When the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan invaded the Silver Dragon Clan, General Lai launched a merciless purge.

Not only did he physically overthrow their leader, Constantine, but he also decimated the elite forces under Constantine’s command.

Now, the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan is under fierce counterattack from other Dragon Clans, unable to muster any meaningful resistance.

Their only advantage is home turf—knowledge of the terrain lets them retreat while fighting.

Constantine’s loyalists hope to lie low and regroup, but revival is unlikely in the near future.

The Dragon Clans once oppressed by the Crimson Flame now seize this golden chance to exploit their enemy’s weakness, determined to tear off a pound of flesh.

Whether the Crimson Flame Clan will recover and seek vengeance is a concern for another day.

After all, vengeance is an obsession carved into the bones of every Dragon Clan.

Take Leon and Roswitha—when Leon’s Blood Curse left Roswitha with child, she resurrected him at all costs, only to repay his ‘gift’ tenfold upon his revival.

Now, with Constantine’s victims reacting in the same way, their philosophy remains unchanged: "When will revenge ever end?" But such words mean little to them.

Retaliation is a behavior carved deep into the a fire that never dies of Dragon Clans, surviving thousands of years untouched by time.

Perched on a treetop, Leon and Roswitha watched the unfolding drama with amusement.

The Dragon Clans gathered to “kick the fallen clan while it’s down” were moving swiftly, wasting no time forcing Constantine’s hidden loyalists out of hiding.

Thus, a thrilling game of cat and mouse began.

Although those seeking revenge didn’t intend to swallow the entirety of the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan in one go, simply tormenting these scattered remnants with their flagging morale and lack of leadership proved to be a satisfying endeavor.

After observing for some time, Leon asked with a puzzled expression, “Why does it seem like aside from Constantine, there’s not a single capable fighter in the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan? They’re all just running away.”

“The skilled ones were all eliminated by you. All that’s left now are essentially Crimson Flame Dragon Clan’s administrative figures, which naturally means they lack combat prowess.”

Roswitha paused before adding, “Besides, whether they’re capable or not, I don’t think that really makes much of a difference from your perspective.”

Leon blinked, contemplating her words. “You’re right—it kind of doesn’t matter…”

It was akin to a situation where students scored ten versus twenty points on a test. Objectively speaking, the twenty-pointer was indeed better than the ten-pointer. But to a true academic genius, both were just failing grades.

For General Lai, those below Constantine in the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan—whether scoring ten, twenty, or even thirty—were all equally "failing."

Hence Roswitha’s remark: “It doesn’t make a difference to you.”

Receiving such rare praise from his mate, Leon couldn’t resist the opportunity to capitalize on it. “Now do you see how incredible I am?”

Roswitha snickered before humoring him like one would a child, “Sure, sure, you’re amazing.”

“Obviously.”

“Pfft… Silver Dragon prisoner,” Roswitha muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?” Leon asked, unable to catch her words.

Roswitha turned back with a teasing smile, “Nothing, I was complimenting you.”

After sharing a few words of banter, the couple refocused their attention on the guerrilla warfare unfolding below.

“Sherry scouted someone earlier,” Roswitha began. “Found a person who matches our criteria. Recently, he’s been acting as the interim Dragon King for the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan. He belongs to Constantine’s faction, so even if he’s not the one connected to Maureen’s memories, he definitely knows something about their internal workings.”

Leon’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t fixate on the person Roswitha had mentioned. Instead, he asked, “Wait—are there factions within Dragon Clans?”

Roswitha nodded, “Of course. Especially within ancient and vast clans like the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan. Their internal factional struggles may not reach open conflict, but they constantly stir up drama nonetheless. For example, after Constantine’s fall, his faction likely fought tooth and nail to secure their grip on power, preventing it from falling into rival factions’ hands.”

“Even when the roof is on fire, they find time for infighting?” Leon asked incredulously.

“Power is the most addictive poison in the world; nobody can resist it.”

After thinking briefly, Leon asked again, “So does your Silver Dragon Clan also—”

“Shh, new developments,” Roswitha silenced him with a finger, signaling him to look below.

The timing of these developments was so coincidental that Leon didn’t have the chance to pursue his question.

