The man with the longsword had almost declared his victory in his own mind. He turned around and raised his hand to proclaim his triumph. At that moment, a sharp scream came from the crowd. A woman, running in panic and tears, dashed swiftly between the two duelists. The man chasing her collided with the victor, who was in the middle of celebrating, causing him to fall. Without even looking back, the chaser continued pursuing the woman.
The falling man's sword slipped from his hand and landed point-down on the ground. The upright sword bounced once, and the man continued his rapid descent toward it. The still-standing blade pierced into his shoulder. Writhing on the ground in pain and screams, covered in blood, he struggled helplessly. Seeing his opponent in this state, the other duelist got to his feet, staggered forward, and thrust his silver-embellished axe into the fallen man's abdomen.
The man on the ground let out a sharp scream before his eyes burned to ashes, and he died. The world of humans was merciless. Humans were pitiable and weak creatures. Perhaps they possessed the most tragic fate among all beings. Their bodies were incredibly fragile; even a simple kitchen knife could easily kill a human. This would be nearly impossible for an Elf, as their regenerative abilities would prevent them from dying from such wounds. But this fragility wasn't what made humans so pitiful.
What made them truly wretched was what came after their deaths. Humans were cursed, doomed by the great dragons that ruled all planes. Death applied not only to their bodies but also to their souls. Normally, when a living being died, its soul would, after some time, lose its memories and find a new body. But this wasn't the case for humans. When a human died, their soul also perished in flames. This phenomenon was noticeable even on the material plane. A human's eyes would burn fiercely after death and wouldn't stop flaming until they were reduced to ashes.
The man raised his blood-soaked axe and shouted his victory to the heavens. In response, a chorus of shouts erupted from the crowd. Some cheered, while others lamented. Yet no one mourned the fallen man—everyone treated it as normal.
From within the crowd, a man with long black hair and a scruffy beard stepped forward.
"What is the meaning of this?! This is unacceptable! This is an insult to the sanctity of duels! I refuse to accept this outcome. And neither should you! This is cheating, pure and simple!"
The man's face was filled with raw fury, but there was no sadness or mourning in his expression. It was clear he wasn't grieving the fallen man or concerned about the sanctity of duels. The pouch hanging by his side was completely empty—it was evident he had bet everything on the fallen man's victory. He must have lost his last coins in the wager. That must be why he was so angry, Eimme thought.
But Eimme didn't care in the slightest. She was truly angry. Furious, even! How could something like this happen? Eimme was one of the great dragons, revered across all realms and the rulers of every plane, both in the open and behind the scenes. Human lives held no real value to her. Yet, over her long life, Eimme had discovered true grace and grandeur in swords—not just in the blades themselves but also in the sword arts developed to wield them and the master blacksmiths who forged them, along with their craft of shaping metal. It was one of the rare things she had genuinely respected throughout her life.
And a sword duel? Sword duels were sacred to her, above all else. Even for a being worshiped as a goddess by humans, sword duels held a sanctity she revered.
And yet, that foolish woman and man had interrupted this sacred duel, causing the death—and thus the loss—of the duelist who was about to claim victory. She was furious. Angrier than she had been in over 12 years! Her eyes practically dripped with rage. The argument within the crowd continued.
"Yes! He's right! I want my money back. This is an insult!"
"Exactly, exactly! This is fraud! Come back here, big guy. Don't run away. You didn't win; what you did was cheating! We all want our money back!"
The bickering went on among the crowd. Foolishness, thought Eimme. She paused, collected her focus, and tuned into the sounds around her. That man and woman couldn't have gotten far. Her hearing was far superior to that of humans, and she knew she could find them.
And she did. She could hear their footsteps, the labored breaths they took while running, the sound of the woman's tears streaming down her face before falling to the ground and mixing with the dirt, and the faint whistle of the dagger in the man's hand slicing the air as he chased her. Humans were truly strange creatures. They often saw themselves as the center of the world, believing they were right about everything—arrogant and self-centered. She didn't hate them, but she didn't like them either.
She started running after them, much faster than any normal human but not as fast as she could have been. After all, she was currently in her human form, which significantly limited her abilities. Still, she could catch up to them, so she saw no problem. She continued her pursuit.
Before long, the sound of the woman's footsteps began to diminish. They were descending—heading underground, most likely into a basement. Soon after, all the sounds of footsteps disappeared—not just the footsteps, but every trace of the pair. Their heartbeats, the flow of blood through their veins, their breaths—all gone.
She advanced to the spot where their sounds had vanished. It was a small, shabby wooden hut with a hole next to it, leading underground via a set of stairs. No sound or scent came from within. When she looked down into the darkness, she saw nothing. Pitch black.
