Right now the big dragon was drowning in regret, like cold tidewater filling his lungs. He should’ve known better; why swing the first punch if you can’t take the echo.

Someone pressed a sword to his neck so he could “see clearly,” like a mirror of ice under his chin—was he supposed to thank that “kindness” with a smile?

Of course he could snap back—his temper flared like sparks in dry straw.

“You put a blade on my throat just to show me your blade? Who do you think buys that?” His thought spat like sleet against stone.

But being able to argue didn’t mean the big dragon wanted to. His courage shrank like a fire under rain; give him a hundred guts, he still wouldn’t stir that pot again.

Why? His fear thumped like a drum in a fog.

Because the one holding the sword was a natural airhead—dangerous in a sunlit, cloudless way. Someone who could, without a blink, rest steel on a neck—what else do you call that but airheaded doom wrapped in a ribbon?

Dragonfolk pride, Undead kingship—those banners fluttered out of his hands like torn silk in a gale.

This airhead had sheathed her sword now, the storm’s eye gone quiet, but if he poked the hive again—asked some twisty thing like, “How does this sword prove you’re a king?”—he could see it:

She’d draw without a word, the blade would fall like winter, his head would tumble like a stone down a cold stream.

Then she’d smile, bright as spring sunlight through pear blossoms, and chirp, “See how sharp it is? Proof of a king, okay?” The words would skip like pebbles, not even touching the lake.

If it went like that, he’d die wronged, like a ghost tangled in fishermen’s nets.

So, dragon pride… what’s that? (head tilt)

“Okay, okay, Arthas-chan, come back over here.”

The big dragon was still grinding on how to admit fault without cracking his face like thin ice. Before he found the perfect bridge, Alicia tossed him a rope and eased the tension like wind parting mist.

Arthas-chan didn’t dream of ignoring Alicia. She slung the sword back across her spine, hopped twice like a sparrow on snow, and landed at Alicia’s side.

Alicia ruffled Arthas’s hair, scattering her long locks like drifting reeds, then let her hand fall.

“Now, does anyone still doubt that Arthas is the Dragon King of the Undead?”

The dragons below fell into silence, like a field of grass flattening under night wind.

It wasn’t only because that sword trick had spooked them. The old dragons, eyes like old rivers, could spot a great figure by the way the air bent. The young had old voices in their ears and didn’t plan to do anything brainless.

Those elders watched the black, ill-omened aura floating over Arthas’s back, like a storm crow roosting on her shoulders, and knew their claws couldn’t match her.

Even if she weren’t a king, she was a mountain, not a hill. And Alicia, who had “brought her in,” was a lightning tree next to that mountain—who’d doubt a tree that doesn’t burn?

Huh. It hit them like a pebble in the shoe—this big dragon with no elder to nudge him was truly pitiful.

“All right. Since no one has objections, can we get this ‘smooth’ meeting rolling again?”

Ninety Nine Maiden stepped in on cue, her voice smooth as lacquer, and pressed on the word “smooth” like a finger on a warning bell—the meaning rang clear as steel. Anyone who popped up now to heckle, she’d smash his snout like a clay jar.

“Mm. Good…”

She let her gaze sweep the sea of scales, a slow oar through dark water. One or two dragons dipped their heads the moment her eyes brushed them.

Those head-dippers had likely planned to stir mud, but after that little lightning strike they dropped the thought. Caught under Ninety Nine Maiden’s glance, their necks softened like wax and down they went.

Fine. Whatever. As long as no one kicks the hive, we’re good.

“Enough, then. If no one objects, and you all see that Alicia’s strength makes her the best choice as a companion… you know what comes next, right?”

The dragons’ stares left Ninety Nine Maiden and settled on Alicia like snowflakes finding the same branch. A few flakes drifted toward Ling.

Alicia felt the weight of reverence press in, a mountain wind leaning on her shoulders.

Ling felt eyes too, but not reverence—more like some lolicon’s sticky stare, moths to a lantern they shouldn’t touch.

Before Ling could hunt down the creep in the crowd, the dragons lowered themselves as one.

Not kneeling, exactly. They folded low, bellies tight to the ground like river stones, heads dipped a fraction like cranes in shallow water.

“Lady Alicia!”

“Lady Ling…” (the sound drowned in the first, as soft as a mouse in rain)

“We are willing to become your companions! We respect you! We admire you! We will follow your steps forever!” Voices rose like banners in wind.

“We are comrades of justice! And loli equals justice! So we’re all your comrades!” (justice has always whispered from the shadows…)

Alicia froze, not sure what to do; it was her first time seeing so many dragons bow, and the sight rolled out like a silver tide of scales—too grand for words.

Ling, though, burned hot. She heard the trimmed chorus and the weeds hiding in it, those criminal creeds tucked between lines.

She never imagined Dragonfolk would house that kind of pervert. Had human culture seeped into their dens like dye? Or is dragon lust a law that crosses all worlds?

Before Ling could tug Alicia’s sleeve and complain, the river of talk turned again.

“Miss Alicia, how about that? This is our highest-level rite. In all Dragonfolk history, only a newly crowned Dragon King receives it.”

Ninety Nine Maiden threw Alicia a neat explanation, and Alicia stepped out of her own awkward fog like a deer from brush.

Whether it truly was the “highest” could be argued another day, but getting Dragonfolk to lower their heads wasn’t some tea-ceremony courtesy.

Since they had offered such sincerity, Alicia had to answer with water to match their wine.

She bent a fraction, pinched the hem of her air-princess dress—the imaginary fabric as light as mist—and let the curtsy she’d learned with sweat finally earn its stage.

She closed her eyes, and let warmth soften her voice like silk in the sun.

“To receive your vows is an honor for our Mystic Realm.”

“Yes! May we accompany the two youkai lords from this day on!” The title rose like incense from a temple eave.

Alicia blinked and turned, a puzzled bird tilting its head, to ask Ninety Nine Maiden, “What’s with ‘youkai lord’?”

Ninety Nine Maiden slid her eyes away, guilt flickering like a fish under ice. “Owners of a… ‘demonically’ enchanting beauty, my ladies. That’s probably it.”

“And the ‘lord’ part?”

“Who knows? It sounds nice, doesn’t it?” Her shrug floated like a leaf dodging the current.

Alicia narrowed her eyes, the corners like crescent moons searching for truth. Her lips parted, a syllable gathering like dew, but the sight of the blonde girl at her side brushed the thought away.

She smoothed her expression, then swept her hand toward the dragons, sending a breeze of poise through the hall.

“Fine. From today, I’ll accept you beauty-obsessed, lecherous giant dragons as friends.”