Malphegor
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MoP: Ch. 27
🕑 Added 2025-01-11 23:33:51 +0000 UTC---Viktor's POV---
When it came to mercenaries, I was no stranger to the concept.
A band of desperadoes who lived on the edge, licking blood off their blades.
While others avoided the monster-infested wilderness like the plague, mercenaries often relied on it to make a living.
Back when we Watchers had no money, we also dabbled in the mercenary trade. It was dangerous, yes, but undeniably lucrative.
I listened as Alyanne explained about mercenary traditions, how they often took in orphans and trained them from a young age.
These children would become the most reliable and lethal tools in the hands of their benefactors, shaped by years of brutal training and firm loyalty.
The Ironblood Mercenary Corps, where she came from, was somewhat unique—they had a fixed base of operations.
While other mercenary groups had headquarters, they often relocated at the slightest whiff of conflict or opportunity, chasing gold and glory across the lands.
But the Ironblood Mercenary Corps seemed as if they were rooted in the Kingdom of Seren itself, immovable as a mountain.
Even as they grew powerful enough to bypass the kingdom and deal directly with the Church, their base never changed, maintaining their iron grip on their territory.
Their leader—her adoptive father—persistently called himself "Lord" and insisted everyone address him as such, a peculiar quirk for a mercenary leader.
"Wow, your foster father's got issues!" Luminaris interjected, full of righteous conviction.
The motion of his spherical body was so exaggerated that the water cup balancing on his head nearly toppled over, threatening to spill its contents everywhere.
"He's clearly from a mercenary background, the type least concerned with noble formalities, yet he's so hung up on a hollow title like 'Lord'! If you didn't know better, you'd think he came straight out of the Berrian Empire!"
I plucked the clay cup off Luminaris's head and nudged him aside. "Shh, let her finish the story."
I didn't think there was anything particularly wrong with the Ironblood Mercenary Corps. In this world, any mage who survived without going mad from magical corruption had to have a few screws loose.
That was just the nature of our reality.
That high-ranking mage named Karl once mentioned that Alyanne's foster father was fairly old. It was only natural for him to have a few issues. What was the big deal about a fixation on playing house? I had seen far more extreme and crazed personalities in my centuries of existence.
Alyanne, however, responded bitterly to Luminaris, "We're just the blades of the mercenary corps. How could we possibly understand the Lord's thoughts?"
She continued, recounting the state of the corps as she knew it, her childhood experiences, and the chain of events leading to her recent betrayal.
It all started when she crossed the Wolcen Mountain Range to complete a long-distance mission. Within a month of her return, everything had fallen apart, leaving her no time to react, no chance to defend herself.
Her face filled with hatred at the thought of her recent treatment. Clenching her uninjured left hand into a fist, she bit out the name as if she wanted to grind it to dust: "Karl! I will never forgive him!"
But then a trace of wistfulness appeared on her face. "To think that I always wanted to retrieve my soul lamp and leave the mercenary corps... and in the end, it happened this way."
I listened intently as she explained about soul lamps—magical items made from special plants, imbued with the user's heart's blood and enhanced with magic. They recorded the target's life force and could be used to curse them—a tool for controlling those bound by life and death contracts.
A cruel but effective method of ensuring loyalty.
She had longed for a better life outside the mercenary corps, but she didn't dare act rashly until she got her soul lamp back.
Who would have thought that after being accused of heresy and exiled, her soul lamp would be publicly destroyed in front of everyone? It was a mistake, but one that ironically fulfilled her original wish.
As she finished her story, I fell into quiet thought.
The Kingdom of Seren was quite far from the Great Oak Forest, and no one else seemed to have noticed her true lineage. Given that, the trouble Alyanne might bring to The Watchers was still within a controllable range and wouldn't escalate anytime soon.
Yes, it was well within my calculated risk tolerance.
I clapped my hands, signaling the end of the story session. "Alright, I understand your desire for revenge."
"I've set the master-servant contract to last only fifty years. As long as you focus on helping me during this time, I promise to let you go afterward."
Alyanne froze. "Fifty years?"
