Roswitha deliberately put on exquisite makeup and wore a beautiful dress. Beyond the reason she had given Leon—that she wanted to try a new style after giving birth to their second child—there was another motive: tonight’s banquet.
A week had passed since their victory over Constantine. The Maid Squad and the Guard Squad had mostly recovered by now. Following Dragon Clan traditions, they had to hold a ceremony after every battle to commemorate their fallen comrades.
Of course, while they were honoring their friends, they would also celebrate this hard-won victory.
"You Silver Dragons don’t seem to hold banquets like this often. It feels subdued compared to other Dragon Clans, who throw grand feasts for every minor occasion," Leon remarked.
"I still remember many years ago," he continued,"He smirked, recalling an old memory. 'Years ago, my unit was ordered to conduct a night raid. We were halfway into the assault, only to find that the Dragon Clan we were attacking was throwing a party to celebrate the hundredth day since they’d defeated the Empire’s Dragon Slayer Army."
Roswitha chuckled softly. "That's true. We Silver Dragons don't go in for that flashy nonsense. The last time we hosted something like this on a large scale was three years ago.”
Leon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Three years ago? What was the occasion?"
Roswitha squinted her eyes in a teasing smile. "The day we defeated the Empire’s strongest Dragon Slayer, Leon Casmodd, and managed to capture him alive."
...”
She strolled past him with a smirk, patting his shoulder. "You're really something, husband. The Silver Dragon Clan held two huge banquets in a row, and both of them had you as the main attraction. In the entire Dragon Clan, you must be one of a kind."
Leon brushed her hand off with irritation, grabbed the coat hanging by the rack, and strode toward the door.
Roswitha called after him, watching his retreating back. "Where are you going?"
"Taking care of the kids!"
"Don’t stay out too late! You still have to attend the banquet tonight, my prince~!"
Bang!
His answer was an angry slam of the door.
Roswitha folded her arms, gazing at the empty hallway, her ears still catching the sound of Leon's receding footsteps. She replayed the image of the grumpy man puffing himself up moments earlier.
He looked just like an overinflated puffer fish, ready to explode.
She smiled, and for some inexplicable reason, the word *"adorable"* popped into her head.
But the next second, her queenly smile froze.
Adorable?
How—how could she possibly think Leon was adorable?!
No, no, no. Impossible.
The "adorable" here definitely... definitely had a derogatory tone!
Yes, for the Dragon Clan, "adorable" was an insult.
So, thinking Leon was adorable made perfect sense—no problem at all.
With this flimsy reasoning sorted in her mind, Roswitha let out a relieved sigh.
She patted her cheeks to collect herself, and within seconds adopted her usual aloof, imperious demeanor that befitted a queen.
She chose an overlayer for her dress, put on a few small accessories reserved for formal occasions, and left her room—transformed into a picture-perfect queen.
Back on duty after just seven days postpartum—a workaholic shock for the maids!
Forward, charge ahead!
---
At 8 PM sharp, the banquet began.
The mostly-recovered head maid, Anna, was in charge of organizing the event.
Honestly, she hadn’t expected Her Majesty to resume the daily affairs of Silver Dragon Castle only one week after giving birth.
She had asked her queen why she wouldn’t take a little more time to rest—after all, even though she herself had been injured, she could still manage the workload on Her Majesty's behalf for a bit longer.
Roswitha replied that although they had won the battle recently, some of their clansmen were still despondent due to the losses they suffered. As queen of the Silver Dragons, she had an obligation to uplift her people’s spirits and guide the Silver Dragon Clan back to the right path as quickly as possible.
Anna understood her and didn’t press further.
Her Majesty was still the same Her Majesty—diligent, responsible, and undiminished in her passion and commitment even after decades on the throne.
The evening kicked off with a solemn tribute to the Silver Dragon warriors who had fallen in the recent battle.
The Dragon Clan had a deeply ritualistic way of mourning their kind.
They would inscribe the names of the deceased on small talisman-like objects and place them inside a specially-made ceremonial lamp called the "Spirit Lantern."
When the lantern was lit, it would slowly inflate and then ascend into the sky, drifting away into the distance. The fire inside would extinguish itself at a certain height, posing no risk of starting forest fires.
Releasing Spirit Lanterns symbolized granting the souls of the fallen the eternal freedom to soar through the skies.
