Chapter 7: I won’t do dragon slaying or anything!

I don’t know how long I drifted in the seawater.

Orlando returned to that darkness again.

“Here we go again.”

He said to the darkness.

His voice traveled outward but didn’t echo—like something had sucked it away.

The darkness ahead shifted.

The sound of gears came first, a clicking, clattering noise.

“Miss Victoria, what do you want this time?”

On Victoria’s clock face, the hands pointed to ten ten.

The angle looked like a smiling face.

“You’re still alive.”

Her tone carried a hint of “I knew this would happen but I’ll pretend to be surprised anyway.”

Orlando looked at her.

“What, surprised? Shocked?”

“Not really. Just a little disappointed.”

“Disappointed about what?”

“I wanted to see you get arrested by the police, end up like that, and then get executed as a monster. The dragon-slaying genius being killed as a dragon—that would have been hilarious.”

“I’m going to—”

Victoria’s wings flapped once, carrying her forward half a meter, stopping right in front of Orlando.

The two hands on her clock face spun twice, making a soft clicking sound.

“What a twist of fate,” she said, a hint of emotion in her voice.

“I was really hoping to see just how badly you’d end up.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Victoria’s metal fingers traced a circle in the air, leaving a trail of dark golden light.

“You should have seen it,” she said, her voice lower than before.

“What humanity is.”

Orlando didn’t speak.

He had seen a lot today—workers raising flags for bread, police raising shields and pushing forward, hundreds of people lining up for a single loaf, a man riding a motorcycle into a riot and reaching out to catch a falling man.

“Forget it,” Victoria waved her hand, her metal fingers making a faint jingling sound.

“You might not understand this yet. You’ll get it later.”

“You always say that. Last time it was ‘Go back to Eldron,’ this time it’s ‘You’ll understand later.’ When will you just give it to me straight?”

Victoria’s wings suddenly spread wide with a loud whoosh, and dark golden light burst from the gaps between every feather.

Her hands spun rapidly, then stopped abruptly, pointing straight up.

“Fine. You’ve asked who I am several times. I won’t tell you everything now, but I can give you a little.”

Orlando’s pupils contracted slightly.

“Go to a ruin in Eldron. It will tell you the answer.”

“What ruin?”

Orlando took a step forward and reached out to grab her—but his fingers passed through her body like smoke.

Victoria’s form began to fade, blurring from the edges, the dark golden light dimming.

“Don’t fall into the sea again,” her voice came from very far away, tinged with laughter.

“Next time, no one will fish you out.”

“Tell me why!”

Before the words faded, Victoria vanished completely.

In the darkness, Orlando thought of Liya.

Though they hadn’t known each other long, she had helped him a lot at work.

But he wondered if a cat-eared girl like her could survive in Ostria during its recession.

Forget it.

Why was he, a fired homeless man, thinking so much?

He’d just wait for this body to wake up on its own.

When Orlando opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was wood.

Smooth wood, polished by time and human hands, with natural grain—warm brown, glowing like honey.

He was lying on a bed.

The blanket was linen, light green, smelling faintly of herbal medicine.

The room was quiet.

No typewriter clatter, no shouting.

Only a soft rustling sound, like wind through leaves.

Then his gaze shifted to the bedside.

A young girl sat on a wooden stool, elbows propped on the edge of the bed, chin resting on her hands, watching him.

Their eyes met for about two seconds.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice like a stream over stones.

The corners of her mouth curled, showing a small expression that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t not a smile either.

“How did I get here?”

He asked, his voice a little hoarse.

The girl pulled her arms back, folded her hands on her knees, and sat up straight.

“You were in the sea. A fisherman fished you out.”

“Fisherman?”

“Mhm. He went out in the morning to haul in his nets. He caught something heavy, thought it was a big fish. When he pulled it up, it was you.”

“You had already drifted very far from the shore. Another day out and you’d have been in international waters. Then it wouldn’t have been a fisherman pulling you up—it would have been sharks.”

Orlando was silent for two seconds.

“Then what?”

