Chapter Thirty-Two: Seeking the Dragon

This peculiar fellow’s manner of speaking was rather amusing.

The strangest thing was, despite his bedraggled, dirt-covered appearance, there wasn’t the slightest trace of embarrassment in his tone. On the contrary, there was even a subtle hint of pride.

—Shaar smiled.

He leaned in, gazing into the man’s eyes. “Hey, even if you’re human and I can see you, can you give me a reason to dig you out?”

The man cast Shaar a sidelong glance, his expression vaguely disdainful, an odd smile curling his lips. He seemed to sigh, and with a weak, airy voice, he replied nonchalantly, “All right, let’s not joke around. I know you’ll dig me out. Your eyes tell me that if I were a dwarf or a goblin, perhaps you wouldn’t save me. But—you’re not the kind who would abandon his own kind to die.”

Before Shaar could react, it was the pitiful wretch standing behind him whose heart suddenly stirred!

The confusion that had long haunted her was illuminated in that instant. All along, she’d been troubled by the question: just what sort of person was this bumpkin? It was true he was crude, but was he truly cruel? That was less clear. He was, after all, a bandit who’d robbed her, barked orders, fought fiercely—relentless and ruthless, even to the goblin prisoners, beating, killing, or using them as human shields without a blink. By that measure, he should be cruel.

Yet, he wasn’t entirely without care for her. He knew her legs were injured and carried her along the way; when it counted, he never abandoned his companion. When she’d been sick and starving days ago, he’d given her the only food he’d found. These details all revealed a pure kindness at the heart of this crude fellow.

How could one man embody both cruelty and kindness? It left her unable to discern his true nature. And now, this head-buried gentleman had, with a single phrase, pierced the heart of the matter:

His own kind!

This bumpkin’s defining trait was precisely that: “He’s not the kind who would abandon his own kind to die!”

She immediately recalled when they’d first entered goblin territory and Shaar had scoffed, “Goblins never understand unity,” and spoke with derision of the “cries of their own kind.” Clearly, to him, good and evil were measured by his own standards.

While she pondered, savoring this realization, Shaar broke into hearty laughter.

He stood, rubbing his chin, and stared at the buried man for a moment. “All right, since you’re such an amusing talker…”

With that, Shaar pulled out his fire fork and stabbed forcefully at the ground several times. The dirt split apart, and he reached down to seize a handful of golden hair. With a strong yank—

The man let out a miserable yelp and burst from the earth with a thud. He landed hard, spit out a mouthful of dirt, and protested angrily, “For heaven’s sake, I’m not a carrot!”

Shaar chuckled, releasing his grip, strands of golden hair falling from his hand.

The man huffed twice, sat up hugging his body, and lifted his brows. “I need some clothing.”

Shaar rummaged in his bundle and tossed out a hyena pelt—the one from a few days ago. The golden-haired man inspected it, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “It’ll have to do.”

Truth be told, the hyena pelt was an ugly thing, its fur a mottled, warped gray with unsightly spots, and the leather so poor that even peddlers would disdain to trade it.

And yet, this rescued fellow still found room to be choosy. After wrapping the pelt around his waist, he looked up at Shaar and asked, in an almost serene tone, “Do you have water? And… perhaps a little food as well?”

Pitiful Creature knew the bumpkin wasn’t the most agreeable sort. She even closed her eyes, bracing herself, for to speak so brazenly to him was to invite a slap—and his slaps were no joke.

But to her surprise, Shaar was patient. He unfastened his water pouch from his belt and handed it over, even adding a piece of dried hyena meat.

The golden-haired man didn’t devour the water and food in a frenzy as one might expect. Instead, he calmly uncorked the pouch, poured water to wash the dirt from his face and hair. Every gesture was unhurried, almost elegant, with a hint of nobility.

Then, when the last trace of dirt was washed away from his face and hair…

Shaar and the pitiful wretch were both stunned!

—

Even by her own standards, she had to admit—never in her life had she seen a man so beautiful.

And the strangest thing was, even by Shaar’s standards, this man was strikingly handsome!

First, he possessed a head of golden hair, lustrous and radiant as sunlight in midsummer, curling and soft as seaweed. Next, he had a sharply defined face, every feature exuding masculine vigor. Cleaned of dirt, his eyes shone with extraordinary brilliance, his brows arched, his gaze spirited; with that golden hair, he emanated a wild, flamboyant charm. A straight nose spoke of indomitable character—qualities that perfectly matched Shaar’s aesthetic.

To the pitiful wretch, his features were exquisite to the extreme. Brows, nose, lips—each as if sculpted by a master artist, his skin fair but with a healthy glow. When he spoke, his perfect teeth flashed white and neat.

Flawless! An utterly flawless face!

(She would wager that if he were taken to the royal capital, the noble ladies there would lose their minds over him…)

And then—his physique.

