Lucian slammed the two Demi-human Chiefs to the ground, their heads cracking against the stone until blood seeped from the wounds.
The pair hadn't even understood what had happened before they were forced down, unable to resist. Just moments ago, they had hurried to the scene after hearing reports from their kin — intruders had entered the caves. Yet before they could even demand an explanation, they were already crushed beneath Lucian's hand.
It was enough for them to realize one thing: this was no foe they could resist.
Around them, the other Demi-humans froze in shock. When the reality sank in, terror spread like wildfire. One after another, they dropped to their knees, clutching their heads and wailing for mercy.
To them, their chiefs were second only to the Demi-Human Queen herself — the strongest existence they knew. But if even their chiefs had been subdued in an instant, how could they dare to resist?
Lucian, still pressing the chiefs down, spoke without looking back:
"Boc. Did these chiefs ever bully you?"
The Demi-human tailor flinched at the sound of his lord's voice before shaking his head quickly.
"N-No, no. The chiefs never did such things."
Indeed, the two chieftains had not taken part. With so many mouths in the caves to feed, their dim minds were already overwhelmed with matters of food and survival. The petty cruelties between demi-humans were beneath their notice.
"Is that so? Then very well." Lucian tightened his grip a little. "Boc, translate this for me."
The tailor nodded hurriedly. "Y-Yes, please say it, I will tell them."
Lucian thought for a moment. Words mattered little to such creatures. Strength was the only language they respected.
"Tell them this: from this moment, I am master here. If they submit, they will be rewarded. If not… their heads will not remain upon their shoulders."
His fingers dug slightly deeper into the chiefs' skulls. They trembled, afraid that a single slip of his strength would crush them outright.
Boc relayed the words in the demi-human tongue. The chieftains didn't even hesitate before whimpering their submission. Only then did Lucian release them.
Even free, they dared not rise. Slowly, cautiously, they lowered themselves prostrate on the ground.
"What of the rest?" Lucian asked. "Summon every demi-human from this den."
Again, Boc translated. The chiefs bellowed into the caverns, their calls echoing deep within the stone halls. Soon, demi-humans poured out from every passage, gathering behind their leaders.
At least eighty or ninety came into view, and that was only what the narrow passage could hold. The true number was surely greater.
And when they saw their chiefs bowing to Lucian, they too dropped instantly to their knees.
One chief croaked something out, which Boc repeated:
"Lord Lucian, he says they wish to invite you deeper into the caves, to the grand hollow. It is wide and open — the best place, whether you wish to count their number or give other commands."
Lucian nodded. But before venturing further, there was another matter. He had not forgotten those who had tormented Boc.
"Tell them: every demi-human who bullied you must be marked. They will be punished according to their own customs."
Boc hesitated. "I… I do not think it necessary. They did bully me, but I never wished to take revenge…"
But Lucian shook his head. Boc was too kind. Mercy had its place, but without discipline, chaos would follow.
"No. They must be punished. That way, the others will learn such behavior will not be tolerated. In Stormveil, many races will gather. If they cannot learn now, it will cause trouble in the future."
The demi-human tailor scratched at his head, conflicted, but in the end he nodded. "If… if it is for your rule, my lord, then I will tell them."
Those guilty turned pale when Boc relayed the command. They tried to flee, but the chieftains seized them without hesitation, dragging them forward.
Led by the chiefs, Lucian was taken into the great hollow.
The cavern opened vast and wide, its only entrances at the front and rear — one of which must surely lead toward the island of the Church of Dragon Communion. Inside, nearly two hundred demi-humans stood assembled.
Those who had tormented Boc were strung upside-down, bound and left hanging. They would not die, but their punishment would last for many days.
At the same time, Boc's mother's relics were returned to him: a small pouch containing a sewing needle and other tools of her trade.
Clutching it, tears welled in his eyes. "Oh… oh, it's here… This belonged to my mother. She was a seamstress, and I've worked hard all this time, wishing to become like her. A true tailor…"
He wiped his eyes, then turned, voice trembling with resolve.
"Lord Lucian. I… I wish to serve you as a seamstress. My craft is not yet skilled, but I can be of use. Please accept my loyalty, my king!"
Lucian inclined his head. "I accept. From this day, you are the King's Tailor. Your mother would be proud."
