Dinner.

Pan-fried eggplant, stir-fried eggplant strips, deep-fried stuffed eggplant.

The side dish was a carrot salad.

Generally speaking, the final meal before a prisoner’s execution is called the "last meal," and it's typically a grand feast, full of delicacies like chicken, duck, fish, and meat.

But for Leon, this exceptionally targeted dinner was a clever combination of his last meal and execution itself.

Knife and fork in hand, he hesitated, unsure where to begin.

He circled the plate with his eyes and thought he’d start by calming his nerves with a glass of water.

But when his gaze shifted to the side, he found that Roswitha had already placed a large glass of carrot juice on the table in lieu of water.

She had successfully blocked even his last resort of filling up on water.

Was all of this just because I didn’t teach her fire magic? Is this really necessary? Leon darkly mused to himself.

*Crunch—*

The crisp sound of a carrot being bitten broke the silence beside him.

Leon turned his head toward the noise.

Roswitha was resting her chin in one hand while holding a carrot in the other. Her red lips parted slightly as she bit off the tip of the carrot, then slowly chewed it.

Noticing Leon looking her way, Roswitha generously extended the carrot toward him. “Want some? Here, take it.”

Leon’s eyes lowered to the carrot’s bitten edge, where a faint trace of her lipstick remained.

The next moment, an overpowering carrot scent assaulted his senses.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. For Leon, it felt like someone had poured twenty pounds of menthol oil straight into his brain—indescribably intense.

He quickly turned away and tried to find anything on the table that he could stomach.

Unfortunately, there was nothing.

When the dragon queen decided to do something, she never left any room for maneuvering.

On the other side of the table, Muen was happily savoring one of her mother’s deep-fried stuffed eggplants, its filling packed with flavorful minced meat.

Clearly, his beloved daughter had no intention of saving her dear father. Leon was on his own.

The Dragon Slayer’s mind started racing as he thought of an idea. Suddenly, he spoke up, “Oh, I’ll just go check how much of the birthday cake is left. If we don’t eat it soon, it’ll spoil.”

Leon had just started to rise when Roswitha’s voice rang out. “I already gave it all to Anna and the others this afternoon. Don’t worry, it didn’t go bad. Now sit down and eat, husband.”

“....”

Leon awkwardly sat back down, pursing his lips. Trying to save some face, he said reproachfully, “How could you give it all away? Muen loves that cake. What is she supposed to eat now that you’ve given it all away?”

He hoped to restore some dignity at this dinner by appealing to morality.

However, as if predicting exactly what he would say, Roswitha calmly produced a piece of cake from nearby and placed it beside Muen’s plate. Then, she turned to Leon with a smile. “Thanks for the reminder, husband. I did save Muen a piece after all.”

There’s an old saying: When God closes a door, He opens a window for you.

But here, Roswitha was God. She not only slammed the door shut but welded shut all the windows as well—and filled the room to the brim with eggplants and carrots.

Leon sighed, pressing his lips together and quietly setting down his knife and fork.

Fine. He’d just skip dinner. It wasn’t as if skipping one meal would kill him.

The queen noticed her "captive" adopting an attitude of determined resistance and decided to escalate matters.

“Muen,” Roswitha suddenly called out to their daughter.

“Yes, Mommy?” Muen asked, looking up from her ongoing battle with the stuffed eggplant.

“Has it been tough studying magic these days?” Roswitha asked kindly.

Muen shook her head. “Muen isn’t tired. Daddy teaches so well and is always so patient. He explains every magic technique over and over without getting annoyed. So, if anyone is tired, it has to be Daddy.”

Her little "daddy’s girl" clearly understood how to appreciate her father’s hard work.

But not tonight. Tonight, she needed to pull back just a little...

“Oh, so you’ve been working so hard, husband. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d love to help share the burden,” Roswitha cooed, her voice sounding sweet and full of concern.

As she spoke, she moved to sit beside Leon, who immediately felt a sense of impending doom. He tried to inch away, but Roswitha pressed him back by the wrist, placing a piece of pan-fried eggplant on his plate.

