On this day, in the central district, atop the Blue Dragon Bank's skyscraper.
Before a massive floor-to-ceiling window, the young blue dragon Rahman sprawled luxuriously atop a rug woven from golden fleece and pure white pearls, each of his ten draconic fingers adorned with a dazzling gem reflecting the sunlight.
Arranged neatly on the floor before him were gourmet dishes—camel meat carefully cooked by master chefs, rattlesnake stew, and the finest grape wine. The enticing aroma filled the air, making mouths water.
Surveying these delicacies, Rahman leisurely cast the cantrip "Mage Hand," using unseen magical hands to pick up a piece of roast camel, dabbing it in pepper and a little chili powder, before placing it in his mouth.
As the tender, succulent meat exploded with flavor on his tongue, the blue dragon nodded in satisfaction.
Hmm, well cooked. This chef's monthly salary deserves another hundred gold.
With these thoughts, he looked across the gourmet fare and said, "The flavor's really excellent. Don't you want to try some?"
Opposite him sat another young blue dragon, also adorned with dazzling jewelry, draconic whiskers and scales meticulously groomed to perfection.
This blue dragon was slimmer than Rahman, wearing a pair of round spectacles perched on his nose, exuding an unmistakable scholarly air.
While Rahman offered warmly, his fellow blue dragon had no appetite at all.
Worry was written across his face, followed by a lamenting sigh, "Rahman, tell me—why is it that the weapon I so carefully designed never fails in tests, but in real combat, it always overheats and explodes?"
"Gods, I shudder to think of how those damned gold dragons across the way will gloat in private…"
He twisted slightly, a corner of his gaze peering past the immense glass window toward the Golden Dragon Bank tower opposite, gnashing his teeth in secret frustration.
Rahman had not the slightest interest in his brother's complaining and replied offhandedly, "It's probably because those mortals don't know how to use it properly. You haven't done anything wrong."
Just then, the other blue dragon's eyes lit up: "I brought the memory stone from the battlefield that day, Rahman. You're always perceptive—take a look, maybe you'll spot some detail I missed."
Without waiting for Rahman's reluctance, the slender blue dragon's massive body pressed closer. He pulled a memory stone from his Bag of Holding, tapped it with a claw, and began playback.
It contained footage recorded by his loyal blue dragonborn—imperfect, but at least a solid firsthand account.
Thus Rahman bore the tedium, absently eating as he watched alongside his brother—one hundred years' worth of brotherhood obliging him.
They watched the pathetically weak mortals struggling on the battlefield, unleashing blows so feeble they couldn't scratch his scales, slaying foes he himself could crush with a single talon…
Hmm?!
Suddenly, this blue dragon noticed a familiar silhouette in the projection.
That striking white-haired young man—wasn't he the gift I prepared for Mother?
Why is he at the Rockseeker's Outpost?
Connecting the dots, Rahman's eyes sparkled.
Did he lose all his money and was forced into adventuring just to scrape by?
Huh, maybe I should investigate him further…
So thinking, Rahman absentmindedly brushed his brother off: "It's not your fault, it's theirs. If you want to regain face, sponsor a reliable adventuring party."
"Laeral Silverhand is recruiting adventurers to take out that troublesome Demon Lord, isn't she? It's the perfect opportunity to market your weapon, brother."
"The worthy always shine. Keep at it, I believe in you. Now I have things to do—bye-bye…"
He cheered his brother on, while the bespectacled blue dragon packed up the memory stone, looking ever more embarrassed. "You know, Rahman, I rarely deal with the greatly weakened. I can't help but lose my temper and fry them."
"Find me a few reliable adventurers, would you? Whatever happens, we can't let the gold dragons have the last laugh!"
Rahman let out a sigh. "I don't have much experience either… All right, I'll keep an eye out."
This generation of blue dragons had everything handed to them from birth, leaving little drive for struggle. Helping his brother was one of the few things that stoked any spark of motivation.
With Rahman's promise, the bespectacled blue dragon finally relaxed, shook his head, and left with a heavy sigh.
When he was gone, Rahman immediately summoned his secretary, a sharp-eyed blue dragonborn, and gave the order, "Investigate the recent activities of Nigel Charles. I want comprehensive details."
The command was quickly fulfilled—a stack of materials soon arrived at Rahman's desk. After scanning the investment reports at the top—the most important files—Rahman's expression grew stunned.
"He actually… didn't lose money?"
He was thoroughly astonished. He'd assumed that even if Charles hadn't lost everything, he'd at least suffered heavy losses—thus being forced into adventuring at Rockseeker's Outpost.
"Not only didn't lose, Prince Rahman," the blue dragonborn guard beside him reported, "this return rate is among the very best cases in our bank in recent years."
"Prince Rahman, we misjudged him. That guy isn't here to scam us—he actually makes money."
Hearing this, Rahman found his emotions complicated beyond description.
What in the world? Why is it that he always loses when things are normal, but, the one time I plan to ensnare him as a gift for Mother, he actually profits? … And a profit of a scale rare in decades…
"Hm…" Rahman frowned. "So instead of being a backwater landlord in South Harbor District, what is he doing at Rockseeker's Outpost?"
At his question, the blue dragonborn immediately handed over another batch of information. "According to our informants at Blackstaff Tower, Rockseeker Camp, and the council, he seems to be pursuing a female member of the Amcastra family—a promising black knight."
Black knight, the common term for Oath of Vengeance paladins, the class famed for prowess in assault and relentless pursuit.
Of course, his analysis was flawed: the truth was the relationship sprang from Anno's pursuit of Charles…
"Oh, and it's worth noting: in the battle at Rockseeker Camp, he performed extremely well," the blue dragonborn added. "He defeated, single-handed, a barbarian who'd transformed into a giant bear the size of an elephant, and then drew away and slew the greatest threat: a rampaging extra-large earth Elemental."
"I see…" Rahman murmured. He'd thought Charles only a pretty face and smooth-talking plaything for the nobility, never imagining the man had true ability—or connections among the mighty.
"In that case…" Rahman's whiskers twitched, "his value far exceeds being a simple present for Mother…"
The nearby blue dragonborn, impeccably attired, stood respectfully, awaiting his master's next command. Rahman pondered, his eyes gleaming, mind racing.
"He'll definitely answer the call from Laeral Silverhand," Rahman declared with certainty. "He'll return to the mountains, hunting that Demon Lord—with his little black knight girlfriend at his side."
"The gold dragons certainly won't let the opportunity pass—they're bound to sponsor an adventuring party, and then take all the credit for themselves…"
Muttering to himself, Rahman's eyes shone with resolve.
"Go contact this Nigel Mr. Charles," he ordered. "Tell him, I wish to invite him to dinner."
...
South Harbor District, outside the monastery gates.
A long queue stretched before the Offering Porridge Room, disaster victims coming one after another for food. At the great doorway, Charles frowned, watching the wild surge of prestige on his monastery panel, and gave a heavy sigh.
Although he ultimately benefited from all this, in that moment he felt no happiness at all.
The consequences of the struggle between Vajra and Shudde M'ell were too devastating.
Even once the tremors reached here, there was little shaking. The floodwaters that swept away so many souls were less than one-tenth the volume of what Vajra herself summoned.
But that day, Vajra had summoned billions of tons of freezing water to counter Shudde M'ell. Even if barely a tenth of that fell as rain on Liberl Port, it was enough to equal an inland sea—a cataclysm of terrifying magnitude.
Charles did everything he could to rescue people, but in the end saved only a few hundred. No one knew how many perished in the disaster—the South Harbor District administration would never release such statistics.
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