(Narrator POV)
Location: Atlantis Kingdom — High Prison
Den walked a step behind Yuri as they descended deeper into the High Prison.
The torches along the stone corridor flickered weakly, their flames struggling against the heavy cold that clung to the underground halls. Each step echoed, sharp and hollow, as if the prison itself was listening.
Den's thoughts were restless.
The goblin was nothing—less than nothing. A disposable creature, born weak and destined to die forgotten. And yet, Den knew the damage it had caused could not be measured by rank or strength.
Because Yuri was still a child.
And a wounded child—especially one born with overwhelming power—was far more dangerous than any Calamity-class threat.
That goblin had mocked him.
Not his strength.
Not his authority.
But his blood.
Mixed blood.
Human-born.
Words like those did not fade. They carved themselves into the mind.
Den feared that if Yuri could not personally end the creature that had insulted his pride, something inside the prince would fracture. And if that happened, the consequences would be far worse than the death of a single goblin.
Even if the goblin is already dead… Den thought grimly. I must give him something.
They reached the final stairwell.
Yuri stopped.
He crossed his arms slowly—an unconscious gesture, identical to Queen Erza's whenever she was angry or uneasy. His sharp gaze settled on Den, silent but heavy, as though demanding truth without words.
Den felt his throat tighten.
He moved quickly, placing his hand on the iron door.
"My Prince," Den said, forcing steadiness into his voice, "please… come with me. See it with your own eyes."
Without hesitation, Yuri stepped forward.
The door creaked open.
The moment Yuri entered the chamber, his pupils shrank.
Rage flooded his eyes.
There—bound to a chair at the center of the room—sat the goblin.
It wore the same battered armor.
Held the same crude sword.
Its crooked posture and filthy presence were unmistakable.
Yuri inhaled sharply.
The scent was the same.
That foul, mocking stench burned itself into his memory—the goblin who had dared to insult his mother, who had called him mixed blood, who had spoken as though royal blood meant nothing.
The air around Yuri trembled.
Den stepped aside and spoke softly, carefully.
"Here is your enemy, my Prince."
The prison walls groaned faintly, as if responding to the storm beginning to rise within the child.
Dina knelt beside the captured goblin, her posture respectful and composed despite the suffocating pressure filling the chamber. She lowered her head and spoke calmly, as though this were a royal audience rather than a torture room.
"My Highness, I am pleased to see you."
Yuri did not acknowledge her. He walked forward, his steps slow and deliberate, toward the goblin restrained in the torture chair. A metal mouth blocker sealed the creature's jaws, preventing even a whisper from escaping. Thick nails pinned its hands and feet into the chair, forcing its body upright and helpless. The air grew heavier with every step Yuri took, the invisible pressure making it difficult to breathe.
Tears streamed from the goblin's eyes. It struggled weakly, desperate to speak, to beg, to explain—yet no sound came. Yuri stopped directly in front of it and looked down, his expression cold and unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and terrifyingly calm.
"How dare you say such things about me," Yuri said. "And worse… about my mother."
He reached forward and grabbed the goblin by the head, forcing its gaze upward. His grip was firm, merciless.
"I could not kill you that day," Yuri continued. "But not this time. Today, you will die by my hand."
The goblin trembled violently, tears soaking its face. Muffled cries escaped uselessly against the metal blocker, turning its fear into silent agony. Yuri straightened slightly, then opened his mouth. Heat gathered instantly, the temperature in the room spiking as dark energy condensed within him.
A blast of black flame erupted from Yuri's mouth.
The goblin was engulfed in an instant, its body twisting in unbearable agony as soundless screams filled the chamber. The flames consumed flesh, bone, and soul alike, leaving nothing behind. When the fire vanished, only the chair remained, scorched black and warped, burn marks etched permanently into the stone floor.
The pressure in the room eased.
Yuri exhaled slowly. His aura settled, lighter now, as though a heavy burden had finally been lifted from his heart.
Yuri's laughter did not come immediately.
