The execution ground was a low hill apart from the castle.
The old beheading block gleamed as if new, and crows had already flown in around it to wait for the time to feast on the corpse.
The one receiving punishment was no notorious criminal and was young, and besides, Calhog wanted to bury the fact that Erman had slipped from his control and left the royal castle, so he sought to handle the matter unofficially.
Thanks to that, there were no spectators who'd packed food or people nosing around for the condemned's belongings. On the quiet hill there were only the displeased king, the lizard who had dared burn the king's beard and now just flapped his wings and the prince holding him, guards, attendants, the executioner, and the scribe to record the proceedings.
As Erman got down from the carriage, the dragon in his arms gave a small yawn. The corner of Calhog's mouth twitched under his thick beard, but he said nothing in particular. It seemed that whatever strange creature the prince had brought, he wished to pay no mind for now to anything but punishing the attendant.
"Bring the condemned."
Calhog commanded. The order passed through attendants and guards to the executioner, and after a moment today's star made his appearance.
A boy lying prostrate like a dog on a cart strewn with straw. The corner of his mouth was torn, and his hands, bound with thick rough rope, were rubbed raw and red. Below the neck of his frayed, worn attendant's clothes remained traces of torture during interrogation.
A state completely different from before he'd taken Erman to Tintagel. At the sight of Albion, Erman despaired as if the whole world had been taken from him. Calhog, glancing at the prince's deathly pale face, felt a hidden satisfaction and gestured with his chin.
"Drag him here."
The executioner, who'd been dragging Albion toward the scaffold, turned his steps. Soldiers made Albion kneel before Calhog and crossed spears so he couldn't lift his head at will. He was treated as a complete criminal.
Standing a step away as if from something filthy, Calhog lifted Albion's chin with his foot.
"A base-born wretch, daring to deceive the prince and take him all the way to Tintagel. Once you left, not coming back would have been wiser. Truly foolish. To think you would be this stupid."
"......"
"Have you thought up a last excuse?"
Calhog anticipated what answer the ruined boy would give. He'd beg for mercy, plead to at least spare his life. By reports, Albion had been the same when interrogated in the dungeon. That he'd only said 'Taking the prince out wasn't in the plan,' and to other questions kept strictly silent.
Through ivory hair matted with dried blood, one pale green eye looked up at him. Eyes with no trace of grievance or fear. Calhog clicked his tongue. What an insolent young wretch. Had he been born to a good family he might have become a decent knight, but now he was only a criminal who'd beguiled the prince.
"Take him away."
Calhog's voice, withdrawing even a shred of interest, was cold-blooded. Erman looked back and forth between Albion and Calhog, his father and the King of Loegria, but Erman wasn't in Calhog's sight.
Just as Erman was finally about to kneel and beg Calhog to please show mercy.
"You treat me as a wretch who deserves to die for taking the prince, yet for all that you seem to be raising your son quite freely."
"......What?"
"On the way to Tintagel I worried the knights would come after us. But the only person I met was Sir Estan. Isn't that strange? Should the treatment of precious royal blood vary like this?"
The air at the beheading block turned ice cold. It was so ominous that even Erman gave up on stepping forward. Calhog's blue eyes slowly turned downward. They resembled Erman's, but were far colder.
"How dare you. Flapping your mouth before the King of Loegria, before Us. Do you wish to be hacked to death?"
"I'm going to die soon anyway, so why be picky? If he's a prince you should manage him like a prince, or if that's so distasteful give him a castle and send him elsewhere, but unable to decide even that, weren't you the one who kept him in the castle tooth and nail and left him to be hated by all sorts of guys, Your Majesty?"
"A, Albion, stop......"
"Do you know how Her Highness the Queen treats Erman? Even if it's between a stepmother and stepson, he's your own son, Your Majesty, so shouldn't you pay a little attention? Did you think you could pay less attention since Erman's upbringing and education are in Her Highness the Queen's charge? Or is it that both Her Highness the Queen and Erman are awkward for you to see, so you simply neglect them?"
It was so blunt that even a common soldier blanched. Straight talk only someone prepared to die from the start could spit out. Calhog, Cadwin and Erman. Of those who had witnessed the three's twisted, warped relationship, the only one to speak so publicly was Albion.
And right in front of everyone else.
What Calhog hated most was someone talking back to him. One who breaks the law of primogeniture and puts on a crown himself is always dogged by doubts about legitimacy and authority. And Calhog was obsessed with authority to the point of being unable to bear even the whispers of the lowliest.
Even Queen Cadwin, the only one who could currently raise her voice to Calhog, tried not to touch Calhog's pride. There was no knowing what would happen if Calhog's patience passed its limit and he flew into a rage.
Yet here was a boy about to be executed, talking back to Calhog tit for tat. Everyone, in an atmosphere like a powder keg about to blow, dared not even breathe.
Astonishingly, Calhog himself knelt on one knee on the ground to match eye levels. With the wretched, filthy Albion.
"You struggle right before death. Go ahead and try. Even so, wretch, you will soon be in two pieces. Those pretty eyeballs will be food for those crows, and your liver I will throw to the hounds. Until your life ends you will crawl around looking at your own spilled guts."
Meeting his eyes was by no means goodwill. A whisper full of malice flowed out from beneath the beard.
"I will see that not one small finger, not one strand of hair is left whole. If that is what you so wanted, wretch."
"Can you really? I do hope so."
