to succeed, even if by some miracle Ddraig chose not to behave as a dragon and agreed to his proposal.
The second option was the most logical, which was to extract the Boosted Gear from Issei and bestow it upon someone loyal to him.
This plan was at least somewhat feasible. While he did not possess whatever ritual the fallen angels used to extract a Sacred Gear from its human host, he reasoned that with the Sephiroth Graal - being the greatest possible tool when it came to anything concerning the soul, and given that a Sacred Gear was fundamentally an artifact intertwined with the soul - the centuries of research conducted by the fallen could, in theory, be bypassed.
That was the reason he had brought Valerie with him to test that hypothesis.
"Now?" he asked curiously.
"Yes, sire," she answered. "The Sacred Gear connects with the human soul in such a way that, to the untrained eye, there would be no distinction between the Sacred Gear and the host's soul. I suspect that even to the highest experts of soul magic, it would appear indistinguishable. It's perhaps what makes extracting Sacred Gears so extraordinarily difficult. Jehovah must have been an unparalleled genius to combine both so seamlessly. And not to mention the countless safety measures he put in place to counter any attempt at extraction."
He had expected that. After all, Sacred Gears had existed for eons, and if it were so easy to extract one, every faction would have poured immense resources into gathering powerful wielders to create an army of god-killers, and each time one died, extract the Gear and pass it on to the next wielder like a family heirloom.
Meruem knew it was not impossible; the fallen had already achieved it. The issue, then, was a lack of knowledge, an inability to fully decipher God's work. And there were only a handful of individuals who could even begin to claim equality with Him when it came to mastery over seals or power.
"But the Sephiroth Graal is a Longinus," he said. "All Longinus stand at the apex of their respective domains and possess the potential to end the world. The Sephiroth Graal governs the soul, which means it should represent the highest possible authority within that field."
"Which brings me to the next issue," Valerie said. "Given enough time, I could theoretically brute-force all the safety measures, tear the boy's soul apart, and extract the Boosted Gear. Given time in geological amounts. But even then, we would still face another problem."
"What problem?" he asked, leaving the matter of the soul to the experts.
"The recovery system embedded within the Gear," she replied. "Each Sacred Gear is bound by an extraordinarily complex array of divine miracles that activate the moment it's separated from its host, immediately returning it to Heaven's system. That mechanism lies outside the scope of my current capabilities, and I suspect, yours as well."
That made sense, he supposed. After all, every Sacred Gear returned to Heaven's system the moment its host died. But there was one exception he remembered from his previous life.
The Nemean Lion, Regulus, had somehow manifested after its host had been killed, acting to avenge him before encountering Sairaorg Bael and being reincarnated as a devil shortly thereafter.
Why hadn't Regulus instantly returned to Heaven? Was there something unique about it?
Of course, back then Meruem had simply assumed the author wanted another devil character to possess a Sacred Gear and serve as a rival to Issei, without any deeper reasoning behind it.
"And you can't hold onto it long enough to transfer it into another host?" he asked curiously.
"No, at least not with my current level of knowledge," she answered calmly. "Perhaps once I fully master my Sacred Gear or achieve Balance Breaker… it may become possible. But that will take a very long time. I'm sorry, Master."
"Don't be," he said casually. "It was a long shot to begin with. It's enough that you have confirmed Sacred Gears can be extracted in the future with sufficient practice. In any case, I'm not particularly interested in the Boosted Gear."
"So, you intend to gift the boy to Tiamat?" she asked evenly.
"Yes, that seems to be unavoidable," he replied thoughtfully.
…
The Familiar Forest was a vast pocket dominion, stretching to the size of a small continent, existing deep within the Underworld. Countless types of creatures roamed its expanse, both demonic and holy in nature, with some species found nowhere else in existence.
It was a sprawling tapestry of a living ecosystem, populated by beings drawn from myths, legends, and forgotten folktales across innumerable cultures.
Creatures such as hydras, unicorns, lesser dragons, chimeras, manticores, griffins, basilisks, wyverns, drakes, phoenixes, thunderbirds, kirin, qilin, salamanders, sylph-like spirits, banshees, wendigos, dire wolves, hellhounds, fae beasts, and countless other aberrant and mythical animals could all be found within this forest, each inhabiting its own niche within the vast and dangerous expanse.
The Familiar Forest was what the high-class devils called it, though in truth, the entire dimension was nothing more than Tiamat's hoard. However, the current Satans had struck a bargain with the Dragon King, allowing certain devils to try their luck within her domain in search of a familiar.
Naturally, such an opportunity was reserved exclusively for members of the nobility, and even then, only a limited number of devils were permitted entry each year. The schedule was perpetually filled, requiring appointments to be arranged years in advance through familiar masters and official guides in order to gain access.
This restriction was part of the agreement, and it was said that Tiamat received an amount of treasure equal to her own immense weight each year in exchange for her continued tolerance.
Meruem, however, followed no schedule but his own. It was precisely because of that disposition that he now found himself trespassing into the pocket dimension unannounced, utterly unconcerned that his intrusion might provoke a catastrophic reaction from Tiamat for his insolence and potentially trigger a diplomatic crisis with the Dragon King.
Having already encountered and provoked a Heavenly Dragon, Meruem found himself emboldened, operating under the practical assumption that if Tiamat chose to react with anger, he would simply die, and any consequences that followed would no longer concern him.
Life, after all, held little meaning without the willingness to embrace risk.