For a brief moment, the chamber remained unnaturally still, as though the prison itself was holding its breath. The scorched chair stood at the center of the room, smoke still curling faintly from blackened iron. The smell of burned flesh and dark flame lingered in the air, thick enough to sting the lungs.
Then Yuri laughed.
It began softly, almost like a child suppressing a giggle. But the sound grew—deeper, louder, unraveling into something wild and unrestrained. The laughter echoed through the stone corridors, slipping through iron bars and narrow passageways, reaching every corner of the High Prison. Prisoners froze mid-breath. Some clutched their heads. Others pressed themselves against cold walls, instinctively aware that the sound they were hearing did not belong to something human—or even something merciful.
Den remained where he stood, watching the prince carefully. The crushing pressure that had weighed on his chest moments earlier had vanished, replaced by a strange lightness. He recognized the shift immediately. The storm inside Yuri had passed. Whatever wound had been tearing at the child's pride had finally been sealed.
Dina felt it too. She straightened slightly, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The danger was gone—for now.
Yuri slowly wiped the corner of his eye, as if brushing away the last trace of something unpleasant. His shoulders relaxed. The rage that had twisted his expression moments earlier dissolved into something disturbingly bright.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, savoring the air as though the world itself felt lighter.
"I feel good now," Yuri said calmly, almost cheerfully. "Very good."
He turned toward the exit, his steps suddenly light, his posture loose.
"I'm going to fly," he added. "I want to enjoy this feeling."
Without waiting for a response, he broke into a run. His movements were quick, unburdened—like a child racing toward open fields after being locked indoors for too long. A rush of wind followed him as he burst from the chamber, and moments later, his laughter rang again—this time drifting down from the sky above the prison.
The sound faded slowly into the distance.
Silence returned.
Den exhaled at last, the tension finally leaving his body. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The outcome had been dangerous, cruel, and undeniably effective.
He glanced sideways at Dina.
"Well?" Den said lightly. "Didn't I tell you I would make the prince happy?"
Dina took a moment before answering. Her eyes lingered on the scorched floor, on the empty chair that still radiated heat.
"I didn't believe it would work," she admitted quietly. "Not like this."
Den folded his arms, his tone relaxed but deliberate.
"Royal blood or Not, does not change the fact that he is still a child," he said. "And a child's heart is easy to guide when you understand what it wants."
Dina looked at him more closely now, her relief slowly giving way to unease.
"But that goblin," Dina said after a long pause. Her gaze lingered on the scorched floor before lifting to Den. "How did you find one with the same blood as Pino?"
Den's smile returned slowly—sharp, deliberate, and filled with quiet certainty.
"Pino belongs to the Maldives Goblin Tribe," Den said calmly. "It is a tribe known for preserving intimacy within their own bloodlines. Finding a relative is never difficult."
Dina's brows knit together slightly.
"Then where did you find her?" she asked. "That goblin from the tribe."
Den turned his eyes toward her, unhurried.
"She wasn't brought in from outside," he said. "She was already here. A prison cleaner. A maid assigned to the lower levels. I happened to know about her existence." His smile deepened. "That is why I asked you to proceed as you did."
Dina exhaled quietly, a conflicted expression crossing her face.
"She was begging," Dina said. "She kept saying her father was proud—happy that his daughter had been given work inside the palace." Dina paused, then added softly, "Now she's dead."
Den waved the concern away without hesitation.
"Do not worry," he said. "We will send compensation. Those goblins will do anything for gold."
Dina hesitated.
"And if they retaliate?" she asked. "What if they seek revenge?"
Den laughed.
It was a low, amused sound, and as it escaped him, his aura leaked freely into the chamber. The air grew thick, oppressive, and nauseating. To Dina, his presence felt wrong—like something demonic and draconic blended together, raw and intoxicating, like young wine forced into the body of something ancient and refined.
Den's eyes gleamed.
"Do you truly believe they would dare seek revenge," he said slowly, "knowing what we are capable of?"
