TBR CH73

The human raised his eyes, quietly gazing at the sharp barb nearly brushing his neck. His gray stare was like the smoldering ash of a charcoal fire—calm, yet imbued with an unbelievable heat.

His movements were elegant yet light. The fingers resting on the staff shifted slightly, revealing a faint glimmer.

If that razor-sharp spine moved even a fraction closer…

Whether it was a pity or a relief, Adelaide abruptly retracted its tail.

*

Almost the instant it acted, Adelaide realized it was in deep trouble.

It had always relied on its status to act recklessly, much to the dragon elders’ constant worry that it might offend Tarksius. But the Dark God typically regarded worldly matters with indifference, and Adelaide had danced on the edge of his limits for years without consequence.

Yet in all the time it had known Tarksius—not even on the day they first met—had it ever felt such raw, unmasked malice.

This was someone it couldn’t touch.

The problem was, it had only meant to seize a hostage valuable to the Dark God, not truly oppose him. Even with a hundred times its courage, it wouldn’t dare harm someone Tarksius cared about.

It just wanted to buy a little time.

Adelaide realized, almost despairingly, that it had committed a colossal blunder beyond its own comprehension. It withdrew its tail at the fastest speed it could muster and, in a flustered panic, began apologizing:

“I was wrong—I didn’t mean to—”

But it was too late. It could hardly outpace Tarksius.

A sharp black light sliced along the not-yet-fully-retracted tail, merciless. The needle-like scales melted like butter, a scorched, acrid stench filling the air. Adelaide once had a massive tail—but that would soon be a thing of the past.

The tail it couldn’t withdraw in time was torn clean off.

Agony surged through the black dragon’s severed nerves in an instant. A pained roar echoed through the courtyard, fear freezing its blood. The outside world couldn’t hear a thing—the Dark God’s wards were impressively effective.

It all happened in a flash—

Adelaide collapsed heavily to the ground, dragon blood pouring from the gaping wound, the severed half of its tail lying nearby. Its golden slit pupils still held confusion, but more than that, a terror of absolute power.

Edwin’s fingertips paused briefly before silently lifting from the staff.

The ruby beneath his palm glowed fully charged, like a ripened fruit—fragrant yet laced with deadly poison. The dragon would certainly not want a taste of it.

“I’m fine,” Edwin said softly, stating the obvious, since the dragon’s tail hadn’t come close to touching him. Yet speaking those words filled him with an indescribable satisfaction.

Someone cared about him. He didn’t have to fight alone forever.

Tal meticulously checked Edwin’s condition, even his eyes. Those pale gray eyes met his gaze with such softness, like gentle mist on a shore, untouched by the sudden assault moments ago.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about me,” Edwin said, his heart melting under his lover’s focused attention. Afraid his last words sounded too cold, he added, almost sheepishly, “But honestly, I’m glad you’re thinking of me like this.”

“As long as you’re fine,” the god replied.

His hand brushed lightly over Edwin’s neck, where the human’s breathing made the skin tremble faintly. Beneath it pulsed a vein. The bishop showed no resistance to him touching such a vital spot—perhaps not just touching; Tal had kissed and nipped every curve and tender hollow of that slender neck before.

Tarksius smoothed Edwin’s collar, though it wasn’t askew. Edwin couldn’t help but curve his lips into a smile. Date—the word finally resurfaced in both their minds.

This was supposed to be a nice date.

The trouble was the dragon’s wails in the background.

Edwin blinked, casting an inquisitive glance at the god. Tal leaned in, giving him a light hug, his stunning red pupils reflecting only Edwin. Yet his tone turned chilling:

“Just an insignificant figure, daring to lay a hand on you. No matter how it’s tormented, it doesn’t matter—killing it would be fine too.”

In the Dark God’s mouth, the dragon clan’s young lord was reduced to a trifling life.

The crisp tap of Tarksius’s boots against the floor sounded like a drumbeat of dread—a death knell to the dragon.