And it was practically a tradition for a member of house Beleth to provoke Tiamat at this point.
He walked alone through the forest, having sent Valerie away beforehand, his figure moving at an unhurried pace beneath the towering canopy.
His gaze eventually settled upon a colossal series of connected mountain ranges that rose in the distance, each peak jagged and severe, their combined mass dwarfing even the greatest mountains of the human world by a factor of five.
The range stretched endlessly across the horizon, its many peaks rising like the teeth of some ancient and slumbering beast, with sharp ridgelines, sheer cliffs, and overlapping summits that layered upon one another in an almost oppressive display of natural grandeur.
The highest among them pierced into the dim sky of the Underworld, their summits wreathed in faint mists and shimmering heat distortions, giving them an otherworldly and hostile presence that suggested death to any who dared approach. It was precisely because the mountain appeared the most intimidating and lethal that Meruem concluded it must house his target.
The origin of the Dragon King known as Tiamat was steeped in hearsay and speculation, if indeed she possessed an origin at all, as she was older than devils, older than humanity, and older than most gods. Meruem, ever inclined to seek connections between disparate truths, had briefly investigated whether the Dragon King Tiamat bore any relation to the Mesopotamian primordial goddess of the salt sea. What he uncovered was a tale no less credible than any other preserved myth.
In the creation myth of the Mesopotamian pantheon, there existed in the beginning only two entities: Tiamat, the personification of the salt sea, and Apsu, the embodiment of the fresh waters beneath the earth. From their union, the first gods emerged. As was common in such myths, the offspring eventually turned against their progenitors, waging war upon them and ultimately slaying them.
The defeated primordial goddess Tiamat was said to have been divided into two aspects, her divine, ordered, and creative essence claimed by Marduk and the other gods of the Mesopotamian pantheon, while her chaotic and maddened remnants were cast into Hell, where they would eventually give rise to the being now known as the Dragon King Tiamat.
Whether this account reflected truth or mere interpretation held little importance in the present, as Meruem's focus remained fixed upon the path ahead.
Meruem soon came upon a small cave opening, one large enough to admit several men abreast, set into the base of the immense mountain range. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, moving through the long, winding tunnel with an unperturbed stride.
As he advanced deeper, a faint blue glow became visible ahead, steadily intensifying with each step he took. The temperature within the tunnel rose noticeably, the air growing thick and oppressive, as wisps of vapor drifted upward past him. Sweat began to form along his skin as the heat continued to build.
A sound reached him then, low and rhythmic, throbbing in his ears. It resembled the bubbling of an enormous cauldron set upon a roaring fire, interwoven with a deep, resonant rumble akin to the purring of some colossal beast.
It was unmistakably the gurgling resonance of a vast creature breathing in its sleep, emanating from somewhere within the blue-lit depths ahead.
He walked for what felt like a considerable span of time before the tunnel finally gave way, opening into a cavernous hall within the mountain. The chamber was immense, vast enough to contain multiple football fields with ease, its ceiling stretching high above into darkness.
The lack of light did nothing to impede his vision. On the near side of the rocky floor, he saw a great, luminous glow.
A resplendent blue light suffused the cavern, reflecting across the surfaces of stone and treasure alike, casting shifting highlights that illuminated the vast expanse in a surreal, almost sacred brilliance.
There she lay, a colossal dragon of blue and gold, her form immense and awe-inspiring, though not quite as large as Ddraig, yet no less terrifying in presence.
She slept, her massive body rising and falling with each breath, a deep thrumming emanating from her jaws and nostrils as thin streams of smoke curled outward. Meruem found himself momentarily disoriented simply by gazing upon her, as though her very existence distorted perception.
Beneath her, under all six of her limbs and the vast coils of her tail, and extending outward in every direction across the unseen reaches of the cavern floor, lay innumerable piles of treasure.
Gold, gemstones, and jewels were scattered in immense quantities, interspersed with swords both demonic and holy, intricately crafted armor, and countless other relics, all gleaming with a blueish hue beneath the ambient light.
Behind her, where the cavern walls drew nearer, there could be seen rows of hanging weapons and equipment - coats of mail, helms, axes, swords, and spears - while great jars and vessels stood arranged in ordered lines, filled to the brim with wealth beyond estimation.
Not a single inch of the vast cavern lay bare of treasure. It was a hoard capable of purchasing entire nations many times over.
As he beheld it, Meruem felt something alien stir within him, the insidious sin of greed awakening at the edges of his consciousness. The sheer magnitude of the wealth before him inspired a rising desire to claim it, and fleeting images formed in his mind of all that could be accomplished with such resources.
Yet he forced the thought away almost immediately, severing it with a thought. The hoard of a dragon carried with it a curse, a subtle corruption that ensnared the minds of those who gazed upon it, driving them toward obsession and ultimately toward ruin, as countless individuals had met their tragic end after succumbing to that desire.
Meruem acknowledged the temptation, but he did not care for the accumulation of wealth for its own sake, and material possessions remained, in his mind, instruments to be utilized in pursuit of far greater ends.
"Well, thief! I smell you, and I feel your air. Come along! Help yourself again, there is plenty and to spare!" Tiamat spoke, her voice rich with pride, yet carrying a distinctly playful edge, a sharp contrast to Ddraig, whose presence had been defined entirely by pride and wrath.
"Thief? O Tiamat, greatest of all dragons," he began, his tone smooth with deliberate flattery. "I don't recall ever taking anything that was knowingly yours."