Dina felt a chill crawl up her spine. Then, after a moment, she smiled.
"You really do live up to your title," she said. "The Devil Dragon."
Den's smile remained.
They stood there in the aftermath, surrounded by silence and scorched stone, content in the knowledge that their prince was smiling again—unaware of the seeds they had just planted in his heart.
(Yuuta POV)
After climbing several more steps, we finally reached the place where the mysterious man had stood—the very spot where he had spoken words that still echoed in my mind. The stone beneath my feet felt cold, unmoved by the wisdom it had just witnessed.
Grandpa stopped and looked around, his sharp eyes searching quietly. It was clear he was hoping—perhaps foolishly—that the man might still be there. Someone so wise did not simply disappear without leaving a mark.
Erza and Elena, on the other hand, were completely absorbed in their surroundings. Elena stared at the carved scriptures and statues with wide, curious eyes, tugging lightly at Erza's sleeve. Erza herself examined every detail with calm fascination, tracing the engravings as if trying to understand the hands—and hearts—that had shaped them.
Meanwhile, I was exhausted.
Who the hell builds a church with this many stairs? I thought, bending slightly as I caught my breath. If God really was everywhere, He could've shown a little mercy to my legs.
After a brief rest—by which I mean I almost considered lying down—we moved forward and finally reached the giant gates of the church.
They were massive.
Standing before them were guards clad in full European knight armor, their appearance resembling crusaders pulled straight out of a history book. They patrolled the entrance with rigid discipline, metal clanking softly with each step.
The moment we came close, the guards reacted instantly.
Weapons were drawn and pointed straight at us.
Erza's eyes narrowed at once. Grandpa's expression hardened. I could almost feel the air change around them. They clearly did not appreciate having weapons aimed in their direction.
Elena suddenly broke free from my side and rushed forward, her small feet pattering excitedly against the stone.
"Mama! Papa!" she exclaimed, pointing eagerly. "Look! They're wearing armor—just like Mama's soldiers!"
She giggled, her eyes shining with innocent curiosity.
The crusaders froze.
They had faced intruders, heretics, even armed men—but never a child like this.
Elena stood only a few steps away from them now, close enough to reach out and touch the metal plates. She tilted her head, studying the engravings and polished steel as if they were toys on display.
"So cool…" she murmured, clearly fascinated by the human knights.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Erza's voice cut through the air—calm, controlled, and unmistakably firm.
"Elena. Come back."
There was no anger in her tone. Only authority.
Elena blinked, then turned around immediately.
"Okay, Mama!"
She spun on her heel and rushed back, almost colliding with Erza as she hugged her leg tightly, peeking out from behind her mother with the same bright curiosity as before.
The crusaders watched in stunned silence.
For several long seconds, no one spoke.
Then one of them leaned closer to the other and whispered, his voice tight with unease.
"Do you see them…? These strange tourists."
The other crusader swallowed hard.
"Yes," he murmured. "Their eyes…"
His gaze drifted back to Elena.
For a brief moment, her innocent expression faded—just enough for the truth beneath to surface. Her eyes glowed a deep crimson, like molten lava swirling in endless depth. They were not the eyes of a child. They were the eyes of a dragon.
The crusader's breath caught in his throat.
His gaze shifted to Erza.
Her violet eyes were nothing like human eyes. They were vast, cold, and bottomless—like staring into a frozen void. Even her pupils carried the unmistakable mark of a dragon, sharp and ancient, radiating quiet dominance.
Fear crept into their bones.
Then they looked at Grandpa.
The same gaze met them—calm, knowing, and terrifyingly old. The eyes of a being who had lived long enough to see civilizations rise and fall without blinking.
Finally, their eyes turned to me.
And that confused them the most.
I stood there, heart pounding, hands raised, looking exactly like a normal human—yet standing among monsters who wore calm like a crown.
One of the crusaders whispered again, his voice barely audible.
"…What exactly did we just stop at the gate?"
