Dawnblade (Fan-Translation)

Dragons.

These mighty creatures had long since faded from the mortal world—at least in the lives of most who dwelled on the continent of Loren.
They were real, certainly; scholars and historians agreed on that much.
But to the average person, dragons were beings of myth as much as fact—creatures of legend that no one ever expected to see in their lifetime.

Well... except the elves.
Long-lived and notoriously mystical, the elves of the Silver Dominion had the lifespan to be historians in their own right.
Their ancient archives recorded more than one encounter with dragons over the ages.

Now, before Gwayne and the others, a living legend had descended from the heavens.
The great dragon, its scales a deep, regal blue, flew low over the burning ruins, spewing gouts of searing flame.

This was no ordinary fire.
Infused with ancient draconic magic, the dragon's breath burned with a white-hot brilliance—and where it passed, fire erupted from even bare earth and stone, burning fiercely without fuel and spreading unstoppably.

In mere moments, the entirety of Seawright territory was engulfed in flames.

The dragon lingered a while, circling lazily, as if inspecting its work.
Satisfied at last, it beat its colossal wings and soared higher, disappearing into the brightening clouds.

Only after the beast vanished from sight did anyone dare breathe again.
Gwayne heard the ragged sound of held breath being released all around him.

Even Hestia, usually composed, was pale and trembling.

"A dragon..."
Rebecca clutched her staff tightly, muttering as if in a dream.
"Ancestor, I... I saw a dragon..."

Gwayne coughed into his hand.
"Ahem. I saw it too, Rebecca. No need to remind me."

The young woman jolted back to herself, giving him an awkward glance before turning her gaze back toward the ruins of Seawright.

The territory was truly beyond saving now.

First ravaged by corruption, and now scoured clean by dragonfire... there was nothing left.

As for the monstrous creatures that had overrun the land, they had fared no better—while deadly against Seawright’s battered defenders, they were little more than insects before a true dragon.
Almost all had been reduced to ash.
Any that survived would not last long in the shifting, devastated landscape.

"I thought dragons were just legends," Byron muttered, breaking his usual stoic silence.
Even his three soldiers, normally disciplined to a fault, were still trembling where they stood—and Byron, for once, made no move to reprimand them.

"Have you ever fought a dragon before, my lord?" the knight asked, still staring at the smoke-wreathed sky.

"No," Gwayne replied calmly.
"Even seven hundred years ago, when half the continent was in chaos, the dragons kept to themselves."

Though he said this aloud, inwardly Gwayne wasn’t too surprised by the sight.
During his long centuries as a "Watcher" in the sky, he had glimpsed dragons before—rarely, yes, but he had seen them.

Still, dragons remained mysteries, even to him.

At that moment, a shadow flickered at Gwayne’s side.

He turned to find Amber standing there, her face pale but her spirit undampened.

"I saw a dragon!" she announced, wide-eyed. "My mother’s never going to believe this—an honest-to-goodness, enormous dragon!"

"Yeah, yeah," Gwayne grunted, glaring at her. "We all saw it."

"Where’d you scamper off to?" he added suspiciously.

Amber puffed up proudly.
"Hid in a crack between some rocks. Survival instincts, top-notch!"

Gwayne sighed, massaging his temples.
"Shadow affinity at master level... and your combat skill’s only slightly better than a goose. Great."

He shook his head.
"Enough. We need to move."

Though the dragon was gone, who knew what else might crawl out of the corrupted lands?
Better to get far away, and fast.

But Hestia lingered, casting a final, pained look at the burning ruins below.

"He burned the monsters," Gwayne said, fixing her with a level stare.
"The Seawright lands were already gone before he arrived."

"But still..."

"You planning to demand compensation from a dragon?" Gwayne raised an eyebrow.
"Be practical. If you want justice, get back to civilization and report what happened."

Hestia fell silent, and after a long moment, nodded.

Gwayne understood her sorrow.
Seawright had been her home.
Even in ruin, it had been her roots.

But he could not feel the loss as she did.
After all, until very recently, he hadn’t even been part of this world, let alone this bloodline.

With a complicated tangle of emotions trailing behind them, the group left the hilltop.

Ahead lay a dense forest.

Hestia raised her staff, drawing glowing sigils in the air to guide their way.

"We’ll have to pass through the woods to reach the King's Road," she said.
"From there, we head to Tanson."

Gwayne, walking alongside her, couldn’t hide a flicker of curiosity—and even a bit of envy—as he watched the glowing runes.

"Magic really is... convenient."

Hestia tensed.
"Ancestor—have I... displeased you?"

"Huh? Why would you think that?"

She looked down, flustered.
"House Seawright has always been built on knightly tradition. Swordsmanship, horsemanship—those are our foundations. Pursuing the path of magic was... frowned upon. Before the family's decline, neither Rebecca nor I would have been permitted to inherit."

Gwayne snorted.
"Who made up that stupid rule?"

The air froze.

Byron immediately bent down to fiddle with his iron bootlaces.
Rebecca paled, glanced left and right, and then nervously raised a hand to point at Gwayne himself.

Gwayne: "..."

Memory rushed back like a hammer.

Ah. Right.

Seven centuries ago, Gwayne Seawright—the real one—had indeed helped draft those rigid family codes.

Back then, after a triumphant campaign, Gwayne had gotten royally drunk with King Charles I.
In their drunken revelry, they had decided to set down some "proper family values" to guide their descendants.

Gwayne, full of drink and bravado, had scrawled on a scrap of parchment:
"Knights are better than mages."

Charles I, similarly smashed, had written below it:
"Gwayne is absolutely right."

Of course, Charles's advisors had quickly erased his drunken scribble from the official royal records.

Gwayne’s careless statement, however, had made it into Seawright’s family laws.

Emerging from the awkward memory, Gwayne glanced sheepishly at Hestia and Rebecca.

He coughed.
"Uh... we were drunk. Forget that rule ever existed."

Hestia and Rebecca exchanged blank, stunned looks.

Mercifully, a grumbling stomach broke the awkward silence.

Amber clutched her belly, looking sheepish.
"Uh... not to interrupt this touching family reunion, but... I'm starving."

As if her words had triggered a signal, a chorus of similar stomach growls echoed from the group.

Even Gwayne’s.

Only then did he realize: since crawling out of the tomb, none of them had eaten.

And as for himself...

He hadn’t tasted real food since the days when Loren’s monkeys still dragged their knuckles on the ground.