With only a strip of pelt at his waist, his upper body was bare to the air. Muscles carved with striking definition, every proportion ideal, his form upright and powerful, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, nearly a perfect inverted triangle—each muscle in balanced harmony. Robust, agile, yet without a trace of bulkiness.

She couldn’t help but compare him to Shaar, the bumpkin. Shaar was more muscular, brimming with explosive strength, but this golden-haired man was perfectly proportioned, powerful yet refined, even noble in bearing. He looked like a masterpiece by a court sculptor.

In truth, Shaar was the more imposing, but this golden-haired man… he was simply too, too, too—

Too beautiful!

Even the ugly, mottled pelt seemed to take on an air of art draped over him.

In that moment, Shaar and the pitiful wretch exchanged glances, as if to say: This guy is damn good-looking!

Watching this beautiful man nibble dried meat with such grace, Shaar cleared his throat and announced loudly, “Hey, since I saved you, by the rules of the Wildfire Plains, I have the right to declare you my Sosso… uh, that is, my servant for now. You can buy back your freedom, though—I’ll set the price at one gold coin! As soon as you pay, you’re free. How about it?”

The handsome man set down the meat and regarded Shaar, a subtle, indecipherable smile on his lips. “And if I refuse?”

“Then… I’ll just have to bury you back in the ground.” Shaar grinned.

“One gold coin—is that a Byzantine imperial coin?” the man asked thoughtfully.

“Yes.”

“Deal.” The man smiled, his brows arching with a sharp, beautiful light. “Very well. I’ll pay you a gold coin for saving me. Until then, I’ll serve you.”

The pitiful wretch sighed inwardly…

Bumpkin indeed! A single gold coin? This fellow—given his looks, if sold at the slave market, even a price a hundred times higher would start a bidding war!

But Shaar was quite satisfied. He clapped the man heartily on the shoulder. “Excellent! As your temporary master, I’ll tell you my name. I’m Shaar. You may call me Master Shaar, or Mr. Shaar. And you?”

“…You may call me Darwin.” The handsome man gave a faint smile—mysterious, somehow inscrutable.

“Darwin? What a mouthful.” Shaar scratched his head. “That’s too much trouble. I’ll just call you Ada.”

“Ada… Ada…” For the first time, the man’s composure broke, as if he’d choked on dried meat. “My name is Darwin!”

“Got it, Ada.”

“Please call me Darwin!”

“Of course, Ada.”

“Stop calling me Ada.”

“No problem, Ada!”

—

After this exchange, Ada gave up. Before this unreasonable bumpkin, even elegance and nobility were of no use.

But when Ada turned to the pitiful wretch, things changed.

“You…” Ada looked at her, brows furrowing as if about to speak.

Her heart clenched! The bumpkin was an oddball, treating her as a homely man. But Ada seemed sharp and perceptive—he must have seen through her disguise!

This is bad…

She grew tense, mind racing for some subtle way to beg him not to expose her.

Ada regarded her for a moment, then withdrew his gaze and said coolly, “You should really get your teeth fixed. You look truly awful right now.”

She: “…”

Shaar burst out laughing, finding Ada all the more pleasing. He threw an arm around her shoulders and shook her, roaring with laughter, “See, even Ada says you’re ugly! Don’t worry, when we find the treasure, I’ll get you a shiny gold tooth!”

She: “…”

—

“So, Ada, why exactly were you buried in the ground?” Shaar finally asked the crucial question.

Ada lowered his head in thought, then carelessly brushed aside his tousled bangs and sighed softly. “Two days ago, I encountered a group of people here. They were all magicians, searching this mountain range. They captured me, having heard rumors that a dragon was hiding in these mountains. Unable to find it, they questioned me for clues.”

A dragon?!

Shaar’s eyes went wide.

“Perhaps I wasn’t respectful enough and angered them. Some magicians wanted to kill me outright, but the kinder ones argued that would be too cruel. In the end…”

“In the end?” Shaar pressed.

“In the end, the kinder magicians prevailed. They argued that as noble magicians, their hands should remain unstained by blood. So, they decided not to kill me, but to bury me alive and leave me to my fate.”

Ada finished calmly, but the pitiful wretch cried out, “Bury you alive? They call that kindness?!”

Ada glanced at her and gave a sly, faint smile. “In return, I gave them some information: on a certain northern peak, there have been strange happenings lately—thunderous sounds at night, and thick smoke rising from the summit in the morning.”

“?” The pitiful wretch stared in shock. “You mean—”

But Shaar suddenly smirked, eyes narrowing as he stared at Ada. “That’s where the dragon’s lair is? You actually know? How do you know where a dragon hides?”

Ada answered evenly, “Because I came here searching for the dragon myself.”

!?

Shaar and the pitiful wretch exchanged glances.

“But you told those magicians about the dragon’s lair…” the pitiful wretch said, puzzled.

“They’re no match for the dragon,” Ada replied coldly. “So, I expect by now, they’ve all become corpses.”