"Don't play coy with me, boy!" Tiamat's eyes opened fully now, fixing him with a piercing, reptilian gaze. Her voice reverberated through the mountain, sending tremors through the very stone. "I know the smell and taste of Beleth, who better than I? I recognized you the moment you entered my domain."
"It seems rather harsh to blame the son for the actions of the father," Meruem replied pleasantly. "Or the great-grandfather, in this case."
"Thief… son of a thief, it makes no difference," Tiamat said, her long serpentine neck suddenly coiling around him with impossible speed. He had not seen her move. "The only reason I have not burned your soul in agony as I did your ancestor the moment you stepped into my domain is because I find you somewhat interesting."
"Interesting in what way?" Meruem asked, genuine curiosity threading through his voice.
Anything that delayed the whims of a vast, temperamental dragon inclined toward destruction worked in his favor, and he intended to understand precisely what had captured her attention so that he might exploit it.
Tiamat was said to be the most reasonable among dragons, and the one most enamored with mystery.
"You carry a familiar scent," she said, drawing in the air with a slow, deliberate inhale, almost feline in its manner. "Yes… an old and familiar scent indeed. Yet there is something more layered beneath it. There is a trace I do not recognize. Your soul smells peculiar for a devil, entirely unlike the countless children of the Morningstar. How fascinating!"
He did not fully understand what she meant, though he could form a reasonable guess.
Without warning, the massive dragon's form began to shift. Her colossal body twisted in on itself, the vast expanse of her wings folding inward as though space itself bent to accommodate the transformation.
Her scales shimmered and contracted, plates of hardened draconic armor flowing like liquid as her immense frame diminished in size. Limbs restructured, bones reshaped, and her serpentine mass condensed with a fluid, unnatural grace that defied conventional understanding of form.
The overwhelming presence of the dragon did not lessen as she shrank; instead, it seemed to compress, intensify, and concentrate into something far denser and more suffocating.
Where once there had been a towering, ethereal blue dragon, there now stood a woman.
The faint, pale glow of her skin caught what little light lingered within the cavern, giving her an almost unreal presence. Her hair carried a luminous, cold blue sheen, like moonlight submerged beneath deep water, shifting softly as it cascaded down her back in long, weightless strands.
Her eyes burned with a sharp violet brilliance, alive with mischief and an unsettling intelligence that seemed to peer far deeper than surface appearances.Dark, jagged horns arched upward from her head, framing her face like a natural crown, lending her an aura of quiet authority and latent danger.
Her figure was slender, almost delicate at a glance, yet there was an unmistakable tension beneath that surface, a coiled strength that suggested restrained power waiting to be unleashed. Like many women of this world, her chest was enormous and scantily covered, though even that detail seemed secondary to the overwhelming presence she exuded.
Strange markings traced faintly along her skin, resembling veins or fractures, as though something vast and unstable had been forced into a confined shape. One of her arms appeared encased in a hardened, scale-like armor that seemed grown rather than forged, seamlessly integrated into her body.
She wore no garments intended for warmth or modesty. What little material adorned her clung tightly in narrow, deliberate sections, more akin to a second skin than actual clothing, covering only what was necessary while leaving much of her form exposed to the cool air of the cavern.
She is breathtaking! Meruem found himself momentarily captivated, utterly drawn in by the blue-haired woman whose beauty defied simple description.
"Aren't you a flattering one?" Tiamat said with a coy smile, her expression softening slightly, revealing the well-known draconic weakness for praise.
Wait, did I say that aloud? he wondered, immediately reinforcing his mental barriers just to be sure. Bargaining with a dragon required a guarded mind.
She moved before he could react. In a single, fluid motion, she closed the distance between them, her hand rising to cup his face with an almost possessive familiarity as she pulled him forward and pressed her lips against his.
Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, serpentine in nature, searching for something deeper than mere physical contact.
This was not how he had envisioned his encounter with Tiamat unfolding. Still, he could not deny that there were far worse fates than being kissed by an undeniably attractive dragon. A Milf Dragon at that.
Even so, the more analytical part of his mind remained active, noting cynically how effortlessly she handled him, how absolute the difference in their strength was, and how there was no conceivable way for him to escape her grasp if he had chosen to resist. The realization was deeply unpleasant to say the least.
She broke the kiss abruptly, her expression shifting into one of both frustration and fascination, as though she had reached for something that remained just beyond her grasp. Her eyes locked onto his once more.
"Interesting," she murmured, resting her fingers lightly beneath her chin in a thoughtful gesture. "Your taste carries a unique flavor, unlike anything I have encountered before."
"I make a point of keeping my teeth clean and my breath fresh," he replied, uncertain of what else to say.
What else do you say to a dragon calling you 'tasty'?
"Not your flesh," she snapped, a low growl threading through her voice. "Your soul. It carries a flavor distinct from devils or anything else I recognize…hmm, there is a significant amount of primordial energy coiled around it."
"Primordial energy?" he asked, curiosity sharpening. "You're referring to the energy of the Dimensional Gap?"
The chaotic force from which all existence had once emerged was often described as primordial energy, a volatile and corrosive power that would erode most beings into nothingness if they remained exposed to it for too long within the Dimensional Gap.
"Yes, hush now! I am thinking," Tiamat said briskly, circling him slowly, her gaze methodical and penetrating as she examined him from every conceivable angle, her interest only deepening with each passing moment.