It hadn’t suffered such a wound in ages.

A dragon’s tail, rich with nerves, was both a weapon and a lifeline. Now, it gasped in agony, its cries leaking out intermittently.

“Shut up,” the god snapped, his patience nonexistent. He lowered his gaze indifferently to the Young man  before him. It lacked the strength to retract its tail, scales emerging in a defensive stance across its body.

“I’m sorry,” it forced out, stifling tears and its trembling voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it through. You were about to enter the room, and I just couldn’t think of anything else…”

“Thought you’d find someone whose life could be threatened to hold me back?” Tarksius cut in.

Another blade of black mist, brimming with lethal intent, slashed through Adelaide’s body. His voice, soft and hoarse, dripped with boundless mockery.

“You still haven’t realized that the one you should be groveling to isn’t me.”

A dragon’s healing was formidable, but it meant nothing against such relentless power.

Fresh pain arrived as expected. With a lift of the Dark God’s finger, new wounds bloomed on the dragon. Dragon blood, a prized healing resource, now threatened to drown Adelaide, yet its condition only worsened.

It had never so viscerally understood the cost of a mistake.

And this was with it not even grazing the human.

Had it actually touched him, Tarksius might have flayed its hide alive by now.

Its pain-blurred dragon pupils swiveled, locking onto the human behind the Dark God. It began apologizing rapidly, stumbling over itself—utterly spineless.

But those pale gray eyes remained cold and detached, reflecting it without a hint of mercy. This human was no easier to sway than Tarksius.

The boots stopped beside it.

Adelaide curled up, shielding its face, certain it would die here. It fought to suppress its escalating tremors and the panicked tears welling in its eyes:

“I know I was wrong. I’m afraid of pain—no, no, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything.”

Defying the Dark God now was suicide. Adelaide spat out the words as fast as it could, then clamped its mouth shut, enduring the searing pain.

Yet Tarksius didn’t respond to its plea.

“I think someone needs to teach you what you should do,” he said slowly, his scarlet eyes blazing with layered bloodlust. Just meeting that gaze could drown one in fear. His voice carried unmasked disdain and malice as he finished, “But sadly, you might not get that chance.”

“…I can learn,” Adelaide rasped, struggling to speak up for itself, knowing each word edged it closer to death. It desperately wanted to cry, but the god wouldn’t tolerate loud noise.

His boot pressed heavily onto the wound on its back. Tarksius stepped carelessly through the dragon’s blood, pushing open the door to the back room. After all this delay, it was, unsurprisingly, empty.

Noah was far smarter than Adelaide, never missing a chance to flee. He still had the dragon’s gifted artifacts—perhaps one had aided his escape.

But he’d never find another hideout like this.

He was about to become a glaring target. Though the Holy Son was doomed regardless, Tarksius hadn’t intended to spend this morning dealing with Noah. Still, the unexpected interruption soured his mood.

The Dark God sighed, the black mist in his hand growing more terrifying than before. Adelaide stared at the most frightening thing it had ever seen, struggling to breathe with each second. The pressure on its chest made every breath heavy, tinged with the metallic taste of blood.

It had never regretted its stupidity so deeply.

Yet the god paused, refraining from delivering a near-fatal blow. He seemed to recall something, turning his head, his gaze softening and brightening.

“Hey, Edwin,” Tal called out from where he stood, smiling at him. “Want to try killing a dragon?”

*

After turning from light to darkness, the essence of the dark opened to Edwin without the slightest reservation. His past efforts were returned to him manifold—strength earned through slaughter, once greedily siphoned by the stingy God of Light, now surged back into his new ocean, boiling and fierce.

But mastering this sudden swell of power was no easy feat.

In recent days, Edwin had resolved several long-standing troubles for the Church. The new Pope outshone the old, a fact even the children of the royal city now knew. Certain creatures, stubbornly claiming dominion over their corners of the dark—even in the continent’s heart, where devils and evil beings crowned themselves kings of shadow—became tools for Edwin to hone his skills.