“The fisherman brought you to our village. The druids used secret arts to save you.”

“You were in the water too long. Your lungs had water in them, you had a few bruises, and—” She paused, her emerald eyes scanning his face.

“Some other issues.”

Other issues.

Orlando knew what she meant—the dragon bloodline.

When he lost consciousness in the sea, the dragon bloodline had probably flared up again.

If he had changed from Orlando back to Olivia, a little silver-haired girl floating in the sea, being fished up by a fisherman… He didn’t want to think about that scene.

“Are the other issues resolved?” he probed.

“The druids’ secret arts stabilized your condition. You’re fine now.”

It seemed no one knew about his dragon identity.

“Where is this place?”

“This is the Elf Forest, right next to Eldron.”

Eldron.

Next to.

Orlando’s head buzzed.

He had fallen into the sea from the port of Ostria, drifted across the entire strait, and washed up on Eldron’s coastline.

A fisherman had fished him out and brought him to an elf village.

He was now only a few dozen miles from Eldron proper.

Victoria had said, “Go back to Eldron.”

He hadn’t decided whether to go back, but the ocean had made the decision for him.

“Twist of fate”—she’d said those four words, and this was probably what she meant.

He got out of bed, his bare feet landing on the wooden floor—neither cold nor warm, just right.

He walked to the window and took a deep breath.

The air had no smell of coke, no salty fishiness, no tear gas.

Only the clean, yawn-inducing scents of earth, grass, wildflowers, and wood mixed together.

“This place is…” He started to say something but didn’t finish.

The girl had already walked from behind him to the center of the room, her back to him, tidying the bed.

She folded the blanket, fluffed the pillow, smoothed the linen sheets at the corners.

Her movements were light and slow, as if handling something fragile.

When she finished, she turned around, put her hands behind her back, and tilted her head slightly to look at him.

“This is my room,” she said, a hint of mischievous light in her emerald eyes.

“It’s rude to look around a girl’s room without permission~”

“O… okay…”

“I’ll go tell the elders first~”

Then the girl left, and Orlando was alone in the room, bewildered.

But how had he drifted all the way here to the elves via seawater?

This was a bit absurd.

Had Victoria arranged it?

Just as he was about to lie down and ask Victoria about it, the door opened—

“The elders want to see you,” she said.

“Follow me.”

Orlando followed her out of the room.

Outside was a platform built on a tree trunk.

One side was the treehouse wall, the other a wooden railing.

He looked down.

The ground was more than ten meters below, grass and wildflowers like a green carpet.

Not scary—nothing like the cliffside of Skyreach City.

Below was a thick layer of fallen leaves; falling would probably just sprain an ankle.

The girl walked ahead, barefoot on the wooden planks, making no sound.

Her braid swayed, the ribbon bow fluttering.

“Hey—”

“We’re here,” she interrupted him.

At the end of the corridor was a spiral staircase winding down along the trunk.

“Up or down?”

“Down.”

The girl had already stepped onto the first step, her toes gripping the edge of the board.

Orlando followed, grasping the hemp rope beside him, stepping carefully.

After about twenty-some steps and two turns, he saw the ground below.

At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden door, not tall—about chest height—with curved, winding patterns carved into its surface.

The girl pushed the door open with a faint creak, like an old tree stretching.

She stepped aside, motioning for him to enter first.

Orlando bent down and stepped over the threshold into a room.

This room was much larger than the one he had been in, built into the roots of a giant tree so thick it would take several people to wrap their arms around it.

The trunk’s surface was carved with patterns that glowed faintly green.

No lamps, no candles, but the room was brightly lit.

Six chairs were arranged in the room—woven from living vines, as if they had grown from the ground.

The six chairs formed a semicircle, each different in size and shape, as if custom-made for people of different builds.

Five people sat in the chairs.

From left to right: a dark-haired young man with deep green eyes, holding a wooden staff.

A red-haired young woman with amber eyes.

A blue-haired young man with silver-gray eyes, his legs swinging beneath the chair.