He found that he could no longer speak, even had he wished to do so, as she had stripped him of that ability with nothing more than a casual command. In that moment he was forced to confront the unsettling truth that even an Ultimate-class existence amounted to very little in the presence of true monsters such as her.
Until such time as she chose to release him from her spell, his thoughts drifted back to her earlier words, to the strange remark she had made about the taste of his soul.
At first, he had assumed that the difference she perceived came from the fact that he was not originally from this world, and it seemed reasonable to think that a soul born elsewhere would carry some distinct quality, some unfamiliar flavor as she called it.
Yet her words suggested something deeper, and the mention of a large quantity of primordial energy coiled around his soul lingered in his mind, stirring a quiet curiosity that he could not easily dismiss.
The dimension gap, often described in various mythologies under different names, was said to be the birthplace of gods and the primordial canvas upon which existence itself was first shaped.
The Greeks referred to it as Khaos, the Norse named it Ginnungagap, the Egyptians spoke of Nun, and in Chinese mythology it was known as Hundun, while countless other traditions carried their own interpretations of that same boundless, formless expanse.
It existed as a realm beyond conventional space and time, a place where distinction had not yet been defined, where matter, energy, and consciousness existed in an undifferentiated state, and from which all structured reality eventually emerged.
According to many schools of thought, every soul passed through this dimension gap prior to birth, undergoing a kind of condensation from that vast, unshaped primordial essence into an individualized existence.
As a result, every living being carried within them a trace of that original energy, a faint imprint of the chaotic, limitless potential from which they were formed. This primordial energy was believed to be the fundamental source of all magical phenomena, the underlying force that allowed the manipulation of reality through will, knowledge, and technique.
Magical races, such as devils, angels, dragons, and other supernatural entities, were said to possess a significantly greater concentration of this primordial energy within their souls, which granted them an instinctive connection to magic and allowed them to wield it as naturally as breathing.
Their bodies and souls were structured in a way that facilitated the flow and utilization of that energy, giving them an inherent advantage over ordinary humans. Humans, on the other hand, were thought to possess only a minimal amount of this primordial essence, enough to sustain existence but insufficient to grant them innate magical capability.
This disparity was often cited as the reason why humans struggled to access magic without external aid, training, or artificial enhancement, and why their potential in that domain appeared limited when compared to other races.
Some scholars theorized that this limitation was not absolute, that under certain conditions a human could awaken or cultivate the dormant traces of primordial energy within them, yet such cases were rare and often required extraordinary circumstances.
Others believed that humanity's weakness in this regard was a deliberate balance imposed upon the world, a necessary constraint to prevent instability.
If what Tiamat had said was true, if his soul indeed contained a greater concentration of primordial energy than what was typical even among exceptional individuals, then it could explain the ease with which he had grasped magic, the speed at which he had advanced, and the depth of mastery he had attained in such a short time.
"Yes, yes…" Tiamat murmured, her gaze fixed on him though her words seemed directed more toward her own thoughts than toward him. "Your soul does contain more primordial energy than usual, but what of it? There have been many individuals of greater destiny who possessed the same trait. That alone does not account for the unique flavor I perceive, though it may be a symptom rather than the cause. Yes… that seems more likely… Hmm, indeed, the unique nature of your soul might explain the excess, but why is your soul unique to begin with?"
His heart seemed to rise into his throat as he listened, a flicker of unease taking hold at how close she appeared to be to uncovering the truth of his existence. The intuitive foresight possessed by beings of her caliber, manifesting as near-accurate hunches, was being displayed in full before him, and it was an unsettling thing to witness when one stood as the subject of that scrutiny.
"Speak, who are you?" Tiamat demanded, her voice carrying an edge of insistent curiosity, her gaze sharp and unwavering as it locked onto him.
There was something almost obsessive in her expression, like a predator that had discovered something new and intriguing, something that stirred both fascination and irritation in equal measure.
He attempted to respond, only to find himself incapable of forming words, his silence answering her question in its own way as he regarded her with a questioning look.
"I'm not asking for your name, Meruem, son of Andramelth of House Beleth," Tiamat clarified. "I wish to know what you are. Tell me who Meruem Beleth truly is! You will find that you are incapable of speaking anything but the truth."
He was unsurprised that she knew his name. For beings of her level, such information could be divined or uncovered with trivial effort. It was for this very reason that when dragons or fae of comparable stature requested one's name directly, it was rarely a trivial matter, as such a request often carried implications far beyond simple curiosity.
It was not wise to directly answer their questions. Granting them that information willingly could be akin to offering them access to the very core of one's being, something that could be used for purposes that were rarely benign.
Meruem considered his situation carefully, aware that he could not reveal his origin as someone from another world, as that secret was too valuable and too dangerous to expose.
A direct answer was therefore impossible, yet he was constrained by the condition she had imposed, one that ensured he could only speak the truth.
He lacked both the power and the knowledge required to break free from her spell, which meant that whatever answer he gave would need to be both truthful and carefully constructed, revealing nothing of what he wished to conceal.
He turned his thoughts toward Tiamat herself, analyzing her nature in an effort to determine what kind of response might satisfy her curiosity without compromising him.
Like most dragons, she was fundamentally solitary, her interactions with others typically limited to conflict or strictly transactional exchanges.
Such a lifestyle inevitably fostered a form of isolation, and dragons, in their own ways, developed their own ways of coping with that isolation.
Some sought stimulation through destruction, unleashing their power in bouts of violence whenever boredom took hold. Others gathered followers and demanded worship, surrounding themselves with lesser beings whose reverence served to affirm their superiority.