She had assumed she'd signed herself into servitude for life. Was I really that terrifying?
My face darkened. "You clearly didn't study contract magic properly. Even if you wanted to sell yourself, I wouldn't be interested!"
Painful past experiences had taught me just how terrifying it was to keep a pet dragon with more destructive power than a husky and a temperament even less controllable.
The memories still haunted me.
Right now, I just needed manpower. Fifty years was more than enough.
Alyanne muttered a weak excuse, "I never studied contract magic…"
She explained how contract magic wasn't part of the Frostmoon Goddess's domain.
Practicing magic from other gods was slow and came with risks of backlash. Given her mediocre magical talent, she'd have to be foolish to betray the Frostmoon Goddess and seek powers beyond her reach, like Karl had done.
I sighed, realizing my mistake. It had been too long since I interacted with anyone outside The Watchers, and I'd forgotten this detail about divine domains.
My tone turned faintly sarcastic. "The gods have been dead for over six centuries, yet you still keep mourning them?"
But that was how people outside thought, and I couldn't change her mindset overnight. Some beliefs ran too deep.
"Since you've joined The Watchers, forget everything from before, including the nonsense about not learning magic outside the Frostmoon Goddess's domain. Besides, you were practically severed from all ties when you were exiled. Take this as a chance to start a new dragon life."
Alyanne's eyes widened slightly. "A new life?"
I could see the impact of those words on her face.
From what she'd told us of her past, she had grown tired of the mercenary corps' endless missions—assassinating nobles, hunting monsters. All she dreamed of was a stable life, free from having to sleep with daggers strapped to her pillows and limbs.
That cold, hard feeling had long worn her down.
How ironic that the person who finally said those words to her turned out to be me—the Butcher, the number-one most wanted figure on the mercenary bounty boards.
She wiped her damp eyes, pausing after a moment. "Wait, did you say... dragon life?"
"Of course!" Luminaris floated up to her, his golden spherical body radiating a faint holy glow.
"You don't know yet? You have dragon blood in you, and it recently awakened! Dragon blood is domineering. You'll likely transform into a young dragon soon!"
He spun excitedly in the air, acting as if he were the one with the lineage.
"A... a dragon?!" Alyanne stammered, utterly shocked.
She had been an orphan for nearly twenty years, living as a human. The revelation must have been overwhelming.
She turned to me by the bed for help, her eyes pleading.
I nodded solemnly. "The draconic bloodline in you is faint, likely passed down from your grandfather's generation."
"And it's a rare ice dragon lineage. Ice dragons are few in number and live long lives."
"Perhaps, when the contract ends, you'll even find relatives in the Dragon Valley."
"Relatives?" Alyanne echoed, dazed.
I watched as she froze in place like a statue.
"Alyanne?"
"Skeleton to dragon."
"Alyanne, I am your father!"
No matter what I said, she wouldn't respond. It was like her brain had crashed and was trying to restart.
Luminaris flew several circles around her, his voice filled with surprise. "Can't even process a few sentences? Hey, snap out of it!"
When she remained unresponsive, he hovered in the air, half-complaining under his breath. "Dragons' intelligence really is on par with…"
"Enough." I grabbed him mid-air, cutting off the unfinished sentence. "For a dragon's age, she's still a juvenile. Receiving this much information all at once—it's normal for her to need time to process."
"She's a mercenary, after all. The way she heals so quickly, she must've noticed something was off about herself."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I could hear her heartbeat clearly.
She looked at me again, opening her mouth several times but unable to decide where to start. Finally, with a weak voice, she managed to ask: "If I work for you for 50 years, will you really let me go afterward… to find my family?"
I had expected something far more significant from her struggle to speak.
Pulling out the master-servant contract, I made a copy with a floating spell and tossed it to her. "If you bothered to study contract magic properly, you'd understand the terms and wouldn't have to ask such a question. The contract terms are quite clear."
She caught the contract with trembling hands, and I could see the moment she felt the binding effect of the agreement firsthand. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears.
"I'm sorry, I… I just…" she whispered through her tears.
Then, so quietly I barely caught it: "Thank you."