A golden-haired young woman with emerald eyes, wearing a pale green dress.

A white-haired man who looked elderly but had smooth skin, with light golden eyes—a color Orlando had only seen in dragons.

Five people.

Six chairs.

The one on the far right was empty.

In front of it, on the ground, was a round cushion covered in a thin layer of dust.

Elves were a long-lived race; though they looked like teenagers, each of them was at least in the low triple digits.

The girl who had brought him walked over to stand beside the golden-haired woman, one hand on the back of the chair, but she didn’t sit down.

Orlando stood in the center of the room, bare feet on the wooden floor, his mind racing.

Five elders, representing the five elemental branches of nature magic:

Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, Wood.

The sixth seat was empty.

He bowed slightly.

“Greetings, elders.”

Five pairs of eyes fell on him, all carrying the same thing—scrutiny—like “let me see what kind of person you are.”

Two seconds of silence.

The red-haired woman spoke.

“Sit.”

She gestured with her chin to the spot opposite him.

There was no chair there, only a round straw cushion.

Orlando walked over, sat cross-legged, and sank into the cushion.

His posture probably looked like he was meditating.

The red-haired woman’s mouth twitched, as if holding back a laugh.

“Child, what is your name?”

“Orlando. Orlando Delford.”

The white-haired man in the center raised an eyebrow slightly—the surname Delford in Eldron was the surname of dragon slayers.

“The Delford from the empire’s border?”

The dark-haired man spoke, his voice like the low strings of a cello.

“Yes,” Orlando said, without explanation.

The red-haired woman—Iserine—leaned forward a little.

“I am Iserine, the Fire Elder.”

She introduced the others in turn: the dark-haired elder Aldwine, the white-haired elder Serandil, the blue-haired elder Fiona, and the golden-haired elder Aila.

The girl standing behind Aila—the one who had brought him—nodded as well.

“Greetings, elders.”

Orlando memorized the names in his head, still wondering: who was the sixth seat for?

“You came from Ostria?”

Iserine asked.

“Yes.”

“How did you fall into the sea?”

“I was pushed in.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie—he had been squeezed to the edge of the dock by police and workers, then slipped in.

Liya had grabbed for him but missed.

Iserine’s red eyes, like two burning coals, swept over his face.

She didn’t press further.

“What did you do?”

Orlando paused for a second.

What did he do?

Dragon slayer?

Former dragon slayer?

Paperwork guy?

Unemployed?

Professional get-abandoned-by-teammates-and-left-to-die guy?

“Used to be a dragon slayer.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Dragon slayer.”

Serandil repeated those three words, his voice very flat.

But the flatness itself was abnormal—like a person forcing his voice not to tremble.

“Used to be,” Orlando emphasized.

“Why did you quit?”

Why did he quit?

Because he had been captured by a dragon and turned into half a dragon.

That answer couldn’t be said.

Because his teammates had abandoned him to die.

Because he didn’t know if going back would make him a hero or a fraud—he could say those things, but he didn’t want to.

“Personal reasons,” he said, the safest answer he could think of.

Iserine glanced at him, then turned to the other elders and spoke a few quick sentences in the elven language.

Orlando couldn’t understand, but he could tell they were discussing.

Serandil turned back to Orlando, his light golden eyes like two polished mirrors.

“Do you want to stay here?”

Orlando was startled.

He hadn’t thought about that question yet.

Go back to Eldron?

He had just escaped from there.

Go back to Ostria?

He had just fallen into the sea from there, and Ostria was in recession; going back would just mean lying flat.

Go back to Skyreach City?

He’d have to be crazy to want to go back.

“If possible, I’d like to stay here for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

Fiona cut in, her silver-gray eyes carrying a hint of mischief.

“A year? Ten years? A hundred years?”

Orlando opened his mouth.

A hundred years?

He could live much longer now—the dragon bloodline had added an unknown lifespan buff.

He was twenty now, conservatively could live five hundred or a thousand years.

“I’ll just see how it goes,” he said.

“Anyway, I’m done with the whole dragon slaying thing.”