There were those who hoarded treasures obsessively, both for material value as well as a means of asserting control and ownership over something tangible. Some immersed themselves in ancient knowledge, dedicating centuries to the pursuit of understanding, while others engaged in intricate games of intellect, favoring riddles, bargains, and layered manipulations as a way to entertain themselves.
There were even dragons who took an interest in shaping civilizations from the shadows, guiding events subtly to observe the outcomes of their interference.
Tiamat, however, was known to be driven by curiosity. She was drawn to the unknown, to anomalies that defied expectation, finding genuine enjoyment in unraveling mysteries and demonstrating her intellect through discovery.
It was that aspect of her nature that now fixed upon him, that compelled her to probe deeper, and it was that same curiosity he would need to navigate if he wished to emerge from this encounter without exposing more than he intended.
"I am he who crawled through a tunnel of darkness to reach the light," he began calmly.
"Hmm," she swayed thoughtfully, a slow, languid motion that carried an almost feline grace. "A riddle, how lovely! Crawling through a tunnel to reach the light could be a metaphor for birth, or perhaps a literal reference to your journey through these tunnels to reach me. It tells me something, though not nearly enough."
"I am the ringmaker, he who is master of the earth and director of beasts that dwell upon it," he continued evenly. "I am a shadow-killer and a giver of freedom."
"That doesn't sound particularly believable," Tiamat scoffed, tilting her head with a cat-like curiosity. "But my spell prevents you from speaking falsehoods. How fascinating! A giver of freedom, you say… that could mean a lot of things both metaphorically and literally. Tell me more."
"I am the harvester of sin and the fulfiller of desire," he said. "I corrupt the spirit and enslave the heart. I turn dreams into nightmares."
"A contradiction," she hissed, though her tone carried clear delight. "A giver of freedom, yet an enslaver of the heart. How intriguing. A harvester of sin and a fulfiller of desire… there is a connection there, something underlying those concepts but what? You have given me much to consider." Her eyes gleamed with interest. "Now, why did you come to me?"
"I have come to bargain," he said, the pressure around his voice lifting as her spell released its hold over him.
"A bargain?" she repeated, her curiosity sharpening. "For what?"
"For pardon," he replied simply.
"You wish to bargain for pardon?" she said, her interest deepening as she continued to circle him, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator studying prey already within its grasp. "Go on."
"My great-grandfather, in his arrogance, gravely insulted you," Meruem began carefully. "For that, he paid with his life, and with a curse that lingers over all his descendants like an ever-present shadow. I don't claim the punishment was unjust, for he should have known better than to meddle with a dragon's hoard. I have come to set that wrong right and to make reparations. I present myself before you in all due humility and seek to bring closure to a wound left festering for far too long."
"You have a silver tongue," Tiamat said, amusement flickering across her expression. "Humility, however, remains something you have yet to learn. One does not bargain for pardon, least of all with a dragon. Others with less patience than I would have reduced you to ash for such audacity. Still, your riddles have piqued my interest, so I will overlook that misstep."
"My apologies, O cleverest of dragons," he said, his tone measured and respectful. "I simply have no wish to taint your domain with insincerity, nor to mislead you with falsehoods regarding my intentions. It would be the height of arrogance to assume I would be able to fool you. That's why I chose not to cloak my words in empty politeness because the truth itself seemed more fitting. So yes, I have come to bargain with you."
"Silver-tongued indeed," she laughed softly. "You hide your pride well beneath your flattery. You came to make a deal and not grovel for pardon, very brave of you to admit that to my face. Many wouldn't dare. Very well, I don't take honesty as an insult, unlike some of my more prideful kin."
Tiamat came to a stop before him, her gaze meeting his eyes directly. "You wish for me to mend the fractures in reality I created in my wrath. What do you offer in return? Surely you did not come empty-handed."
"No," Meruem replied. "As a matter of fact, I have brought you something you have been seeking for millennia."
With a small gesture of his hand, a magic circle formed beneath him, marked by the seven-pointed distinction of House Beleth. From it fell a young boy with chestnut hair and an average build, his body limp and unconscious.
"You bring me a boy as an offering?" Tiamat raised an eyebrow.
"He's not an ordinary boy," Meruem said, a faint grin forming. "Look closer."
Her attention shifted to the unconscious figure, and she inhaled slowly, as though tasting the air itself. Recognition dawned upon her, her expression shifting rapidly from curiosity into something far more primal, a grin forming that was sharp, inhuman, and deeply unsettling.
"I know this scent," she murmured, her voice laced with hunger. "The same scent I detected from you earlier. I would recognize it anywhere… It has been a long time, Ddraig! thief of my treasure, defiler of my hoard. To think you would be reduced to a bargaining piece in the hands of a devil, and for something so insignificant. How far the mighty have fallen."
From what Meruem remembered of the original timeline, Tiamat had not displayed overt hostility toward Issei for wielding the Boosted Gear. Her animosity had been directed solely at Ddraig, and she had merely tasked his host with retrieving what had been taken.
Yet the murderous intent radiating from her now suggested that her grievance ran far deeper than a simple matter of borrowed treasure.
"I was under the impression," Meruem said calmly, "that the Red Dragon Emperor had borrowed from your hoard and failed to return it."
"A dragon does not borrow," she snapped sharply. "A dragon does not ask. A dragon takes what it desires and destroys what it does not. But this changes things, does it not, Ddraig?" Her laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained.