Roswitha knew he was trying to ask if her Silver Dragon Clan also dealt with factional rivalries like the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan.

The answer was undoubtedly yes.

However, Roswitha had successfully either suppressed or reconciled those issues herself.

Power struggles are nasty and sinister, rife with cunning schemes and treachery; Roswitha didn’t want Leon to be exposed to such darkness yet.

She did intend to gradually introduce her faux husband to the darker sides of the world to prevent him from falling into traps or suffering betrayals in the future, but it had to be a step-by-step process.

Otherwise… it might just end up turning Leon, her cheerful and sunny golden boy, into an emotionally broken shadow of himself.

Pulling herself back from stray thoughts, Roswitha refocused on the immediate scene at hand.

Pointing to the dense firelight below the tree, she said, “Looks like they’ve found their leader and are closing in on him.”

“Is it the person Sherry reported earlier?” Leon asked.

Roswitha nodded, “It seems so.”

Leon observed the fleeing Crimson Flame Dragons below and smirked, “The tallest tree gets struck first—being Dragon King isn’t such an enviable position after all.”

“Well, considering he’s just a temporary, interim Dragon King, stepping forward to take charge amid such chaos is commendable. If he manages to survive this ordeal, rising again isn’t out of the question.”

Roswitha turned to Leon and said, “Alright, now let’s hear your brilliant plan.”

“‘Brilliant’ might be an overstatement, but it’ll get the job done. Their hit-and-run tactics are clearly going well for them, which means the pressure isn’t enough yet—we’ll have to give them a little extra push.”

“Got it. All yours.”

The husband and wife faded into the shadows, poised for action.

Meanwhile, below them, the external Dragon Clans continued their relentless pursuit of the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan’s remnants.

“Go! Chase them! It’s payback time!”

“Hey, Crimson Flames running ahead—I preferred your arrogant selves from before; any chance you can bring that attitude back?”

“……”

On the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan’s side, despite their pent-up frustrations, retreating remained their priority.

“Damn it. These pests are like flies—not attacking in full force, not aiming for a decisive blow, just endlessly harassing us.”

“Hah, a bunch of cowardly vermin! They want revenge but fear the wrath of the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan. They’re unworthy of being called Dragon Clans!”

“Brother, less boasting, more running! We need to cover August’s retreat to the safe house. He should be able to shake them off once he gets there.”

August was the temporary Dragon King they selected—a civilian, of course, since General Lai had exterminated all the warriors.

Though some of his aides had combat experience, fighting the pursuing forces head-on would leave August without adequate protection.

In this weakened state, their best bet was lying low and biding their time.

“Damn—these guys know the terrain too well; it’s difficult to catch them!”

“Well, we still need to make them pay! If we don’t take something from them now, it’ll be much harder when they recover later.”

“Wait—hold on! Looks like one of the Crimson Flame Dragons just got taken down! Who did it?! Whoever it was gets a reward!”

Quietly, the dynamics of the chase shifted.

The Crimson Flames had been using their familiarity with the terrain to lead a well-coordinated retreat, seemingly unflustered.

Yet inexplicably, their numbers began to dwindle.

“What—what’s going on? Are there ambushes in the shadows?”

“Enough with the cowardly sneak attacks! If you truly carry the honor of a Dragon Clan, show yourself and fight me openly!”

“Brother, your boasting must stop. Just keep running!”

With the remaining Crimson Flames providing cover, August was steadily approaching the safe house.

However, as his fellow dragons had pointed out, their numbers were dwindling—slowly but surely.

This indicated that the pursuing forces had a skilled assassin in their ranks, one who far outmatched the Crimson Flame’s abilities.

Who could eliminate so many targets so swiftly and stealthily…?

August considered every possibility: Could it be a Silver Dragon? After all, only a Silver Dragon like Roswitha’s kind would have such ghostly speed.

But the Silver Dragon Clan’s speed comes at the cost of offensive power, and even with their superior agility, they couldn’t possibly eliminate a Crimson Flame Dragon in an instant and retreat unnoticed.

Who could it be...?

August didn’t have the luxury of thinking further, rushing toward the safe house in haste.

Before he had taken more than a few steps, however, a streak of ghostly blue light flitted past from behind, a blade of killing intent skimming perilously close to the back of his head.