That was impossible. Nothing should escape her eyes. That would be absurd—after all, she was a dragon, a great dragon. Even in human form, she should still be able to see through the dark.
Without hesitation, she decided to descend. Gripping the sides of the staircase, she moved down slowly and deliberately. She felt strange—her skin crawled with unease. Was she afraid? The thought was absurd. Afraid? Eimme? What kind of nonsense was that?
Yet, the strange feeling was undeniable. When she finally reached the bottom, she let go of the staircase and started walking down the corridor. She noticed the symbols and inscriptions etched into the walls. She understood immediately: this was a barrier spell. It was designed to instill fear in those who approached, deterring them. If someone did manage to break through, their presence would be entirely cut off from the outside world. It would be impossible for anyone outside the barrier to see or monitor what was happening inside. Anyone who entered the barrier would appear as though they had vanished entirely. That's what Eimme thought as she continued walking down the corridor.
Soon, she began to hear whimpers and cries in the distance. The walls around her widened, replaced by cages and cells. Of course, they weren't empty. Slaves. Many slaves were crammed into these cages and cells, their conditions utterly miserable. It was a miracle they were even still alive. But Eimme didn't care. The only thing on her mind was finding the man and woman who had interrupted the sacred duel and holding them accountable. What happened to the slaves was none of her concern.
At the end of the corridor, she saw a door. She entered. Inside, she found the man and the woman slumped in a corner, covered in blood. The woman had been stabbed; the man's dagger and clothing were stained with blood.
The woman was already on the brink of death, so Eimme ignored her and approached the man. Clearly, he hadn't noticed her yet. Drugged, she thought. Whatever had transpired between these two humans was of no interest to her. Calmly, she raised her hand and, with a swift motion, struck the side of the man's neck with the edge of her hand, slicing it clean through.
Centuries of practicing swordsmanship had honed her skills. She didn't even need a blade to sever a human's neck; her bare hands were more than sufficient. It wasn't difficult. Humans were delicate, their flesh soft. The man died instantly. The man's severed head fell to the ground. His face was facing the opposite way to Eimme. From behind the head on the ground, the smoke from the burning of his eyes and the light of the elevens appeared faintly. A disgusting smell of burning filled the room.
The woman was bleeding out. She would be dead soon enough.
Eimme turned around and calmly exited the room, stepping back into the corridor. Every cell she passed was filled to capacity—except for one. One cell held a single individual. She didn't know why, but this particular prisoner caught her attention.
With a simple motion, she opened the cell door.
She was a woman. Eimme had just realized it. Her body was filthy, and she wore only a ragged piece of burlap. The slave turned toward Eimme, trembling, her movements slow and hesitant.
The gray-haired woman froze, her mouth slightly agape. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Eimme was at a loss for words. What struck her as even stranger were the slave's red eyes. It seemed impossible. Eimme was certain the woman was human, yet humans couldn't have red eyes. That trait was exclusive to giants.
In giant culture, red eyes symbolized bad luck. Giants were considered heretics—at least, that's what the other races thought of them. They were widely disliked because they rejected dragons and everything they stood for. To the dragons, the mere existence of giants was an affront, a form of blasphemy.
Eimme didn't care about any of that. Right now, she was consumed by admiration for this woman. She gently placed her hand on the slave's face and stroked it softly.
"Don't be afraid; it's over."
The only thought dominating her mind was saving this woman, helping her. What was this feeling? In her lifespan, longer than the entire history of humankind, she had never experienced anything like this before. It was strange, but it wasn't unpleasant. She wasn't complaining.
"What is your name?"
The slave woman looked at Eimme in shock. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Her throat must have been damaged. She couldn't speak. There were no visible wounds, so the injury must have been internal—an infection, perhaps? Or maybe it had been done deliberately. Slave owners didn't take kindly to their slaves making unnecessary remarks, after all.
Realizing she wouldn't get an answer, Eimme offered a soft smile to lift the woman's spirits. With a graceful motion, she wrapped the woman in her arms, holding her close.
The slave panicked, unable to comprehend what was happening. She squirmed like a fish out of water, trying to escape. She was clearly terrified. The dragon ignored her struggles.
"Do you want to leave this place? I can save you."
The woman's astonishment deepened. It was clear she couldn't think straight, unable to grasp her situation—or this gray-haired woman. It was absurd. Why was she helping her?
She was so beautiful. The slave had never seen anyone so stunning before. The woman's gray hair seemed to ripple like waves. Her mouth hung open, a mix of awe and bewilderment. Unconsciously, she gave a faint nod.
"Good," Eimme whispered.