“I’ve been busy with work lately, so there’s not much I can do for you. But you should eat more, husband,” she said warmly.

“I…I’m not that hungry…” Leon stammered, trying to excuse himself.

“Tsk, that won’t do. You’ve been working hard all day. You need sustenance, or your body won’t hold up. Muen, don’t you agree Daddy has to eat a proper meal?”

The young dragon nodded seriously, chiming in, “Daddy, you always taught me, ‘Three meals a day, keep doctors away.’”

It even rhymed. Sweetheart, are you prepping for poetry contests?

“Husband, are you too tired to feed yourself? That’s fine, I’ll feed you,” Roswitha said with apparent thoughtfulness, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

“No…no need…” Leon protested weakly, attempting to wiggle his way out.

“It’s no problem at all. Come on, husband, open wide. Aaah~~”

The taste of the pan-fried eggplant washed over him.

Objectively speaking, Roswitha’s cooking skills were exceptional. The pan-fried eggplant was perfectly executed: visually appetizing, aromatic, and flavorful.

But for Leon, it was nothing short of poison—a harbinger of despair, the bane of his existence.

“Roswitha!—”

Before he could finish shouting her name, Leon’s vision went black, and he passed out.

If Roswitha had a way to contact the Empire's news outlets, she might have offered them tomorrow’s headline:

“Shocking! The World’s Strongest Dragon Slayer, Leon Casmod, Felled by a Plate of Pan-Fried Eggplant!”

The headline would undoubtedly cause a sensation.

“Hmph, no wonder eggplant isn’t a part of your nutrition regimen—it’s surprisingly effective.”

When Roswitha met Tagger earlier, the old fellow mentioned that Leon doesn't like carrots and eggplants the most.

The last time she’d tested him, just the carrots had produced excellent results.

This time, combining carrots and eggplant had made her efforts doubly effective, with outstanding results.

“Mommy, why did Daddy faint?” Muen asked in concern.

“Oh, he must be very tired. A little rest, and he’ll be fine,” Roswitha replied with ease.

“Really…? Hmm…so tomorrow morning, Mommy will feel better, then…” Muen muttered quietly.

Roswitha arched an elegant brow. “Hmm? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She assumed her daughter was concerned about her apparent frailty these past several days and hoped to see her regain energy.

But what on earth did that have to do with "Daddy being so tired"?

Muen clarified innocently,

“My sister and I noticed something strange a while ago. Whenever Daddy is energetic, Mommy always seems frail. But when Mommy is full of energy, it’s Daddy who looks out of it. One of you is always looking like you’re out of energy.”

After a pause, Muen added, “That hasn’t happened in a long time, but since Daddy passed out this time… Mommy will probably be energetic again tomorrow, right?”

Ah, the simplicity of a child’s world.

But Roswitha certainly wasn’t going to explain why this phenomenon occurred.

After all, children who couldn’t even handle seeing their parents kiss without covering their eyes definitely weren’t ready for certain explanations.

“Yes, Mommy will feel much better soon. Thank you for worrying about me, sweetheart,” Roswitha said softly.

Muen shook her head, then added thoughtfully, “Mommy, make sure to take care of yourself…and take care of Daddy too.”

Glancing at her “captive,” who had been taken down by eggplant, Roswitha’s lips curled into a slow, amused smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy will take *very good care* of Daddy...”

---

Leon slowly opened his eyes.

The ceiling above him was familiar—but it wasn’t the ceiling of his nursery.

It was Roswitha’s bedroom.

His brain snapped to attention.

Well, crap.

He tried to sit up, but before he could make much progress, a hand pressed firmly on his chest and pushed him back down.

As awareness returned to his body, Leon felt a weight on his abdomen that made his heart sink. Tonight was going to be a long, long night.

Without even looking at who was straddling him, he stared blankly at the ceiling and spoke wearily,

“Using eggplants? How despicable.”