One of the Crimson Flames behind him collapsed to the ground instantly.

August spun around and launched a burst of Dragon Flame.

But there was nobody there.

The remaining Crimson Flames quickly encircled August, offering protection.

“Such incredible speed… Was it a Silver Dragon?” Someone voiced the same suspicion.

“No, that strike just now was clearly lightning magic… Silver Dragons don’t use lightning magic, do they?”

“Are you dumb? Did you forget how the former king Constantine fell? Wasn’t he killed by someone wielding thunder magic in armor—wait… Could it be… it’s him?!”

The guards grew increasingly panicked, glancing cautiously around their surroundings.

Auguste stared into the night. Truth be told, he had never personally seen the "armor-clad, lightning magic user" his kin spoke of.

On the day King Constantine set out for battle, he left Auguste to guard the home.

A civil officer—ill-suited for the battlefield.

And it was precisely because of this arrangement that Auguste survived. Otherwise, judging by the survivors' accounts, the armor-clad person likely would have ensured Auguste met his end as well.

But escaping once doesn't mean escaping forever. The one who slew King Constantine... has finally arrived, hasn't he?

Auguste's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sharp bird call.

But when he regained his senses, two guards close to him had already fallen.

"It's—it’s him! It must be him! Thunder Thrust... it’s so fast, Thunder Thrust!"

"You think a bit of petty lightning trickery can scare me? Show yourself now, coward—I’ll tear you apart!"

"Brother! You damn—ugh, forget it, I’m spent. Let ruin come..."

Cold sweat slid down Auguste's temple.

The pressure.

This was the very pressure described by the surviving members of his clan.

Even though he hadn't yet laid eyes on the lightning-wielding warrior in armor, he could genuinely feel it now.

This overwhelming power... No wonder King Constantine had fallen at his hands.

And to think... he’s merely human.

"There’s movement up ahead! Quick, pursue them!"

Hearing the sound of Thunder Thrust, the pursuing soldiers rushed over.

The remaining guards stepped forward to shield Auguste.

"Run! To the safehouse! As fast as you can! We’ll divert those bastards!"

Auguste could not afford to linger. He turned and bolted toward the safehouse.

Before long, the sound of magic clashing in battle echoed from behind.

After running for a while, the lightning mage hadn't made another move. It seemed the guards had successfully diverted him.

Auguste stopped, turning to look back at the distant skirmish.

"My king... What should I do...?" Auguste murmured to himself.

"If you’re curious what your king would answer, I wouldn’t mind sending you straight to him."

A stranger's voice sounded behind him.

Electricity seemed to run down Auguste's spine. He froze in place, feeling as though every pore in his body was exuding fear.

Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate.

Auguste’s heartbeat quickened.

He gritted his teeth, summoning every last ounce of strength to turn around, unleashing a scorching Dragon Flame.

But the opponent's lightning was far superior, effortlessly dismantling Auguste's Dragon Flame.

Auguste finally had no doubt about the man before him.

"Leon Cosmord..."

"Oh, so I’m famous now, am I?"

The wielder of lightning stepped out from the shadows, his right hand glowing with flickering blue sparks, ready to strike Auguste at any moment.

Auguste forced himself to stay calm, subtly taking half a step back.

Noticing that Leon didn’t react to his movement, he swiftly unfolded his dragon wings in an attempt to escape into the skies.

No matter how powerful this human was, he couldn’t fly.

And the Dragon Clan pursuers had been successfully diverted for the moment, leaving Auguste an opening to reach the safehouse by air.

However, what seemed like a good plan often meets a cruel reality.

Auguste had barely tilted his gaze skyward when a silver figure plummeted from above.

Boom–

The ground erupted into a thick cloud of dust.

When the dust cleared, Roswitha stood with one foot on Auguste's arm, her silver dragon wings spread behind her.

"Nice, you figured I couldn’t fly. So you tried to flee upward?"

Leon clapped slowly as he approached Auguste, a mock display of applause. "But you didn't consider—my wife can fly. Bet you never saw that coming."

Still composed in her serious stance, Roswitha nearly broke character upon hearing the phrase "my wife."

Her cheeks flushed red as she shot a glare at Leon.

