Chapter 76: His Dragon
No matter when, Misha felt it was hard for him to figure out the Hero’s thoughts.
He stared at the Hero for a good while, confirming that the Hero wasn’t talking nonsense, and could only look away, thinking that since he had already told the Hero, what the Hero did next was… up to him!
After seeing off Ismael and the Knights Order, Arlo still hadn’t returned.
Samuel had gone with the remaining knights to find Arlo. Misha and the Hero had to wait in the Elf Town. Misha really didn’t want to stay in the same place as the Hero. When it got a bit darker, Misha found an excuse and slipped out of the Elf Town.
He was still very curious about what the Hero had said.
If the gods took away a part of the monster’s nature when extracting the soul, then Zebulun’s personality, which differed from his kind, seemed to have a reasonable explanation. Because of this, Misha really wanted to ask Zebulun to clarify what exactly was going on.
Misha carefully checked behind him. The Hero hadn’t followed, so he felt a bit more at ease. He sneaked into the forest, recited Zebulun’s name three times as usual, and waited for Zebulun to appear before him.
Zebulun looked exactly the same.
He held a book in his hands, standing motionless in front of Misha, silently looking up from the book at Misha.
Misha: “Ahem, Zebulun, I have something to ask you.”
Zebulun sighed.
“Although I am not busy,” Zebulun whispered, “could you please not summon me so frequently?”
Misha: “…”
Misha didn’t want to either!
He knew this Demon King summoning spell was too domineering. He was also afraid that when he summoned Zebulun, Zebulun might be doing something that shouldn’t be seen. But sometimes, just these past few days, things were really urgent!
And this was Zebulun, not that weird succubus Ashby. Misha felt it was hard to imagine Zebulun doing anything unsuitable for summoning.
He could only smile awkwardly at Zebulun and say, “There… probably won’t be a next time.”
Zebulun: “…”
He heard Zebulun sigh softly again, seemingly accepting his promise and explanation. So Misha hurriedly raised the question in his heart, “Zebulun, I’ve always thought it was strange.”
Zebulun: “Mm.”
Misha: “You seem different from your dark elf kin.”
Zebulun: “…”
Misha hinted tactfully: “Is there… a story I don’t know here?”
A moment later, he saw Zebulun turn his head away, seemingly trying hard to avoid his gaze, while saying, “No.”
Misha: “…”
There definitely is a story!
And for some reason, Misha felt that what Zebulun was hiding might not be the story he wanted to know.
He probed carefully, “I know that when the gods took the monster soul fragments, they also took some other ‘things’.”
Zebulun: “…”
He remained silent, only slightly raising his eyebrow imperceptibly when Misha said the last two words.
“That’s why dark elves are exceptionally bloodthirsty and violent,” Misha stared closely at the changes in Zebulun’s expression. “But you are different.”
Zebulun: “…”
Misha had wanted to confirm if Zebulun knew all this. He had also thought Zebulun might not be willing to speak. But even so, Zebulun’s reaction was enough for Misha to guess.
Zebulun definitely knew something, and he must have used some peculiar method to avoid the influence caused by the gods taking the soul fragment.
Misha himself could sense the changes within.
He had never doubted the gods before, nor questioned their decisions. It wasn’t until Lance told him these things that he seemed to be slowly influenced by Lance. Lance had also said that as long as someone guided or corrected them deliberately, even monsters with incomplete souls influenced by the gods could be brought back to the right path.
Then if Zebulun discovered it earlier and forcibly suppressed his flawed personality resulting from it, having lived so long—Misha felt hundreds or thousands of years should be enough for him to turn himself into a normal person, right?
Misha couldn’t help lowering his voice, “Zebulun, you don’t have to hide it from me.”
Zebulun: “…”
Misha thought Zebulun’s unwillingness to speak to him must be due to his identity.
He was the Demon King sent by the Divine Realm to the human world, inextricably linked to the gods. It was natural for Zebulun to worry.
But he wasn’t a lackey of the gods either. He had the ability to judge a matter himself. He couldn’t classify Zebulun as a mortal enemy betraying the gods just because of Zebulun’s occasional resistance to the Divine Race.
Otherwise, based on the Hero’s actions, it would have been enough for him to report to the Divine Realm hundreds of times.
Misha looked at Zebulun with his most sincere gaze. After a moment of silence, Zebulun indeed relented a bit.
“You are right,” Zebulun whispered. “The God King taking the blood and soul of monsters indeed had other intentions.”
Misha got the answer he wanted, but he didn’t want to hear such an answer.
“They made the monsters incomplete, yet the monsters had to be grateful for it,” Zebulun lowered his eyes slightly, whispering, “Even the term ‘monster’ is entirely the gods’ arrogant prejudice.”
Misha: “…”
Misha found it hard to refute.
“They sit high above, and all other living beings can only be manipulated by them at will,” Zebulun closed the ancient book in his hand, raised his eyes, and looked at Misha. “Don’t you think this is too unreasonable?”
Misha scratched his head.
“Maybe… maybe this is just a side effect of resurrecting monsters,” he still tried hard to find excuses. “If not for the blood and soul taken by the God King… monsters wouldn’t be able to resurrect.”