Blood seeped from the cracks of dark alley bricks, every time. Edwin found it filthy, so after dealing with his targets, he’d shed his heavy robe, stepping carefully to avoid the stains as he approached his waiting god, asking for a hug.

Through a thin layer of fabric.

The more he killed, the more adept he became at wielding his power. Rewards and ambition climbed a narrow, fragile staircase. Edwin needed a bigger challenge—to slay a mightier foe, master his abilities, and claim a greater prize.

Adelaide blinked with difficulty, murky tears wetting its dragon pupils.

Just minutes ago, it had been certain of death, gripped by dread. Then Tarksius healed some of its wounds, forcing it back into its true form—sharp fangs and claws sprouting as it endured the pain to take flight. Swooping low over the earth, it nearly believed Tarksius might spare it. In that moment, its fearful heart felt doused with hope, though it beat with strain.

Next, the god began teaching the human how to fight it.

That human—Adelaide hadn’t had time to study him closely before. But facing him now, pinned by a gaze sharp as a hunter’s blade, it realized he wore the garb of the Church of Light. That fact sent its golden pupils spinning in confusion again, only for the burning sting on its scales to snap it back.

“People usually think a dragon’s weakness is its belly, but their reverse scale is actually hidden under the jaw,” Tarksius explained, pointing out Adelaide’s fatal flaw. Edwin pressed his lips together, summoning the ruby-tipped blade of his staff—a gleaming point of light. That speck grew larger and larger in the black dragon’s pupils. Dazed, it lowered its head instinctively, and a bone-chilling cold swept through its body.

“Well done,” the Dark God said softly, deliberately slow. “Now swing downward.”

Blade—only then did Adelaide realize the tip had sunk deep and heavy into its jaw. As that truth hit, a teeth-gritting screech filled its ears—the wail of sharp steel meeting stark bone. Tears of agony flooded its lashes, pain driving it beyond reason.

Between the gouged wound in its jaw, a shimmering black scale glinted in the open air.

Maybe dying earlier would’ve been easier—even knowing how terrifying it was to provoke this man, the physiological torment forced the dragon to bow its head, howling pitifully. It lashed its tail at the human and spewed fire, unable to control its reactions despite its efforts.

This time, Tarksius would really kill it.

When Adelaide regained control, it thought despairingly that things had spiraled beyond repair. The all-consuming flames from its maw were about to singe the bishop’s robe; its claws were a hair’s breadth from tearing his fragile human throat. Too much momentum—it couldn’t stop.

Just a little more—then its claws suddenly fell limp, crashing to the ground.

No, half its arm was forcibly severed, sliced by a swift, ruthless blade that coiled around its attack like a snake.

As the limb thudded to the earth like a heavy obstacle, the human tilted his head up through the rising dust, gazing at the dragon with unmasked arrogance.

For Edwin, facing a beast of this caliber for the first time, countering was somewhat taxing. He bit his lip, swallowing his gasps, analyzing the dragon’s next move with meticulous, unflagging precision. Responding correctly demanded masterful, exact control of his power.

He succeeded—and next time, he’d do even better.

Tarksius offered no hints, watching Edwin intently from the sidelines. His fingertip held a small, sharp point of power, ready at any moment to ensure no harm befell the bishop under his protection. But he wouldn’t intervene too soon. Edwin was a radiant gem forged in a cruel, barren wasteland; sheltering him in a greenhouse would be a disservice.

“Great job,” Tal said, unable to suppress a smile. Edwin glanced at him, his eyes brimming with pride veiled by a thin gray mist—like a warrior after victory, seeking a reward from his beloved with a triumphant gaze.

“I mean it. Hey, Edwin, do you remember what I said?”