One of them stepped forward.
"You there," he said sternly. "What are you doing here? This is not a tourist location, foreigner."
I immediately raised both my hands, palms open, trying to look as harmless as possible.
"We're not tourists," I said quickly. "We received an invitation to be here—for a test."
The guard blinked.
"What?" another crusader muttered. "You were selected by the Gilgal New Life Church?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "That's exactly why we came. We're here to take the test."
For a moment, silence hung between us—thick and tense—like the calm before something important was about to unfold.
The guards glanced at one another, unease flickering behind their visors.
One of them leaned closer and whispered, careful to keep his voice low.
"Do you think Father Nelson would allow foreigners to take the test?"
The other guard frowned.
"I doubt it. It's been decades since we last had any guests at all."
He paused, studying us again. "Still… they don't seem to be lying."
The first guard straightened and turned his attention back to me.
"Tell us something," he said sharply. "Which plane did you board to get here? Or did you arrive by private helicopter?"
I froze.
For a brief second, my mind went completely blank.
We definitely can't say we flew here using dragon wings.
I forced a nervous laugh and scratched the back of my head.
"We came by ship, gentlemen."
The guards exchanged another look—this one filled with disbelief.
"Are you an idiot?" one of them snapped. "We have advanced radar systems surrounding this island. If you arrived by ship or boat, we would have known immediately."
My heart skipped.
Thinking fast, I tried to push the lie further.
"Well… we used a wooden boat," I said quickly. "That's why your systems couldn't detect us."
Silence followed.
Then—
"Are you lying?" one of the guards raised his voice, his grip tightening around his weapon.
"Do you think I don't know what you're doing? You trespassed here to deceive Father Nelson, didn't you?"
"What? No!" I said immediately, panic slipping into my voice.
Another guard from distance stepped forward, his grip tightening around the spear as suspicion darkened his expression. His eyes moved over us carefully, lingering far longer than necessary, as if he were searching for proof of something unholy hiding beneath our skin.
When his gaze met mine, his confidence wavered. The color drained from his face, and the suspicion in his eyes twisted into something far more dangerous—fear. His breath hitched, and he took an involuntary step back, as though instinct itself was warning him.
"They must be Satan worshippers," he declared loudly, his voice sharp and trembling beneath the authority he tried to force into it. "They're here to destroy our church and its sacred legacy."
"No, no, no—you've got it wrong," I said quickly, raising both hands in panic. "We're normal humans. You're misunderstanding—"
The words died in my throat.
I turned slightly, my eyes drifting behind me, and the truth struck me all at once. Erza stood calmly, her presence overwhelming even without releasing her aura. Grandpa's eyes carried a depth no human should possess, and Allen's shadow clung unnaturally to the stone beneath him. Elena watched the guards with innocent curiosity, unaware of the tension strangling the air.
"…Correction," I muttered weakly. "At least I'm human. I think."
Before I could say anything more, a strange heat bloomed behind my eyes. It wasn't pain, but pressure—like something awakening after a long sleep. I felt it pulse through my veins, crawling up my spine and settling behind my gaze.
The guard gasped sharply.
In his widened pupils, I saw my reflection—and my eyes were glowing. Crimson light spilled from them like embers breathing in the light, vivid and unmistakable.
A hush fell over the crusaders.
"D… demon," someone whispered, their voice barely audible.
Panic erupted instantly.
One of the guards staggered backward, nearly tripping over his own armor as terror took full control. He spun toward the stone wall where a thick rope hung beside an iron bell, his movements frantic and uncoordinated.
"Wait—don't—" I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by fear.
The guard pulled the rope with all his strength.
The bell roared.
Its sound thundered through the church, deep and ancient, echoing through the stone halls like a warning sent straight to heaven itself. The vibrations shook the walls, climbed the pillars, and rang endlessly, announcing danger to every soul within the holy ground.
As the echoes continued to ring, one truth settled heavily in my chest.
There was no turning back now.
To be continue....