What does that mean? Calhog's eyes narrowed.
At this point, he was clearly being provoked on purpose. Albion, a faint sneer hung at the corner of his mouth, was as calm as if he'd been expecting this for ages. As if it were something he'd been through many times, or as if he already knew what would happen next.
As his thoughts reached that far, Albion drew a big breath.
"Dragon of Tintagel! Here and now, a contract with me!"
In that instant Erman's eyes went wide.
The dragon in his arms flew up at once as if he had been waiting. A vast roar unimaginable from so small a body covered the hill.
***
The shadow that had vanished into the light of the just-rising sun swelled. There was no other way to describe it. As if one drop of rain became a river and an ocean at once, wings grown to cover the sky flapped as if raising a storm.
<I have waited for this moment, contractor. Let us swear. An oath to bind your heart and mine.>
"I was getting ready anyway."
Coming here about three times, getting my head cut off or crawling with my body cut in half about three times, and loading a save file about three times, I mean.
Swallowing those words, I shook off the soldiers retreating in panic and staggered to my feet.
"<I do not fear you. Whatever form you take, in whatever darkness you are, I will find your soul. Is it so with you as well?>"
<I accept you. Whatever form you change into, in whatever light you sink, I will draw out your essence.>
My heart beat strangely. The pulse racing with tension was forced to slow and took on a different rhythm. Another pulse beating right beside the muscle pumping blood.
"<I do not deceive you. Having boarded the same orbit of fate, all of yours belongs to me and all of mine rests with you. Is it so with you as well?>"
<I offer you my sole affection. I will give all my joy and take all your sorrow.>
Chains wound on one by one. Old chains, invisible to the eye, made of a language audible only to fairies and the fairies' watchman, linked up.
The gale from the dragon's wingbeats shook the hill. Weapons fell, and the beheading block, creaking as it struggled to hold, finally began to warp at the joints. Calhog, surrounded by soldiers, was shouting something, but it couldn't be heard in the wind. Estan's cloak, wrapped around Erman, flapped as if to tear.
"<I do not fear death. Because you are with me, I will dream of immortality for as long as you remember. Is it so with you as well?>"
<I grant you life. Until all your tasks on earth are fulfilled, I will be the only dragonkind at your side.>
Three oaths.
The only promise linking me and the dragon of Tintagel.
They might look like simple questions and answers, but from a few seconds after attempting the oath, translucent stat warning windows had been piling up in layers and sending noisy alerts. Deafeningly so.
「Spirit: 300/350」
「Spirit: 215/350」
「Spirit: 171/350 !Spirit below half!」
「Spirit: 127/350 !Spirit below half!」
「Spirit: 87/350 !Spirit below half!」
I know. I know, already.
Even without the warning windows raising hell all over the neighborhood, my vision was dimming and my legs shaking. The tip of my nose stung a little, then with a small 'pop' a nosebleed streamed down. I'd adjusted my pain threshold so it didn't hurt, but watching my Spirit drop in real time was frightening.
Bright red blood ran down my chin and dropped on my chest, spreading. The dragon threw out the last question.
<Find my name, contractor. What is the true name you see for me?>
「Spirit: 42/350 !Spirit below half!」
A name. The final keyword that only one who can observe the dragon's source can find.
A key one can't even look into unless the dragon permits, and even if permitted, only an entity with a mind strong enough to perceive the essence and endure can find out.
"<O dragon who slept beneath Tintagel, last dragonkind to stride the earth. Your name, before which the dragon's subspecies will bow their heads, is—>"
I had once briefly seen the essence the dragon of Tintagel revealed. Having perceived it and understood even that it was 'something' not belonging to this world, the name I could give it was.
Chief of all dragons, the true name offered to the only dragon I've made a contract with.
"<—Pendragon, Pen Draig!>"
Ding!
「System Notice: You have sworn an oath with the dragon of Tintagel, Pendragon.」
「Achievement 'Dragon's Contractor' achieved!」
「As 'Dragon's Contractor,' you receive a considerable bonus to Spirit and Magic Resistance.」
「As 'Dragon's Contractor,' you receive an intimacy bonus with all dragonkind.」
「As 'Dragon's Contractor,' you receive an intimacy bonus with dragon subspecies.」
「The renown of Albion (Archmage) rises greatly!」
Click.
Something inside that had been slightly misaligned fit into place.
A tremendous weight fell from the sky. On ground shaking as if from an earthquake the beheading block fell over weakly, and soldiers and attendants screamed as they collapsed or rolled about.
The great black dragon wasn't as big as what I'd seen at Tintagel, but still howled at an imposing size. As the black dragon that had found the name Pendragon stood behind me, scorching heat washed over me. From within the dragon came the smell of burning lava and rock.
Ah. Is this what the dragon was talking about last time? Reassurance, a sense of relief that no one could do me harm.
"Let me make a prophecy."
With my hands still bound and my clothes growing wet with blood, I turned to look at the fallen Calhog, soldiers, attendants, scribe, and Erman and Estan.
"The dragon of Tintagel has awakened, Your Majesty Calhog. With the watchman's role vacated and the last dragon having left its post, the demons of Aos Si will soon invade the earth."
「Albion Story Quest:
The Demons of Aos Si (In Progress)
As the dragonkind that served as watchman between the earth and Aos Si has vanished, wicked beings of Aos Si are reaching toward the earth. As Archmage, prophesy the coming crisis and designate the person who will benefit from the prophecy.」