Chapter 1: Obediently accept the punishment~

Orlando was woken up by the pain.

Like someone was pulling a wire out of his marrow, humming a tune while doing it.

He moved and found his hands cuffed to the wall, his feet also locked.

The chains were cold enough to sting.

He didn’t need to look to know they were dragon craftsmanship—human blacksmiths couldn’t make this stuff.

He struggled once.

Didn’t budge.

He struggled again.

Still no movement.

On the third try, he gave up.

He was just a human, why bother struggling against something meant to bind a dragon.

The darkness around him was like being stuffed into a coffin and buried for three days.

The air was cold and damp, a musty smell mixed with the fishy odor of dragons.

Occasionally, dull sounds came from above, probably dragons stomping on the ceiling.

Orlando leaned back against the wall.

“Fine.”

He said.

Then he just kept waiting like that.

When night came, the noise above grew louder, mixed with low voices.

The sound came through several layers of stone, rumbling, like a bunch of big guys having a rave upstairs.

Occasionally, laughter thundered like thunder, shaking dust from the cracks in the walls.

The dragons seemed to be having a banquet.

“Damn it all.”

Orlando cursed.

If it weren’t for those two bastards who sold out their teammate, how could he end up in this hellhole?

The three of them came, but when the fight started, those two ran faster than rabbits, not even looking back.

Now those two were probably reporting the mission failure to the emperor, and explaining why one person didn’t come back.

“Fuck.”

Orlando cursed again.

The sound wasn’t loud, but it was especially clear in this place, so clear that even he felt a bit embarrassed.

Orlando didn’t know how he fell asleep afterward.

Probably his body shut itself down after the pain went numb.

When he woke up again, it was quiet above, but the cell was still dark.

After a long time, long enough for his stomach to growl three times.

Just as he was about to unleash a torrent of profanity and thoroughly curse their ancestors, there was finally movement at the door.

A pressure instantly approached, as if something terrifyingly powerful was nearing.

The door that had been sealed for days finally opened.

Light flooded in from outside, making Orlando squint.

Silver hair hung down to her ankles, silver eyes like two polished metal plates.

She wore a silver-gray robe that glowed coldly under the ore light.

The scale of her chest was still strikingly conspicuous under the robe, like two bowling balls that might roll out any moment.

Silver Dragon Queen Astrid stood at the door, tilting her head to look at him.

But at this moment, she had no queenly air at all.

Instead, she looked like a little girl watching a new animal at the zoo.

The door closed behind her.

She stood two steps away from Orlando, looking down at him.

“Orlando.”

She began.

Her voice wasn’t a majestic queenly tone, but a softer, slightly lazy one.

“What a surprise. You’re the first human in three hundred years to kill a Silver Dragon Guard.”

“And a human with no magical power at all.”

Orlando didn’t speak.

“The last person to do this,” she raised a finger, her nail silver, “used an entire army, brought seven dragon-breath cannons, and fought for three days and nights.”

She put her finger back, clasped her hands behind her back, and leaned forward slightly.

“In the end, he got blown up himself. You used a crappy little gun hidden in your boot, one bullet.”

Orlando still didn’t speak.

Astrid raised an eyebrow.

She straightened up, crossed her arms—

Then she walked around him once.

“Not talking?”

She circled back in front of him.

“The dragon slayers who came before, at this point either begged for mercy, cursed, or wet their pants in fear.”

“You’re a novelty.”

Orlando finally spoke, his throat as dry as sandpaper.

“Do whatever you want—kill me or torment me. Just get it over with quickly.”

Astrid was taken aback.

Then her expression changed—the corners of her mouth turned down, her eyebrows squeezed together, her eyes went wide, and her lips pouted slightly.

The change was so fast that Orlando almost thought her facial muscles were made of rubber.

She clasped her hands together in front of her chest, and her voice turned soft and sticky.

“Why so fierce… I’m scared.”

Orlando looked at her feigned innocent girl face, then at the two massive mounds on her chest that couldn’t be hidden even under the loose robe.