Tal kept his words vague on purpose. Edwin lowered his head, pondering, as if finding an answer inwardly. But his pale gray eyes fixed on Tal unblinkingly, dragon blood splattered on his robe, humoring his sudden whim:

“Which one?”

Tal tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. His bright garnet eyes sparkled as he whispered, “Get its reverse scale, and then I’ll tell you.”

Whenever the black dragon neared collapse from unbearable pain, Tarksius would graciously snap his fingers, healing some of its wounds and forcing it to fight again. Emerging from death’s shadow, Adelaide felt light and strong, hope rekindling—once, it was almost fully restored.

Edwin wasn’t always effortless; if he were, the training would lose meaning.

At first, he struggled with the unfamiliarity of battling a dragon, wielding his surging power with some effort. But like a blade being honed, he grew thinner, deadlier. Each time Tarksius reset the dragon, it started stronger than before; each time it collapsed, dying, it ended worse than the last.

The reverse scale—Tarksius demanded Edwin take it from the dragon’s jaw while it still had the will to resist. Edwin had to be meticulous, utterly focused. His pupils narrowed slightly.

By now, the sun was sinking, the golden edge of dusk gently gilding the horizon. Darkening shadows hindered the hunter’s pursuit. Yet Edwin knew this would be the final round.

It had to be, he thought—and with that conviction, there’d be no mistakes.

Adelaide didn’t even feel the blade slice through its rough scales, light and unhindered, like an evening breeze. Its sluggish mind caught up to the shrieking agony of its body too late. Staggering forward two steps, it buckled under the immense pressure of losing its reverse scale, kneeling before the human, its proud dragon head bowed.

One more lift of the blade, and Edwin could sever its head.

But a smile spread across the bishop’s lips. Instead of finishing the dragon, he strode briskly toward his god, holding the glossy black scale between his fingers. It glimmered with deep blue light under the dusk.

“I did it.” His breathing was uneven—fighting all day had worn even Edwin down—but exhaustion couldn’t slow him. “Tal, can you tell me that line now?”

He hesitated as he neared Tal, his body a mess of blood, even his underclothes soaked. He didn’t want to approach his rose like this. Three steps away, he paused, a flicker of distress in his eyes.

Tal took a step forward.

“I could use magic,” Edwin suddenly thought. Though cleaning spells weren’t among his blood-soaked arsenal, he was clever enough to figure it out. “Wait a sec…”

Tal took another step, then a final one that wasn’t quite a step. Edwin instinctively opened his arms, catching the god fully. Only then did he realize the blood on him had inevitably smeared onto Tal.

The god leaned close to his earlobe, unbothered by the rust-like stench of blood mingling with his rose scent. Edwin soon abandoned any thought of resisting, his ear reddening under the warm, damp breath:

“You’re an incredible human,” Tal said. “I told you that when we first met—and it’s the truest prediction I ever made.”

*

A little later, the dragon clan’s elders finally tracked them down.

Tarksius left the door open, allowing Adelaide’s scent to waft out past the barriers and spread across the royal city. The dragon clan was a tight-knit group bound by blood. After Adelaide had snuck out as a child behind its kin’s backs, the others might not have been able to stop the young lord’s wanderings, but they’d established a firm rule: an elder must always accompany it to ensure its safety.

This time, the one negotiating with the Dark God was one of the four most senior and revered elders of the clan. On its own, it wielded power capable of shattering mountains and seas—an unrestrained black dragon of destruction.

But before the Dark God, it wisely kept its posture low.

Adelaide lay on the ground, barely clinging to life, its cloudy yellow pupils half-open. Seeing its kin felt like glimpsing a savior. A flood of grievances surged in its chest, but before it could vent its emotions, the elder unleashed a torrent of scolding.

The dragon elder spared no politeness in its choice of words. Tarksius listened with amused interest to what amounted to a comprehensive anthology of dragon curses. Then, the elder turned with deep reverence, prostrating itself, forehead pressed to the ground in a respectful bow to the god, not daring to meet the Dark God’s eyes. It knew exactly what demeanor was appropriate and didn’t even try to speak a single good word for Adelaide.

