The dragon ship lowered its sails, carrying fully armed North Peninsula warriors as it slowly approached the dock.
The dragon ship had no cabin, and the North Peninsula people, who had come from beyond the ocean to work, were weathered by wind and rain.
In contrast, their employer, the Emperor of the Yanting Empire, wore a soft purple robe, pristine and spotless, with a crown encrusted with dazzling gems and his feet treading on a red carpet.
Every gem was free of even a speck of dust, as if he were a porcelain vase, constantly polished by servants with soft cloths to keep any trace of dirt from settling.
Moreover, he was surrounded by a group of gleaming, plate-armored guards as he looked out.
On the nearest dragon ship stood a burly man, towering at least two meters tall.
He was bare-chested, with a horrific scar across his chest that looked as if it had been seared by molten steel.
But beside him, hanging from the mast, were several black, strange dried meats, each over a meter long, immediately drawing the attention of the Yanting Empire’s Emperor.
An elderly mage holding a staff, indicating his status, whispered, “Your Majesty, those are dried mermaids.”
The Yanting Empire’s Emperor regarded them with awe.
He had heard of mermaids.
It was said they were born amid tsunamis, waves, and shipwrecks, appearing when storms struck, as ships swayed like leaves in a tempest.
They would sing malicious, enchanting songs, and sailors struggling against the sea’s wrath would, upon hearing them, throw themselves into the water.
The mermaids would feast on these poor souls, letting them suffer bites before drowning.
Only the cleverest and most experienced sailors could tie themselves to the mast, stuffing their ears with cotton to escape.
But often, they would watch helplessly as their ship sank into the sea.
Sailors, filled with fear, called mermaids the drowned emissaries of the deep-sea queen Ambory.
Surviving a mermaid attack was a tale as grand as fending off a hundred shrieking fishmen.
Only the bravest and most resolute warriors could kill a mermaid at sea, daring to challenge the authority of the deep-sea queen Ambory.
What’s more, this was a man—legend had it only women could resist the mermaids’ seductive songs.
The dragon ship drew closer to the dock.
Servants had already prepared wooden planks to welcome the North Peninsula people.
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain stood up early, grabbing a dried mermaid with one large hand.
With a squat and a leap, he soared through the air from the swaying dragon ship, crossing seven or eight meters to land firmly on the dock, his feet rooted as if grown into the ground.
This startled the plate-armored guards, who lowered their spears and drew their swords, aiming at him.
“Guards, lower your weapons,” the Yanting Empire’s Emperor said, noting the chieftain carried no weapons.
“Stand aside.”
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain, nearly two meters tall, held the dried mermaid, which swayed in his grip.
The red dragon tattoo extending to his arm seemed to tear at the dried mermaid.
The Yanting Empire’s Emperor felt entirely overshadowed by this man.
He disliked this feeling.
He wanted to assert himself, for no one would truly be loyal to a master they looked down upon, especially a barbarian.
With this in mind, the Emperor glanced at the dried mermaid, drew a sharp dagger, and approached the Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain.
He sliced off a piece of the dried mermaid, tossed it into his mouth without a word, and nearly spat it out.
Its taste was like a mix of rotting seaweed and long-fermented fish guts, reminiscent of a pile of decaying fish by the shore.
The Emperor’s pride forced him to swallow it whole.
A nauseating bitterness spread along the path of the swallowed meat, gripping his entire esophagus.
The Emperor clenched his teeth, nearly breaking them, to keep from vomiting.
Curse these barbarians and their barbaric ways, he thought, while struggling to purse his lips and maintain a nonchalant expression.
His face quickly flushed red, and even the scalp beneath his crown visibly reddened.
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain’s open mouth snapped shut.
“Your Majesty, this is a trophy for you,” he meant to say, but the words wouldn’t come.
Before jumping, he had thought it would be easy, hoping to make a good impression on his future employer.
But after sitting for so long, the sudden leap left his feet numb and his vision briefly dark.
He couldn’t speak right away, and the Emperor had moved too quickly, cutting the meat.
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain stared at the Emperor’s face, which was turning from red to purple.
Swallowing hard, he shouted, “Well done! Worthy of an Emperor!”
With that, he too cut off a piece of the meat, trying not to wince.
The meat was so foul that he accidentally cut a smaller piece.
Oh no, will the Emperor think I’m stingy?
But there was no turning back now, just as he had no choice but to eat the disgusting dried mermaid.
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain laughed heartily, tossing the piece into his mouth and swallowing it without chewing, giving the Emperor repeated thumbs-up.
“Good, good, good.”
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain had never praised anyone so much.
Now, he only feared the Emperor might not be satisfied and cause more trouble.
The Emperor’s face was now purple-red, like a steamed eggplant.
He laughed too, feeling elated, for the piece of dried mermaid the chieftain ate was smaller than his.
“As per the ancient agreement, how many warriors have you brought?”