Meruem remained still as she descended into manic laughter, reliving ancient grievances that had clearly never faded. The notion that Ddraig had merely just borrowed from her now seemed to be increasingly unlikely.
It seemed that the version of events he had known was incomplete, and whatever truly transpired between them was likely far more complex than a simple act of theft.
Though curiosity stirred within him, the shift in her demeanor made it clear that she would not readily share the full truth.
"You truly spoil me, Meruem," Tiamat said suddenly, her attention snapping back to him with a bright, almost delighted expression. "First riddles to amuse my mind, and now the opportunity to settle an old grievance… And all you ask in return is that I mend those fractures?"
"That's all I ask for," Meruem replied, his posture easing slightly.
"Are you sure?" she whispered, her voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone as she leaned closer, her breath brushing against his ear. "You have brought me the host of Ddraig alive. Many would pay an unimaginable price for such a gift. I could grant you wealth beyond your wildest imaginings… All you need to do is ask."
There was something different in her voice now, something subtle yet insidious, and he felt the pull of it almost immediately. The same creeping desire that had stirred within him upon first witnessing her hoard began to rise again, stronger this time, more insistent.
If she were to grant even a fraction of her treasure, he could possess wealth beyond anything he could spend in centuries. The thought formed unbidden, seductive in its simplicity. There was no harm in accepting such an offer, he reasoned.
She was practically encouraging him to do so. He already possessed immense wealth as the heir to a great house, yet the idea of having more, of securing an even greater abundance, began to feel increasingly appealing.
Wealth was power, after all, and there was no such thing as having too much of it.
The thought lingered, expanding, taking on a life of its own as it wove through his mind, urging him to consider the possibilities, to imagine what he could gain, what he could claim for himself if he simply reached out and accepted what was being offered.
Then, with a sudden clarity, he cut the thought off.
Snap out of it!
The realization struck him sharply. The fact that he had so readily entertained the idea, despite already possessing more than enough, was proof of how dangerous her influence truly was. It was a subtle corruption, a slow erosion of restraint that would push him toward greed without him even noticing it.
It would grow, feeding upon itself, twisting his priorities, narrowing his vision until he resembled the very creatures whose hoards he now stood among.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He had no desire to become like that, to let that hunger shape him into something smaller, something bound by the same instincts that drove lesser dragons to obsession.
He would not yield to it.
"Thank you for your offer, my lady," Meruem answered with measured composure. "However, I must decline. I already possess more wealth than I need, more would bring me no greater satisfaction."
She smiled at that, her expression carrying a quiet, almost wistful amusement. "Such a strong will," she said, her gaze sharpening with a flicker of excitement. "And so much potential… so much power for one so young. There is little doubt that you will one day stand alongside the Red and Green Satans. You have the potential to be worthy."
"Worthy?" Meruem repeated, raising a brow in mild confusion.
"Yes," she said, her smile widening as though the conclusion were self-evident. "You have the potential to be worthy of becoming my mate."
Meruem found himself momentarily at a loss, unable to trace the chain of reasoning that had led her to such a declaration. He attributed it, with some resignation, to the eccentric and unpredictable nature of dragons, creatures who often made pronouncements as absolute truths without the need for explanation or consent.
"But not as you are now," she continued abruptly, her tone shifting with startling suddenness into that of a stern instructor delivering an unyielding verdict. "It pains me to say this, yet your current level of power is insufficient to withstand me. Your mind would fracture, and your life itself would be at risk if we were to proceed as you are. If you are to be worthy of me, then you must rise to my level. I will grant you five years."
Meruem's thoughts faltered briefly as he tried to reconcile her words. He had not expressed any desire to become her mate, nor could he comprehend why such a statement would be framed as something that might break his heart.
The mention of five years only deepened his confusion, as he lacked any familiarity with the customs or expectations of draconic mating practices, and the implications she suggested did not inspire confidence.
Before he could respond, she closed the distance between them once more and pressed her lips against his again. This time the kiss carried a different quality, less forceful yet imbued with a deeper intensity, a deliberate and possessive passion that remained dominant.
"There," she said, drawing back with a satisfied expression. "I have marked you as mine." Her tone shifted, becoming firm and absolute. "Reach at least the level of a Dragon King within five years. When that time comes, I will return to claim what belongs to me. If you fail to meet my expectations, I will kill you."
For a rare moment, Meruem found himself completely without words, his thoughts unable to keep pace with the sudden and overwhelming turn of events. He stared at her, trying to process what had just transpired, a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment settling over him.
Was the most powerful Dragon King, a being capable of tearing through reality itself, simply a dragon in heat?
And had she truly decided, without consultation or consent, that he was to become strong enough so he can fuck her?
This world's absurdity never fails to amaze me.
Tiamat turned her attention away from him as though the matter had already been settled, lifting Issei effortlessly through the use of levitation magic before moving deeper into the cavern, her form receding into the vastness of her domain.
"You may leave now, devil," she said over her shoulder, casting him a brief, amused smirk. "I will uphold my end of the agreement within a week."
Meruem required no further encouragement, nor did he possess any inclination to linger within the domain of a Dragon King any longer than absolutely necessary, especially one whose whims shifted so unpredictably.
Without hesitation, he turned and made his way out, intent on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the presence he had just encountered.
…
As he departed the Familiar Forest, Meruem found his thoughts turning toward the uncertain fate of Issei. The decision to hand him over to Tiamat had not been made lightly, nor had it been his first inclination.