“…I only hope you’ll spare its life,” it said without hesitation. “My clan offers our full loyalty and inexhaustible resources, at your disposal—for you, and of course, for the esteemed one beside you.”

“That’s a very serious promise,” Tarksius replied, his smile not reaching his eyes, his tone light.

“What if I demanded the lives of your clan’s elders and kin in exchange?”

The elder closed its eyes briefly. Though the Dark God’s words carried a faint jest, it didn’t dare treat them as a casual quip.

“As you command.”

“But—” Adelaide couldn’t hold back, desperate to interject, only to be sharply reprimanded. The black dragon froze, stunned—it had never heard such a rebuke, especially not laced with that name, one the others avoided mentioning in its presence.

Gritting its teeth, the elder turned to it, seething with frustration. “Enough! At least think of your mother. If Fia were still alive, you’d only be a disappointment to her now.”

The black dragon swallowed the rest of its words.

It hadn’t meant to make excuses for itself. It felt that having the entire clan pay for its mistakes was too harsh. It wanted to say that if it came to that, they should just kill it instead—then its kin wouldn’t suffer.

But the elder’s words pierced its heart and throat like a sword.

Like a thunderbolt, they swept through its entire mind.

Mother.

That flask forged by the Church from dragon bones and mithril.

It stared blankly with one half-open eye, its murky yellow pupil lost in confusion. Then a scalding tear rolled down, washing away the thin veil of haze. In that instant, Adelaide’s ashen eyes trembled—not from physical pain or fear this time.

Fia.

That name had always been carefully treasured in Adelaide’s heart. Spoiled by its clan since childhood because it had lost its mother, it had grown increasingly reckless, believing everything it did would be indulged.

After all, its mother had been the dragon clan’s hero, holding back the storms single-handedly. Without Fia, the clan wouldn’t have thrived as it had. During that hunting campaign years ago, if Fia hadn’t used her last breath to fortify the Dragon Ridge’s defenses, the black dragon race might have been wiped from the continent.

The problem was, the temporal dragon’s death didn’t just mean one more motherless dragonling in the world. It meant the clan’s duties and responsibilities had nowhere to fall—except onto her child.

Every move it made was tied to the fate of the entire dragon clan.

Saying “I’ll bear the responsibility alone” was the truly irresponsible stance. Time and again, in pain, it had thought, I could just die here—a notion that now filled it with shame.

How had it only realized this now?

“I…” Adelaide opened its mouth.

The elder glared sternly, as if fearing it might spout more blasphemous nonsense. But the black dragon, lying broken on the ground, forced its eyes wide, as though finally seeing the world clearly.

“…I’m sorry. I accept the consequences,” it said to the elder. “It seems I’ve always made you worry. I… it’s too late, but I’ll change. If I die, I’ll give my bones to the clan. Didn’t you say I inherited my mother’s power over time and space? I’ve never managed it, but maybe a kin who inherits all my remains could do better than me.”

In every era, only one dragon fully inherited the power over time and space.

In this age, Adelaide was the sole heir—yet it had never succeeded. Its clan had never blamed it for this, and it had foolishly assumed they didn’t care.

“And…” Adelaide struggled to turn its head toward Tarksius. The dark-haired, red-eyed god’s indifferent gaze fell on it. Just meeting those crimson eyes sent pain creeping up its spine, but it had words it needed to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“I… I don’t even know why I protected Noah,” the black dragon said, its voice tinged with dejection. For once, mentioning that name came without inexplicable bias. “But I really, really liked him before. You know, dragons choose one mate for life—it’s an irreversible bond. So… even if he kept lying to me, I couldn’t not take responsibility for him.”

Being deceived in love carried different consequences for each victim.

