Balthazar raised a claw and struck a spark on this black “skin.” Under his dragon gaze, the hardness of the rock even surpassed that of ordinary fine steel.
[Listen closely, Balthazar.] Olga’s tone suddenly became sharp, filled with intense contempt.
[Those Goblins, Orcs… even your current body, all evolved from a part of this Male Giant’s corpse.]
[That is why you feel a resonance, because this is the source of your bloodline, the breeding ground of “evil.”]
[And we, the noble Dark Elves…] She gave a self-deprecating laugh.
[We were born from that majestic giant’s brain matter. We inherited his wisdom, magic, and the arrogance to rule everything. We are born powerful beings, with strength surpassing humans, monsters, and even those white-skinned High Elf.]
[But so what? My fellow sisters are all obsessed with the cozy life of our homeland’s luxurious capital and are terrified of approaching this great remnant.]
[The eternal prosperity and pleasure brought by immortal bodies and great power have left them with nothing to do but cruelly toy with low-level monsters or engage in petty squabbles and bloodless conspiracies with each other—completely devoid of ambition.]
Olga’s voice now carried a hint of frustration at their lack of potential.
Balthazar could feel that she had long detested the decaying and stagnant ideological environment of the Dark Elves, and now she harbored even more resentment toward those heartless sisters of hers.
Balthazar looked up toward the deeper north.
From the northern side of the mountain range, extending as far as the eye could see, was a snowy plain where the weather was a never-ending blizzard.
But presumably, for the Dark Elves who possessed immortal bodies, relied on magic cultivated over eons, and used powerful spells, this was a precious homeland that isolated them from all trouble, and a cradle they never wanted to step out of.
Olga’s tone shifted, becoming sharp and biting.
[The best among my foolish sisters… ha, they live in the palaces of the Dark Elf homeland “Nidavellir,” spending their days bowing in worship to those two massive spherical caves, even treating a clear spring there as a holy relic.]
[Even now, thinking about it makes me want to laugh. It’s merely the residual excretory organ of the Father God. They cherish it so dearly, yet they fear the place where the most of this great shell remains—the very place right before your eyes. They even consider touching it a sacrilege, viewing this place as a forbidden land.]
[Dragon, can you understand what kind of cowardice and superstition this is?]
As Olga spoke, Balthazar could feel the disdain and fanaticism in the woman’s emotions.
[For these thousand years, I have often wandered alone in these black mountains. Since it is the legacy left by my father, isn’t it only natural for me, as his daughter, to inherit and use it?]
[I honed my magic on these hard “ribs,” and I meditated for a hundred years in the gaps of this divinity-filled “muscle.”]
[Only by taking this power for oneself can one show the greatest respect to the proud Father God who plundered everything. It is not like those fools who only know how to huddle in the comfortable capital of Nidavellir and scheme against each other, kowtowing to a pile of dead meat!]
Beneath Balthazar’s heavy dragon claw, the black rock layer, as hard as iron, was sending out waves of ancient and dull pulsations.
Balthazar stood quietly atop the spine of the so-called “Remains of the Father God.” His dark red vertical pupils narrowed slightly, piercing through the bitter blizzard that never dissipated in the north, as if he could see the Dark Elf capital that Olga described as having a gilded exterior but a rotten core.
In Balthazar’s mind, Olga’s voice, filled with self-mockery and deep-seated hatred, continued to echo.
[Once… I naively thought that as long as I could become the chosen candidate, as long as I could bathe in that so-called “Holy Spring” and conceive the strongest offspring… I would gain enough of a voice.]
The voice at the other end of the link became low, carrying a hint of a tremble—the embers of a shattered dream.
[I wanted to use that sacred prestige to gently change that decayed society, to wake up those sisters who were indulged in pleasure… even if just a little bit.]
[But… ha!] This story is hosted at g.com.
Olga let out a shrill, cold laugh, filled with contempt for her past stupidity.
[When they threw me here like trash, when my plea for help in despair was met only with their cold indifference… that naive Olga died.]
[Since “mercy” cannot save that nation, then let me reshape it with “fear” and “destruction.”]
[Eat, Balthazar.]
The Queen’s voice finally turned into a cold and firm command, the fanaticism of a sacrificer.
[This is the feast I have prepared for you. Eat this shell of a god, and devour this power that they regard as taboo!]
[And then… we shall first crush that bug named “Black Dog,” and then trample all seven of the proud fortresses of the southern humans under our feet!]
[Finally… when you are crowned as the Steel Dragon Emperor, I will take this invincible power and slaughter my way back to the north. I will drag out all those bitches rotting in their cozy nests and let them see with their own eyes how the “taboo” they fear turns their proud “Holy Land” into ashes!]
Listening to this blood-scented grand blueprint, the curve of the mouth on Balthazar’s hideous dragon face widened further and further, until it revealed a mouthful of dagger-sharp fangs.
“Very good…”
He muttered in a low voice, his tone raspy like two pieces of rough cast iron rubbing violently against each other.
“Revenge… is… the best… spice.”