He was silent for two seconds.

“Given your size, you must be at least a few hundred years old,” he said, his tone as flat as a weather report.

“Either kill me or leave. Those two things of yours are hurting my eyes.”

The cell went silent.

Very silent.

Astrid’s expression was wiped clean of all feigned innocence, as if someone had scrubbed it off with a rag.

The corners of her mouth still held a smile, but the temperature of that smile was about the same as winter in the Arctic Circle.

Her eyes narrowed, her silver pupils shrinking into slits.

“How rude,” she said, her tone like a cup of sweet tea that had been replaced with razor blades.

“Looks like it’ll take a bit more effort to train you in the future.”

She put her hands down and crossed them over her chest again, instantly switching to an “I’m the queen, who do you think you are” posture.

She stepped back half a pace and leaned against the wall.

“You trespassed into dragon territory,” she said, drawing a circle in the air with one finger. “Killed one of my guards.”

Her finger stopped and pointed at Orlando’s nose.

“If you had beaten me, of course I wouldn’t say anything. But you didn’t.”

Orlando gave a cold laugh.

“So what if I lost? At worst, you humiliate me and then—”

“Die?”

Astrid interrupted.

“You think I’m going to kill you?”

Orlando frowned.

Astrid straightened up from the wall, walked two steps forward, and crouched in front of him.

Her face was very close, so close that Orlando could see his own reflection in her silver pupils—a man covered in blood, unshaven, utterly disheveled.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it long ago. Didn’t have to wait until now. Losing has a penalty, you know,” she said softly.

Orlando frowned even tighter.

“What penalty?”

Astrid stood up and turned her back to him.

She took two steps, stopped, turned her head, and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Silver dragons are the rarest breed among dragons. There are few of us to begin with. Even fewer manage to mate successfully.”

Orlando was taken aback.

“Why are you telling me this? That’s dragon business.”

Astrid turned around to face him.

Her expression changed—not the feigned girl, not the cold queen, but something more complex.

“I’m not killing you,” she said.

“That’s exactly why.”

Orlando’s mind raced for a second, then his expression shifted from confusion to “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wait,” he said.

“You don’t mean—”

“Next,” Astrid raised a hand, palm up, directly cutting him off.

“Accept your punishment obediently.”

“Wait—”

Then he felt a pain, a piercing bone-deep agony that almost made him pass out…

The ritual lasted about five minutes.

The light dissipated.

In the middle of the cell lay a little girl.

Silver hair spread across the floor, glowing coldly under the ore light.

She wore a ridiculously large man’s shirt, the collar slipping off her shoulder, revealing her collarbone and a small patch of smooth skin.

The pants bunched around her waist, barely held up by a belt.

Her face was buried in her arms, unclear, but the half-exposed face seemed nine-tenths similar to Astrid’s.

Astrid stood still, looking down at the little girl on the ground, her expression calm.

She crouched down and reached out to brush the silver hair away from the little girl’s face.

That face was revealed—a small nose, a small mouth, a slightly furrowed brow.

Nine-tenths similar to her own face, but younger, softer.

Her hand stopped in midair, her fingertips an inch from that face, not touching.

“From today onwards,” she said softly, “Orlando no longer exists.”

She withdrew her hand and stood up.

Silver hair fell from her shoulders, mingling with the little girl’s hair…

“And you,” a smile curved on her lips, “are my daughter, Olivia.”

The little girl on the ground stirred.

Her fingers curled, like a newborn animal searching for a warm spot.

Her lips parted slightly, letting out an unclear syllable.

Then she quieted again, breathing steadily like a windless lake.

Astrid bent down and lifted her from the floor.

The oversized shirt completely slipped off her shoulders, leaving only a face and a handful of silver hair visible.

The little girl snuggled into her arms in her sleep, her face pressed against Astrid’s collarbone, her brow slowly relaxing.

Astrid looked down at the person in her arms.

“Have a good sleep.”