The God of Light could swiftly sever ties and unleash wrath on Noah, but for some, the damage cut deeper—sometimes costing a lifetime.

“I know I was wrong.”

Facing Tarksius, Adelaide couldn’t help trying to hold back tears—a conditioned reflex by now. “Especially since you saved me and didn’t mind me calling you a friend. I should’ve always been grateful. If you still want to kill me, that’s fine. My clan won’t blame you.”

This world was cruel. It had lived under the sky its clan propped up for it, rebelling only once—and meeting Tarksius. It had been incredibly lucky, but luck couldn’t last forever. Behind it lay blood and bones.

It had been thoroughly woken up.

Too bad it was a bit late, and everyone was already disappointed in its childishness.

The Dark God didn’t spare it a direct glance. Sensing something, the black dragon struggled to shift again. This time, its apology was directed at the human beside Tarksius—the one who’d torn it apart bit by bit. Even now, it couldn’t help marveling that such power couldn’t possibly belong to a mere human.

Edwin held his staff, pausing in thought before speaking.

“The sanctuary Tal just mentioned—”

“It’ll be fixed.”

The dragon elder and Adelaide spoke almost simultaneously. The black dragon feebly wagged its half-severed tail. “If I stay alive, I’ll fix it myself—exactly like it was before.”

“And the Holy Son… no, we should call him Noah now.”

“About that,” Adelaide’s eyes suddenly brightened a bit, “I didn’t mention this earlier, but when he escaped, he definitely used one of the dragon clan’s spatial transfer tools. He doesn’t know I added a tracking thread to it. I was worried I wouldn’t find him.”

Edwin exchanged a knowing glance with Tarksius, both finding what they sought in the other’s eyes.

Then, the bishop lowered his gaze, his pale, inorganic gray eyes faintly reflecting the mangled black dragon he’d torn apart. “We’ll decide whether to kill you after we find him.”

This was the best answer possible. The elder nearly pressed Adelaide’s head down to make it express gratitude. Brimming with relief, it knelt there, murmuring, “May Fia’s spirit in the heavens bless us…”

Tarksius interjected, his divine tone still cold and cruel. “But you’ll need to come back in the next couple of days.”

Tal’s crow-feather hair fell forward. “Edwin needs a training tool.”

The dragon clan made an excellent teaching aid. Though pain already gnawed deep into Adelaide’s bones, the black dragon replied obediently, “No problem.”

“Fine,” Tal said, staring at it for a moment before frowning slightly. It was a mess now, making the entire courtyard and house look awful. Today’s date had been enjoyable overall—sharpening Edwin, honing him into something razor-sharp. The activity was unconventional but effective, so the black dragon shouldn’t take up any more time.

To the elder, those words outweighed all else. In that instant, the tension in its rigid spine melted away. It bowed deeply, pressing its proud dragon head to the ground in genuine gratitude toward the god.

“You can take it away now.”

*

The courtyard finally fell silent.

Tal turned his head to look at Edwin, his stunning red pupils captivating. Edwin couldn’t resist reaching out to touch him, but then he heard Tal say, “I originally wanted to bring you here to look around, but it’s a bit chaotic now. I don’t often stay in the royal city, Edwin. How about I take you to see my homes across the continent sometime?”

The bishop’s lips curved into a smile. “I’d really love that.”

His pale gray eyes shed their mask only in Tal’s presence, revealing their true nature. “I want to see where Tal has lived, where the god has descended. So, of course, I’d be happy to.”

“There’s just one last thing before that,” Tal said softly, both of them barely containing their anticipation. The future lay ahead, clear and bright—no doubts, no worries. “Are you ready to hunt, my dear bishop?”

He still called him “bishop” as always. Edwin realized he liked the title—perhaps because of Tal. This cold, impersonal position, a label for a power-hungry monster of the Church, now held meaning for him.

“Of course.”

The bishop pressed his hand to his staff, lifting his eyes with a smile. “Of course.”