If not for their pre-arranged clever plan, Roswitha would already be mentally roasting Leon into oblivion.

Roswitha withdrew her gaze, then delivered a sharp kick to Auguste, sending him sprawling at Leon's feet. She folded her dragon wings and strode over to Leon's side.

Auguste managed to sit up, his posture disheveled, shooting first a glare at Leon, then shifting to Roswitha.

“To think, the Dragon King herself truly united with a human... What a disgrace to the Dragon Clan.”

“We—”

“And what of it?” Roswitha’s voice was ice. “I married a good husband. My daughters have an excellent father. I fail to see where this supposed disgrace lies.”

Hearing this, Auguste’s reaction hardly mattered—Leon himself felt slightly shocked.

After all, Auguste already knew Leon’s human identity, so there was no need to keep up any further pretense in front of him.

Leon’s earlier quip calling Roswitha "my wife" had been more about flaunting his triumph than anything else.

But Roswitha’s direct proclamation of their happy union caught him entirely off guard.

So this dragon queen also has an unyieldingly protective side?

Yikes—

Women, truly perplexing creatures.

Still, for Auguste, declarations of affection meant little as retaliatory blow.

He snorted derisively. "I couldn’t care less about your relationship. Kill me, or torture me—do as you will."

Skipping straight to "kill me"? This guy really is a loyalist.

Leon crouched down, staring into Auguste's eyes. "Killing and torturing can wait. First, I’ve got some questions for you."

"Do I look like a prisoner who’ll answer your every question?"

"Well, about that—"

Before Leon could finish his thought, Roswitha landed a swift kick squarely into Auguste’s chest, slamming him unceremoniously to the ground.

Leon froze, staring dumbstruck at Roswitha. "What are you doing?"

“He doesn’t deserve to use the word ‘prisoner.’”

“What?”

“‘What’ nothing—keep interrogating him.”

“Oh... okay.”

Dragging Auguste to the base of a massive tree, Leon ignored the distant din of magical combat still raging nearby.

“Of course I don’t expect you to willingly talk," Leon said casually, "but let’s face it—you’re in our hands now.”

“You and your guards kept rushing in this direction, which tells me up ahead must be your next stronghold or an emergency refuge. Unfortunately, reaching it now is out of the question.”

“So, if you don’t give us the answers we need, we’ll hand you over to those Dragon Clans your Crimson Flame lot invaded in the past.”

“Though extermination isn’t my preferred method, listen closely—your forces are losing to the revenge-fueled Dragon Clans. Once your guards fall, you’re next. I may spare your life, but they will not.”

The allied Dragon Clans outside may lack the skill to capture Auguste alive.

But who could’ve predicted Leon Cosmord’s sudden intervention?

Capturing Auguste was as trivial as rounding up a piglet—nothing the outer Dragon Clans could hope to compare with.

And if Leon handed Auguste over to them, his fate needed no elaboration.

Death, perhaps, would be his simplest relief.

“Ha... You think laying these unfavorable outcomes before me will make me cave? Do not underestimate the Crimson Flame Dragon Clan."

This guy’s got stubbornness down to an art.

Scratching his head, Leon feigned an air of vexation. “I suppose we’ve no choice, then—time for the hard way. You’ve heard about memory-probing magic, haven’t you?”

Auguste raised an eyebrow, sneering. “You plan to use that on me? By all means, I’ll resist with all my remaining power the moment your mana floods my mind. The clash will scorch my brain in an instant—and for me, that would be liberation.”

So the old man’s dead set on dying now, huh?

“Not quite. Everyone knows memory-probing magic has its limitations. As you said, mana collisions are fatal for the subject.”

Leon smirked. “But we can wait until you’re too drained to summon mana—then initiate the probing.”

“What, torture me? A joke—I fear not death, nor your pain."

“Don’t be so slow-witted, old man.” Leon leaned casually toward Auguste, gesturing toward Roswitha nearby. “You recognize her, don’t you? The Silver Dragon Queen.”

Auguste shot him a glare.

This damned human brat thinks I need him to recite the Dragon King registry?

“Looks like you do. Now, do you know her nickname?” Leon asked with coy intrigue.

“What...”

“Midnight Ripper of Melkevi!”