“Exactly five hundred, Your Majesty. We will be loyal to you, as long as you honor the sacred historical agreement.”
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain knelt on one knee, casually tossing the dried mermaid onto the nearby dragon ship.
The North Peninsula warriors on the ship burst into laughter at the sight of the eggplant-like Emperor.
They lacked the refinement of their chieftain.
“Hahaha, he actually ate a piece of dried mermaid!”
“Can that stuff even be eaten?”
“I’m dying of laughter—he looks just like an eggplant!”
Indeed, clad in his purple robe, the Yanting Empire’s Emperor resembled a walking eggplant.
Fortunately, the Emperor’s consciousness was beginning to blur.
Hearing the North Peninsula warriors’ laughter, he mistook it for joviality.
Seeing the Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain kneel, he said airily, “Someone, bring the gold as per the sacred—”
He could no longer hold it in.
Turning, he opened his mouth and vomited violently.
Food scraps mixed with sour stomach acid spewed out, splattering a nearby plate-armored guard who hadn’t dodged in time.
The sticky vomit slid down the armor, revealing undigested cinnamon, cloves, and almonds.
A piece of dried mermaid lay on the ground, coated in vomit, its rancid smell mingling with the stench, leaving everyone present with a vivid olfactory memory of that summer.
The servants cried out, “Your Majesty!”
“Quick, heal him!”
The Emperor curled up, hands braced on the ground, struggling to steady his breathing, but the churning in his stomach showed no signs of stopping.
“Urgh!”
An even more violent bout of vomiting began.
His abdominal muscles contracted tightly, each heave accompanied by intense pain.
The vomit now contained more liquid, thinner and darker in color.
The air filled with a pungent odor, unbearable to all.
Decades later, lying in bed, ready for his coffin, unable to recognize the children and grandchildren calling to him, he would still recall that late summer.
And the violently vomiting Emperor, along with the sharp, tongue-stinging smell of his vomit.
Awkward moments always pass, though they do so slowly.
The Yanting Empire’s Emperor didn’t die; he survived.
After rewarding the North Peninsula warriors, he invited the Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain to ride with him in the same carriage.
The carriage was small and couldn’t accommodate the chieftain’s size, but thankfully, a “convertible” carriage had been prepared.
As they chatted, the weakened Emperor gazed at the Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain and said, “I want to obtain the daughter of the Dread Dragon.”
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain’s face grew serious, his earlier barbaric demeanor vanishing.
“Your Majesty, you know our North Peninsula homeland has a Doomsday Volcano, near where the Dread Dragon resides.”
“It’s already dead.”
“Dragons don’t die, Your Majesty,” the Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain said.
“Our legends tell of the red dragon battling the God of Thunder, shaking heaven and earth. Though the dragon died and fell from the sky, years later, a volcano rose where it fell—the Doomsday Volcano.”
“The dragon awoke from the depths. Its scales gleamed like molten lava, its eyes burned with fire. When it spread its giant wings and flew from the crater, its roar shook the entire peninsula, accompanied by the volcano’s eruption. Lava, like the dragon’s wrath, consumed everything around it, and the dragon returned to the mortal world…”
The Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain’s voice held a peculiar magic, or perhaps it was the story itself.
The Yanting Empire’s Emperor, in a trance, could almost see the volcano erupting, lightning splitting the volcanic clouds, and the Dread Dragon flapping its wings, glowing like molten lava.
Volcanic ash blotted out the sky, leaving the world in darkness, save for the dragon’s wings and fiery breath.
“Gah! Mine! This is this king’s cow!”
Aurina clung to the tail of a massive stud bull, weighing a full nine hundred kilograms.
Yet tiny Aurina, pulling its tail, forced the bull to strain with all its might, its hooves slipping and scraping on the stone path.
Aurina put her full strength into wrestling the bull, leaning back, her little feet digging into the ground, leaving tracks in the dirt.
Onlookers were stunned, and the hired cattle driver’s mouth hung open, stammering, “W-What are you doing?”
“Get in this king’s mouth! A thirty-six-gold-coin cow!”
Aurina opened her mouth wide as the bull let out a mournful bellow.
From the crowd emerged Richard, striding swiftly and landing a punch on Aurina’s head.
“Gah.”
Aurina let out a pitiful cry, closing her mouth and releasing her hands.
Richard grabbed one of Aurina’s horns, forcing her to bow, and apologized to the straw-sandaled cattle driver.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t keep an eye on her.”
He turned to her.
“Aurina! Say sorry with me, or I’ll give you another punch!”
“Gah.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
Meanwhile, in the carriage, the Emperor snapped back to reality, looking at the Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain, who was watching him intently.
“When it revives, I’ll likely be dead. What do I care if the volcano erupts and covers the sky? Will you stay loyal to me?”
“Even if it’s the Dread Dragon,” the Red Dragon Tattoo Chieftain said, “loyalty is the mission of the Varangian Guard.”