That evening, the Silver Dragon Clan released a total of 234 Spirit Lanterns, representing the 234 warriors they had lost during the battle with Constantine.
Compared to the human strategy of relying on sheer numbers and lottery-like gambles, the Dragon Clan's focus on “quality over quantity” meant their overall population was relatively small. Losing 234 lives was no minor blow for them.
By the courtyard bonfire, the 234 lanterns were released one by one, illuminating the night sky.
At the banquet, some Silver Dragons shed quiet tears or wiped their eyes furtively, careful not to let their grief ripple outward. Others, meanwhile, shouted the names of fallen comrades and sworn brothers, urging them to live it up in whatever world they had gone to.
Once the crowd’s emotions had settled slightly, Roswitha—as their queen—stepped up to the podium to deliver a speech.
It was the usual fare—encouraging them not to lose hope, to believe in the brighter tomorrow that lay ahead, and to carry the will of the fallen forward as they continued their journey.
But Roswitha wasn’t particularly adept at motivational speeches. Speaking before so many dragons always dredged up cringeworthy memories she'd much prefer to forget.
So after a brief opening, she called Anna to take over and finish the address on her behalf.
Anna was no stranger to such tasks and handled them smoothly.
After the speeches, everyone resumed their respective evening activities—some chatting, some reminiscing. The banquet continued as planned.
Leon, meanwhile, found little interest in the Silver Dragon Clan’s victory feast. Throughout the event, he sat on the temple's stone steps, cradling his baby daughter, silently watching the procession of lantern-lighting, speeches, and the mix of tears and laughter.
Sherry had approached him earlier, asking if the prince would like to say a few words. After all, a significant portion of the credit for defeating Constantine belonged to him, making him a hero of the Silver Dragon Clan.
Her words were full of praise, but the more Leon listened, the more uncomfortable he felt.
I’m a human hero, he mused. How did I end up becoming the Silver Dragons’ savior in just three years?
Despite his internal grumbles, Leon politely replied that he wasn’t good at making speeches and they could handle it on their own. He added that he planned to put the little princess to bed soon anyway.
Sherry nodded without pressing him further, though she secretly marveled.
Like queen, like husband. Neither of them was fond of public speaking, both inclined toward modesty.
*This must be the mindset of true powerhouses—worth learning from!*
After Sherry left, Leon stayed put, holding his infant daughter.
The little one was full of energy and not the slightest bit sleepy, tugging at Leon’s collar and occasionally throwing her tiny pink fists toward his chin with surprising force.
One sudden jab actually hurt him.
Leon looked down and gently caught her tiny hand. "Wow, sweetie, you’re so strong. Even Constantine didn’t manage to hurt your dad, but you did. You’re way more impressive than Constantine."
"Ah-wa, ah-wa~~ mm~~," came the incomprehensible response in baby babble.
Leon chuckled and pinched her small nose before turning his gaze back toward the festivities.
Banquets, after all, transitioned to drinking after the mourning part.
Though Roswitha wasn’t great at speeches, she was quite adept at drinking.
In humans, women are typically advised against consuming alcohol in the months following childbirth since it can affect the nutritional content of breast milk.
But from the Dragon Clan pregnancy guides Leon had read, he knew that postpartum mother dragons don’t produce milk like human women. This meant that newborn dragonlings required alternative milk sources for nourishment.
At first, he had been concerned about whether their youngest daughter’s nutritional needs could be met without breast milk.
But seeing how energetic and lively Noa and Muen were, Leon had been reassured.
So Roswitha drinking alcohol just seven days after giving birth had no impact on her or the baby’s health.
Leon watched from afar, observing Roswitha sitting by the bonfire, clinking glasses with the maids. The firelight danced across her smiling face as she cheerfully accepted every toast.
It seemed like a moment of carefree enjoyment.
But after spending so much time with her, Leon understood Roswitha better now than he had before.
He was certain that the smile and ease on her face were entirely deliberate—a mask. In reality, she was already... exhausted.
"This is all part of your job too, huh... stupid dragon."
Leon lowered his head and gently squeezed his baby daughter’s cheek. "Just promise me one thing—don’t grow up to be like your mom. Learn to balance work and rest, okay? Otherwise, your father’s heart won’t be able to take it"