Roswitha: ...

Auguste twitched. “Ripper? Midnight Ripper!?”

“That’s right. My wife has this peculiar hobby: she can’t go a month without killing a dragon.”

“How is it I’ve never heard the Silver Dragon King had such a hobby...” Auguste questioned skeptically.

“Of course you haven’t, outsider. I’m her husband; after three years living together, naturally, I know her deepest secrets.”

Leon spoke with unflinching confidence. “Now, isn’t it uncanny? By sheer coincidence, it’s been exactly a month since my wife last killed someone.”

Auguste visibly tensed, audibly swallowing some nervousness, though his words remained defiant: “Spare me your theatrics. I’ve already told you—kill me, or torture me.”

“Man, you’re just so stubborn, old man. I’m trying to help here.”

Leon sighed. “Act stubborn now, but when my wife’s impulses kick in, she’ll start by slicing off your arms and legs. Then, with a small knife, she’ll slowly trace from your kidney up to your stomach.”

As he described, Leon used his fingers to gesture along Auguste’s abdomen...

"Then she will tear open your stomach. Mind the verb here—tear. So by then, your intestines, liver, and whatnot might just pop out."

"But don’t worry, I’ll cover your eyes and give you an adrenaline shot to help you last a bit longer."

"Relax, I’ve already done this process several times with my wife. I’m very practiced at it."

"Based on my estimation, you could probably hold on for about one or two minutes. By that time, you wouldn’t have any strength left to use your magic, and we could then use clairvoyant magic on you."

Leon spread his hands. "So, this isn’t what you’d call torture. It’s just a little fun and games between me and my wife, you know? We really enjoy playing these kinds of games."

Cold sweat slid down Augu's nose as he shrank back and glanced nervously at the Silver Dragon King standing nearby.

There she stood, at some point pulling out a small knife. The blade shimmered with a chilling light as she leisurely used it to trim her nails, completely at ease.

Augu shut his eyes and let out a long exhale.

Leon thought he must be ready to cooperate, but who could’ve foreseen—

"I'm not afraid of you! Is it gut-ripping you’re talking about? Big deal!" Augu spoke with the dramatic spirit of a martyr.

"You old fool, you—"

"Leon, move aside. I’ll do it. Cut off this geezer’s arm first."

Roswitha, holding the knife, strode forward decisively.

Augu was so terrified that his tail curled up as he shivered under the tree.

"Wait a moment!"

Leon hurried to block Roswitha. "Let me try again. I swear, we can extract the intel peacefully."

"But Leon, I haven’t killed anyone in an entire month! I can’t stand it anymore," Roswitha pleaded desperately.

"Don’t rush, darling. Just hold on a little longer."

"No! I can’t hold it any longer! Today, I must carve this guy open! It’s not like he’s going to spill any information anyway. Keeping him alive is useless."

As she spoke, Roswitha started to maneuver around Leon.

"Hey, hey, hey, darling, really! Give me one more chance. He’s almost ready to talk, I promise."

"He literally just said that he wouldn’t talk. Move aside already! I still need to pull out his intestines to make a clothesline."

"No, no, no, my love, listen to me—he’s about to speak! Besides, your clothesline still works perfectly fine. It’s made from the tendons of the last guy, isn't it?"

"I don’t care, I don’t care! He’s not gonna say a word! I—"

"I’ll talk!"

At last, Augu’s psychological defenses crumbled.

These lunatic lovebirds were too terrifying. Any heroic sense of loyalty appeared utterly ridiculous in their presence.

They simply didn’t care how stubborn Augu was. For them, it seemed like the "game" was far more important.

Tearing open your stomach—intestines turned into clotheslines—human tendons—just hearing these things made one wince in pain!

Clearly, they hadn’t even done anything yet, but Augu’s stress level had already hit its limit.

The old man was indeed loyal to the Scarlet Flame Dragon Clan and had mentally prepared himself for torture and interrogation.

But as Leon said, this wasn’t torture. This was just a game concocted for the delight of the Ripper, the Silver Dragon King.

It’s like how the world is full of grand truths but—you wouldn’t reason with lunatics, would you?

Of course not.

So...

There was no point in acting tough in front of two maniacs. It would bring no benefit in the end.