“But have you thought about it,” a rare sharpness appeared in Zebulun’s usually plain gaze. “Why do monsters die?”
Misha: “…”
If it were just birth, aging, sickness, and death—the normal cycle—the gods wouldn’t interfere.
Only in the “War of World Destruction” for selecting the Hero would monsters killed by the Hero receive the gods’ mercy and the gift of resurrection from silent death.
But was the so-called “trial” for selecting the Hero really necessary?
Humans weren’t threatened by darkness at all. If the gods hadn’t intervened, they wouldn’t even encounter volcanic eruptions caused by the decisive battle between the Demon King and the Hero.
Everything was a farce directed by the gods.
They created disasters, solved them themselves, and then made the people affected by the disasters grateful to them. No matter how you looked at it, this wasn’t right, was it?!
Misha shook his head vigorously, trying to clarify these strange thoughts.
“They didn’t need to do such complicated things,” Misha whispered. “They didn’t need to create the illusion of a Hero saving the world.”
Then why did the gods go to such great lengths?
“Don’t you understand yet?” Zebulun asked back. “What is the purpose of this farce that has lasted for a thousand years?”
Misha: “…”
There was a vague answer in Misha’s heart.
It was for faith.
Humans’ unconditional faith in the gods.
Disasters brought by the gods would be blamed on monsters, and the Hero chosen by the gods would defeat the “culprit” with the gods’ help. The god-chosen Hero defeating monsters and becoming the king of the world—all this was the gods’ grace. Even the invincible Hero was merely the gods’ spokesperson in the human world.
Or rather—
The god-chosen Hero was the gods’ puppet.
He would follow the gods’ will, execute all the gods’ orders, and absolutely would not, dare not, disobey the gods. All his fame, identity, and status came from the gods. Only by becoming a servant of the gods could he be a hero of humanity.
This thought scared Misha.
He suddenly seemed to understand Lance’s contempt for the gods, and why Lance always frowned with that slightly helpless look when seeing people believe in the gods unconditionally.
This wasn’t divine grace at all.
This was divine tyranny.
Misha opened his mouth slowly, wanting to say something, but felt his throat was dry, as if all the words he wanted to say were blocked.
He looked up at Zebulun helplessly, trying his best to calm his rapid breathing and pretending to be nonchalant, asking, “When… did you discover this?”
“It’s been a long time,” he lowered his eyes slightly, returning to his usual emotionless appearance. “This was a clumsy lie to begin with.”
Misha: “Is that why you could return to normal?”
But Misha didn’t expect that Zebulun, who was willing to explain everything just now, suddenly shut his mouth.
This seemed to be a secret past that was even harder for Zebulun to speak of. He snapped the ancient book open, covering his face. Only after a long while did he say in a muffled voice, “Ancient magic.”
Misha was stunned: “Ancient magic?”
He felt he was also deeply influenced by the gods. If possible, he wanted to try the ancient magic Zebulun mentioned.
Zebulun nodded gloomily.
Misha: “Did you recover by relying on ancient magic?”
“…No,” Zebulun paused for another long while, raising the book higher to almost cover his eyes before saying, “It was separation.”
Misha: “Huh?”
“I used the Dragon Clan’s ancient magic to separate… a part of my emotions,” Zebulun whispered. “I no longer have the bloodlust and tyranny of my kin, but this ancient magic also brought me some not-so-good effects.”
Misha’s eyes widened. For the first time, he knew there was such magic in the world.
“I don’t recommend you try it,” Zebulun covered his entire face tightly with the book. “It might bring terrible and unknown consequences.”
Misha asked subconsciously, “…What consequences?”
After saying this, he regretted it.
Zebulun didn’t look like he wanted to talk about this at all. He might be poking at someone’s wound; he’d better not ask anymore.
Misha shut up immediately, cleared his throat, and said, “Never mind.”
But Zebulun hesitated.
He remained motionless behind the book. After a long while, he seemed to have made up his mind and said, “You will know soon anyway.”
Misha: “Eh?”
Zebulun: “I know, the Black Dragon… is going to attack the human Royal Capital.”
Misha: “Eh??”
Wait, why would Zebulun know?
He hadn’t told Zebulun about this, had he?
“You will see him,” Zebulun whispered. “Then you will know… what consequences forcibly separating one’s emotions brings.”
His voice became lower and lower, almost inaudible at the end. Misha was full of confusion and could only probe, “Are you talking about… Gilry?”
Zebulun: “…”
Misha: “He told you this, right?”
Zebulun: “…”
“So your relationship is that good,” Misha scratched his head. “I thought you didn’t interact much with the other Archdemons.”
Zebulun: “…It was because of the ancient magic accident.”
Misha: “…”
Zebulun: “…”
Misha vaguely felt something was wrong.
Wait.
Dragon Clan’s ancient magic, separating emotions, accident, not-so-good effects.
Zebulun’s rejection of the Dragon Clan, mentioning the Black Dragon Gilry hatching an egg.
Connecting these keywords, why… why is it so weird?
Misha looked at Zebulun with some horror.
“You… you don’t mean…” Misha swallowed, “Gi… Gilry’s dragon egg…”
Zebulun: “…”
Misha: “Doesn’t have anything to do with you, does it?!”
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