The sultry voice he dreaded answered, “In the battle between dragon and Dragon Slayer, nothing is off-limits. I wouldn’t call that despicable at all.”

After a short pause, she added with a sly smile, “Besides, I never said I was going to do anything. I’m just here to…treat your illness.”

Leon blinked in confusion. “Treat illness? What illness?”

Only then did he curiously glance toward the figure perched on top of him.

What he saw nearly made him jump.

The gorgeous woman sitting on him wore a white medical mask that obscured everything but her enchanting, mesmerizing eyes. Her gaze sparkled like stars reflecting off a midnight sea. Her silky, perfectly styled hair was elegantly tied back, and her tight white uniform accentuated her provocative curves.

Between her scandalously short skirt and thigh-high white boots lay the alluring “absolute zone” that Leon couldn’t help noticing.

This outfit… Leon instantly recognized what it was.

After classroom roleplay, now she wants to try nurse roleplay too…?!

Wait a second, where did she even get a nurse uniform?!

So that “in the battle between dragon and Dragon Slayer, nothing is off-limits” line was all to set up this move, huh?

“Roswitha… can we just switch to some normal professions for once?”

“Leon Casmod, please cooperate with the treatment,” she replied with professional seriousness.

Leon exhaled heavily, rolled his eyes, and sank back into the pillow.

The dragon queen had claimed the opening advantage. Leon couldn’t immediately retaliate.

He’d have to wait for her to get sloppy later on. Then he could turn the tables, flip their positions, and regain control of this battle.

But she must also anticipate that Leon’s physical strength has grown significantly. She’ll be even more cautious this time, won’t she?

Leon quietly strategized his next move while Roswitha continued her act.

“Mr. Leon Kasmod, your medical chart states that you frequently experience chest tightness. Is that correct?” Roswitha asked, holding an actual-looking medical chart she’d somehow acquired, her tone brisk and professional.

“That’s not right, Nurse Roswitha. My real illness is depression, and I frequently feel I want to suicide,” Leon retorted dryly.

*Smack!*

Roswitha lightly swatted Leon on the forehead with the medical chart and repeated slowly and firmly, “Please. Cooperate. With the treatment, Mr. Casmod.”

"…Hmm, yes, yes, yes, I feel chest tightness."

"Tear your shirt open and let me have a look."

"Is it appropriate for a nurse to use the word 'tear'?"

"Mr. Leon, do you need me to say it a third time?"

Leon obediently unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a solid set of chest muscles and a Dragon Mark.

"What is this tattoo, Mr. Leon?" Roswitha asked.

You really don’t know what this thing is?

Are you just trying to mess with me?

Curse this wicked dragoness.

"I don’t know either, Miss Nurse. Perhaps you should check your own chest. Maybe you’ve got a matching one?"

"Please refrain from making such offensive remarks, Mr. Leon, or I’ll report you for sexual harassment."

"You wear a miniskirt, sit on top of me, make me unbutton my shirt, and then you threaten to report me for harassment?"

The nurse nodded seriously, "That’s correct."

Alright, alright. If this is how you want to play, I’ll make sure you won’t get away with it.

"If you don’t want to talk, then let me carefully inspect your body instead."

The moment is coming.

Leon got serious, ready to counter at any time.

He watched as Roswitha slowly leaned in closer, gradually removing her mask to reveal a breathtakingly stunning face of utter perfection.

However—

Just as Roswitha got close to Leon’s face, her expression suddenly froze. She quickly moved back, covering her mouth as if she were suppressing some sort of discomfort.

Leon raised an eyebrow and teased, "What’s the matter, Miss Nurse? The healer can’t heal herself?"

Roswitha’s brows furrowed as the discomfort intensified.

She had no choice but to get off Leon, step into her boots, and rush into the bathroom.

Soon, the sound of flushing echoed from the other room.

Leon was ready to throw in a few more jabs, but as the words reached his lips, he sensed something was off.

This reaction of hers… had been happening far too often lately.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on Leon.

"Could it be—"