What she truly wanted to ask was clear enough—was she really a dragonborn? Did she truly have family? The thing she had dreamed of for so long, I had handed to her as if it were nothing.
It must have felt unreal to her.
As her tears began to fall like rain, something deep inside me stirred. Damn it. I'm reminded of the time I had parents and a normal life.
Softening my tone, I said, "It's exceedingly rare for dragons to have offspring. If you do have living dragon relatives, it's bound to be a joyous reunion."
"Waaah!!"
Before I could react, she hugged me, bawling uncontrollably. "Boss, you're such a good person!"
That word "Boss" came straight from her heart.
Your snot is gross! I wanted to say, but considering the emotional rollercoaster she had just gone through, I decided not to push her away.
I lightly patted her back and whispered softly, "Work hard. If you do well, I might even end the contract early."
My skillful painting of a bright future earned a look of resolve from her.
Luminaris tried to edge closer, but I shot him a warning look.
"I was just worried she'd cry herself into dehydration!" he protested, but I kept my gaze steady until he backed away.
Just then, the rusty iron door of the prayer room creaked open.
Edgar walked in, pausing for a moment. "Am I interrupting?"
I seized the opportunity to get up, my voice filled with relief as though meeting a savior. "Edgar, you're finally back!"
This girl's strength was no joke. If she hugged any tighter, my ribs might've come loose! If I fall apart right here, where would my dignity as a leader go?
Edgar nodded briefly at me, then turned his gaze to the unfamiliar figure sitting on the bed. I could see the analytical look in his eyes as he assessed our new guest.
His brow furrowed slightly as he observed her features. "A dragon?"
He immediately shook his head, refining his assessment. "No... a dragonborn with a partial dragon's bloodline?"
But with the dragon bloodline already awakened, the distinction hardly mattered. That made things even more complicated.
He looked toward me, clearly seeing me as the culprit. "Viktor, why did you bring back another dragon?"
"It's a long story..." I stood up and introduced them. "This is Edgar. I don't think I need to say more."
Alyanne wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and nodded nervously. I knew she would recognize him—her thorough research before his fall from grace would have told her all about his deeds: saving civilians, driving out monsters, reclaiming lost territories. He had been the perfect knight, the idol of every aspiring knight!
My blue flame-like eyes flickered with mischief as I couldn't resist teasing, "Edgar, meet your long-lost half-sister—Alyanne! Surprised?"
Even after knowing me for over a hundred years, he still couldn't make sense of my odd humor. How sad.
Ignoring my joke, he continued his earlier questioning. "You haven't answered my question."
"It's all a coincidence. She didn't even know her own identity," I explained, scratching my jawbone. "In any case, she's your assistant now. You've been complaining about how overwhelming your NPC duties are, haven't you? Now you can delegate half of them to her!"
"And once her bloodline fully awakens, she can become a dragon language instructor for the nerds! How's that? Satisfied?"
Edgar scrutinized her intently, making Alyanne so nervous she clenched her fingers tightly, her whole body stiff.
"H-Hello, Lord Edgar," she managed to say.
After he nodded politely, he turned to me with a blunt conclusion. "Does she have any other value? Dragon magic is something only advanced mages can attempt to learn. Even if your nerds have unique traits, at their current rate of progress, it'll take them three years to reach advanced mage level."
"So for the next few years, she'll just be doing odd jobs?"
I stood firm in defending the players. "Trust me, it won't take them that long. Don't underestimate the potential of hardcore nerds!"
"Though... it does seem a bit inefficient."
Resting my chin on my hand, I fell into deep thought. Even if the top players reached advanced mage status within a year, Alyanne would be stuck doing menial tasks for that entire time.
During that period, her contributions would be highly replaceable. Compared to the potential danger of sheltering her, the tradeoff seemed less than ideal.
"The risk factors need to be considered carefully," I mused aloud, more to myself than the others. "We need to ensure the benefits outweigh the potential complications."
I noticed Alyanne's eyes widen in alarm. She quickly volunteered. "I already know ice magic! I can teach ice magic as a tutor!"
"Are you sure?" Edgar raised an eyebrow in doubt.