In truth, it had been a final resort, held in reserve precisely because of the volatile and unpredictable nature of the Dragon King, as well as the peculiar significance Issei held as a protagonist within the flow of events.
There were, in his estimation, two plausible outcomes awaiting Issei under Tiamat's grasp.
The first, and by far the most desirable, was that she might simply choose to kill him outright as an act of retribution against Ddraig. That would resolve the matter cleanly, eliminating any future complications without cost or consequence to Meruem.
It was, in truth, the outcome he would have preferred.
The second possibility, however, was far less convenient. Tiamat's temperament, as he had just witnessed, was rather unpredictable. There existed a distinct possibility that she would deem death insufficient as recompense for Ddraig's transgressions.
She might instead choose a more prolonged and, to her, far more entertaining form of punishment. Given her known personality, it wouldn't be out of character for her to compel Issei into servitude, forcing him to retrieve the scattered remnants of her hoard across the world.
In the original timeline, she had made a similar demand, and although the version of Tiamat he had encountered seemed a bit different, she remained, at her core, a dragon who valued amusement and novelty. The opportunity to turn the host of Ddraig into a personal errand runner would provide both, and he doubted she would easily discard such a prospect.
That outcome was far from ideal in his eyes. Meruem understood the nature of protagonists, the way fortune seemed to bend itself around them, guiding them through adversity and elevating them through struggle.
If Issei were not killed outright, then the likelihood of him growing stronger was inevitable in typical hero fashion. Given enough time, and sufficient motivation, he would inevitably seek revenge.
As the wielder of the Boosted Gear, Issei could genuinely be a threat, especially if that potential is properly cultivated. Under the guidance of someone like Tiamat, it was not unreasonable to assume that he would be forged into something far more formidable than he currently was.
In fact, Meruem could easily imagine Tiamat deliberately cultivating that growth, shaping Issei into a worthy rival, a future opponent capable of testing her mate.
And yet, despite all of this, Meruem felt no trace of regret. If anything, there was a quiet sense of anticipation that stirred within him.
To exist without opposition was, in his view, a hollow endeavor. Greatness did not emerge in isolation, nor did it thrive in the absence of resistance.
Every man who aspired to ascend beyond the ordinary required obstacles worthy of his ambition, adversaries capable of forcing him to confront his limits and surpass them.
The measure of a man was defined by the caliber of those who stood against him.
An existence devoid of worthy enemies would stagnate, dulled by the absence of challenge, stripped of the very pressures that forged strength and sharpened resolve.
It was through conflict that one's will was tested, through opposition that one's growth was accelerated, and through the presence of formidable rivals that true dominion could be established with certainty.
To stand at the pinnacle while surrounded by mediocrity held no meaning; it was only when one rose above those who could have stood as equals that such a position carried weight.
Issei, in his current state, was insignificant, his weakness bordering on the absurd. But if he were to tap into that latent potential, then he could one day give Meruem a meaningful challenge.
And though Meruem would not admit it, it grated on his nerves at how easily Ddraig dismissed his offer. Humbling his wielder once he reaches his full potential would serve as a sufficient payback.
It was for this reason that Meruem did not shy away from the possibility of creating his own enemy. A man who sought supremacy could not afford to recoil from challenge.
If he was to claim the mantle of Emperor of Hell in truth, then he would do so by overcoming all who stood in his path, regardless of their origin or potential.
…
He stepped out of the teleportation circle and into the grand mansion of House Beleth, the ambient magic fading behind him as the sigil dissolved into nothingness. The moment he arrived within his chambers, he found Rossweisse already there, kneeling on the floor as though she had been awaiting his return.
"Don't tell me you've been waiting for me in my room all this time?" he said, raising an eyebrow as he took in the scene before him.
The way her cheeks flushed, a soft redness spreading across her face as she averted her gaze for a fraction of a second, told him everything he needed to know.
She had, in fact, been waiting in the darkness like a motionless statue.
She leapt to her feet and threw herself into him, arms wrapping tightly around him as if afraid he might vanish again, as if she had been holding herself together only until she could confirm with her own hands that he was truly alive and unharmed.
"S-seriously?"
"I was worried about you, master," Rossweisse said, her voice tinged with embarrassment, though her grip did not loosen. "The Chaos Karma Dragon is unpredictable. She might have decided she would like to have you as a snack after all."
He did not let it show on his face, but he appreciated her concern more than he cared to admit. Of all his peerage members, Rossweisse was the closest to him. She was his first piece, and the one who had remained at his side the longest.
"Well, here I am, in one piece," he replied lightly before allowing himself to fall backward onto the luxurious bed, the accumulated tension of the encounter finally catching up to him.
The interaction with Tiamat had been far more exhausting than he had let on, and beneath his composed exterior lingered a persistent unease, born from the undeniable truth of his own powerlessness in the presence of beings such as her and Ddraig.
The existence of entities capable of erasing him with a mere thought was not something he found particularly enjoyable.
"So Tiamat agreed to your proposition?" Rossweisse asked as she moved to lie beside him, resting on her side while watching him as he stared up at the ceiling.
"Yes," Meruem replied. "My diplomatic skills, as always, proved to be nothing short of genius."
"Of course," she said, indulging him with a faint smile. "If by 'diplomatic skill' you mean walking uninvited into a Dragon King's domain and attempting to negotiate without any meaningful leverage that might prevent her from incinerating you on a whim, then I suppose the title fits."