Overjoyed, Boc leapt up — then froze, realizing the disrespect. He hastily dropped back into a bow.
Lucian turned his gaze on the assembled demi-humans. "You will remain in these caves. When I have need of you, I will call. If there are crops suitable for you, I will send men to teach you how to grow them."
The chiefs and their kin murmured in shock, but also relief. They had expected slaughter or slavery — not promises of food and survival. Submission under such a lord seemed almost a blessing.
Satisfied, Lucian turned toward the far tunnel. The path led straight without fork, until light greeted him at its end.
Stepping out, he beheld the towering Erdtree, and the looming fortress of Stormveil perched upon its cliffs.
The island was larger than he remembered from his otherworldly memories — wide beaches, dense woods, wild beasts. At a distance stood a ruined temple, exuding an ancient, primal pressure.
Boc trembled beside him, legs quaking. "My lord… that place… it feels so frightening."
"Stay here," Lucian said. "Wait in the caves. I will return shortly."
With that, he strode toward the Church of Dragon Communion.
Within the ruined church, headless statues of draconic men littered the floor. At the center lay the corpse of a withered ancient dragon, slumped against the stone. Beneath it rested a ritual basin, swirling with a red aura — the source of the oppressive presence.
Drawing near, knowledge bloomed unbidden in Lucian's mind: the rite of Dragon Communion.
"So, the method comes directly into the mind?" He frowned slightly. This vessel had a mystery to it.
But he had no dragon hearts. Godrick's had fused with his grafted body, allowing him to wield draconic incantations without the ritual. And Lucian, bearer of a Great Rune himself, had no need of it.
Still, dragon parts had their worth. Armor strengthened with scales, new sets forged with draconic leather… even the Storm Knights deserved stronger gear. Lucian already had a vision for a new royal armor of his own, to distinguish himself from the knights who served him. All he lacked was the material.
As he pondered, a shadow passed across the sky. At first, he thought it a hawk. Then his eyes sharpened — a dragon, wounded and staggering in flight. One wing torn, body riddled with gashes.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. "A dragon… and injured? Could it be Agheel?"
The beast was flying toward Agheel Lake.
But if Agheel was truly so mighty, why was he so gravely wounded? Had some great foe clashed with him?
Lucian returned swiftly to the caves to instruct Boc, then sat before the church's grace.
"Melina. Take me to Agheel Lake."
The maiden complied at once.
When he emerged at the lake's edge, he immediately spotted the great dragon. Larger even than Godrick's grafted drake, but grievously wounded: one claw missing, body torn by massive slashes, its neck half-severed and bleeding freely.
These were no wounds from beasts. They were man-made.
And the man responsible soon came into view.
He wore the armor of a Storm Knight, yet the dragon-crested helm had been defiled — the crest hacked off, replaced with a crimson scarf edged in gold. A greataxe slung on his back, a greatbow in hand, its arrows dipped into a barrel of blackened oil.
His steed too was unnatural: a crimson warhorse, eyes glowing with the same hue as its master's scarf.
Lucian studied him closely. Not one of his own. And yet… he remembered such figures from the old tales: Storm (Banished) Knights who abandoned their dragon crest, taking instead the power of Dragon Communion.
A Dragon Communion Knight.
The knight noticed Lucian at the lakeside but, seeing no interference, turned back to his quarry. Arrow after arrow pierced the sky, soaked in Dragon Communion Grease. One finally struck true, sending the wounded drake crashing into the lake.
It thrashed weakly, trying to rise, as the knight bore down with his greataxe.
Then, a roar split the heavens.
Every living thing felt it pierce their souls. The waters of Agheel Lake convulsed in waves, and lesser beasts scattered in terror.
And from the sky descended the true lord of this place — Flying Dragon Agheel himself, vast as a hill.
The smaller dragon was but a child compared to him.
Agheel unleashed fire, a tide of destruction that boiled the lake and filled the air with steam.
The Communion Knight answered with dragon-ice, but within moments, his resistance was swallowed by flame.
Lucian watched in silence. If the knight perished, then both dragons — the elder and the wounded — would be his to claim.
"So be it," he murmured. "Their hides will serve me well. Enough to forge the armor of a king… and see every Storm Knight armed anew."