"I had full confidence that my charm would carry me through, and it seems that confidence was well placed," he said with a self-assured grin. "Besides, it's not as though you would have handled it any better."
"Well for one, I wouldn't attempt to negotiate with a dragon at all," Rossweisse replied dryly. "That's among the first lessons taught in diplomacy: one does not bargain with dragons. They are widely regarded as the most unreasonable beings in existence."
"Well, I imagine the old Satan faction would be quite displeased to have that title taken from them," Meruem said lightly.
"I thought the Old Satan faction only held the title of the most incompetent faction in the world," she replied, amused.
"Incompetence and unreasonableness go hand in hand," Meruem replied. "It's only natural that they would excel at both."
"Regardless, dragons are hardly better," Rossweisse said, watching him with quiet amusement.
"That's an insult to dragons," Meruem protested. "At least their arrogance is justified. They are, after all, the most powerful race in the world. The Old Satan faction, on the other hand, is a notoriously incompetent group with delusions of grandeur."
Rossweisse let out a quiet laugh at the clear disdain in his voice.
"And yet, they remain one of the greatest threats to the stability of the Underworld," she pointed out.
"When the cat is away, the mice dance on the table," Meruem said, fully aware that if the current Satans truly wished it, they could eradicate the remnants of the Old Satan faction with ease.
The problem was that eliminating the descendants of the original Satans would not resolve the ideological fractures within the underworld, and attributing that division solely to the Old Satan faction would be inaccurate.
"What will you do now?" Rossweisse asked eventually.
"What do you mean?"
"The Eye of the Pit," she clarified. "Even after Tiamat closes the fractures, the region will still need to be purged of the creatures inhabiting it. If you were to do it personally, it would take months. Will you summon your banner again? I suppose many would welcome the opportunity to eliminate the threat once and for all."
"There's no shortage of volunteers," Meruem acknowledged. "There's not a single lord within our domain who hasn't lost someone to a pit outbreak or an expedition gone wrong. Many would gladly take part in its eradication under the banner of righteous vengeance. But, I don't want to needlessly risk my soldiers in prolonged engagements that would weaken our overall strength."
Like any reincarnator, Meruem had once entertained the idea of using the Eye of the Pit as a training ground, a place to sharpen himself against increasingly powerful foes, much like the dungeons described in those Korean novels he remembered.
That notion had been swiftly dismantled once he gained a clearer understanding of the nature of the entities inhabiting the Pit.
There were, of course, creatures of conventional strength - beasts that could be fought and overcome. But they were neither numerous nor significant enough to define the place. The vast majority of the Pit's inhabitants could be described in three words: creatures of horror.
Most were not enemies one could simply fight. They were phenomena, things one endured rather than defeated, akin to diseases or plagues given form.
Take, for instance, the Veil Rot: a parasitic phenomenon that manifests as a thin, drifting black veil in the air. Infection occurs with something as trivial as a brush against exposed skin. From there, the victim begins to lose themselves.
Memories are stripped away in reverse chronological order, peeling from the mind and body alike as wisps of black vapor. Identity erodes piece by piece; the body weakens in tandem.
And when the last memory is gone, the victim dissolves entirely. Worse still, the vapor left behind does gather, and birth more of its kind, turning every victim into a vector for further spread.
Then there was the phenomenon known as the Hollow Choir, an entity that began as a purely auditory hallucination before gradually manifesting into something tangible. Victims would hear voices mimicking those of loved ones, familiar and comforting at first, before those voices began to override their internal thoughts.
Over time, the individual would lose autonomy, becoming what was referred to as a "speaker." In the final stages, the victim's body would split open at the chest, forming a hollow cavity that emitted layered voices continuously, spreading the Choir further through sound alone.
Another example was the Carrion Shepherd, a towering skeletal figure that emitted a low-frequency pulse across its surroundings. Within its range, dead tissue would reanimate, while living beings experienced involuntary muscle contractions resembling the movements of a puppet controlled by unseen strings.
As exposure continued, victims lost control over their own bodies entirely, eventually joining the Shepherd's ever-growing "herd."
These examples were only a fraction of what lurked within the upper layers of the Eye of the Pit, mere droplets within an immeasurable ocean of horrors. It was precisely this nature that rendered conventional strategies ineffective and made any attempt at systematic eradication an arduous and resource-intensive endeavor.
"What will you do, then?" Rossweisse asked quietly. "You will need your forces intact for the war you're planning."
"If only there were someone capable of producing expendable armies with at will," Meruem said, a hint of amusement threading through his voice.
"You mean a summoner?" Rossweisse asked.
"Yes, a summoner would be ideal." Meruem replied calmly, an idea already forming in his mind regarding the next piece he would seek to recruit, now that Tiamat's cooperation had been secured.
AN: I'm terrible at estimating the length of a chapter. As many of you have guessed, he used Issei as a bargaining chip to deal with Tiamat. I hope you enjoy my take on how dragons should act.
I feel that nowadays, in most pop culture, dragons have become more like pets or wise beings who help the protagonist. While that was a cool subversion of their classic portrayal as extremely prideful, greedy, and wrathful beings who hoarded gold and kidnapped princesses, I'm leaning back toward that original concepts. I imagine most dragons to be like Ddraig, taking almost everything as an insult.
I also hope you liked the riddles at the end. You already have the context for what they mean. I'm no riddler, but I did my best.
Advanced chapters are available on my Patreon, so if you want to read ahead or support me so I can focus more on writing, check out my Patreon: patreon.com/abeltargaryen?