News of the orcs' retreat reached the Dragon King's capital early the next morning.
Not through scouts, not through magical communication, but through the refugees who fled back from the border.
Their eyes were vacant, their lips cracked, and their voices hoarse, but every word they uttered was as clear, profound, and unforgettable, as if branded with a hot iron.
"Dead... all dead..."
An old man knelt on the stone path in front of the palace gate, his hands supporting him on the ground, his hunched back trembling in the morning light.
"Those Orc... tens of thousands of Orc... in an instant... they were all dead..."
The guards exchanged bewildered glances, unsure whether to believe them.
"Heavenly fire... heavenly fire falling from the sky... white... like the sun..."
The old man raised his head, his cloudy eyes gazing at the sky.
"That was divine punishment... divine punishment descended by the Six Great Gods..."
No one argued with him.
It wasn't because they believed, but because they wanted to believe.
They believe that some kind of power, a power beyond human comprehension, is protecting them.
I believe that those loved ones who died at the hands of the Orc did not die in vain. I believe that justice still exists in this world.
Deep within the palace, in an inconspicuous room, the Dragon Queen Draudillon Oriclus, stood by the window, her back to the doorway.
She was petite, looking no more than ten years old. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her dark eyes gazed at the sky outside the window, the golden light of dawn reflected in her pupils.
She was wearing a simple white dress and stood barefoot on the cold stone slabs, her toes curling slightly from the cold.
"His Majesty."
The prime minister's voice came from outside the door, low and restrained.
"Come in."
The door was pushed open, and a middle-aged man walked in.
His hair was gray and his face was aged, but his gray eyes were still as sharp as an eagle's.
He wore a simple grey robe without any decoration, except for a small royal badge pinned to his chest.
"Your Majesty, the news from the border has been confirmed."
The prime minister walked three steps behind her, stopped, and put his hands behind his back.
"The Orc army... is completely wiped out."
Draudillon's fingers tapped lightly on the window frame.
"How was it destroyed?"
"Have no idea."
The prime minister's voice was calm, but a complex glint flashed in his gray eyes.
"According to the descriptions of the soldiers and refugees who escaped, white flames fell from the sky and engulfed the entire Orc army. Tens of thousands of Orc turned to ashes within seconds. Those farther away became pillars of salt."
He paused.
"A formidable chasm remains at the site, formed by scorching lava. It is several thousand meters wide and several thousand meters long, and it is still burning today."
Draudillon remained silent.
Her fingers stopped tapping, hanging down at her sides, clenched into fists.
"Has anyone seen who did this?"
"No."
The prime minister shook his head.
The refugees only saw fire from the sky, not anyone. But—
He paused.
"In one of the captured cities, survivors reported seeing a 'god' shrouded in light, three teams of winged angels... and a black cat?"
"Enveloped in light..."
Draudillon repeated it in a low voice.
"A member of the Slane Theocracy?"
"Unlikely. The Slane Theocracy shouldn't possess such power. At least, I've never heard of it."
Who could it be?
"Have no idea."
The prime minister spoke honestly.
"But whoever he is, he has no hostility towards the Dragon Kingdom. That's certain."
Draudillon did not respond.
She just stood there, gazing at the sky outside the window, silent for a long time.
"Prime Minister."
"Exist."
"Pass down the order to strengthen border security. Although the Orc have retreated, we cannot let our guard down."
"Yes, sir."
"Besides--"
Draudillon turned around, her dark eyes looking at the prime minister.
"If possible, I want to find that 'god' and thank him in person."
The prime minister was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.
"I have done my best."
"Although I really want to say yes, I probably can't do it..."
Draudillon's tone was calm, but tinged with worry and anticipation.
She hoped that the "god" who had suddenly bestowed blessings upon the Dragon Kingdom would protect the country forever.
Although she couldn't offer any compensation—
For that "god" who wiped out tens of thousands of Orc with a wave of his hand.
"After all, the fact that they haven't shown their face means that 'god' doesn't want too many people to know. But please do your best, even if there's only a sliver of a chance..."
The prime minister looked at her for two seconds, then bowed deeply.
"Yes, sir."
He turned around, walked out of the room, and the sound of the door closing echoed in the empty room.
Draudillon turned back to look out the window.
The morning light shone on her face, making her dark eyes shine exceptionally bright.
"A humanoid figure enveloped in light..."
She read the description aloud, a slight smile playing on her lips.
God?
Night falls.
Deep within the royal palace, in the Dragon King Princess's private room.
Draudillon sat alone on the windowsill, her legs dangling outside, gently swaying.
The moonlight shone on her, turning her long black hair silver-white and her white dress pale blue.
She was holding a wine glass in her hand.
It wasn't one of those small, delicate crystal glasses, but a large, earthenware one, like the kind a farmer would use to drink beer.
The glass contains red wine.
It's not the kind of elegant, aged wine that requires careful appreciation, but rather an inexpensive, fruity, ordinary red wine that can make you drunk if you drink too much.
She took a big gulp, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Cool."
Her voice was no longer the tender, girlish voice she had during the day, but a more mature, deeper, and slightly languid and husky female voice.
Her figure was no longer that of a little girl who looked to be in her early teens.
Under the moonlight, sitting on the windowsill was a young woman with a full figure, curvaceous body, and exuding feminine charm.
Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, her golden eyes were as deep as flames in the darkness, and her lips were slightly parted, revealing her white teeth.
The white dress stretched taut over her voluptuous figure, the hem only reaching mid-thigh, revealing her long, straight legs.
This is her true form.
A half-dragon with one-eighth the bloodline of True Dragon Lords, the "Black-Scaled Dragon Lord" possesses the ability to shapeshift.
The loli-like girl persona she presents during the day is merely a facade she deliberately maintains to avoid arousing jealousy among the female population.
"Ha--"
Draudillon took another big gulp, placed the glass on the windowsill, braced her hands behind her back, and looked up at the starry sky.
"Tens of thousands of Orc... wiped out in an instant..."
She spoke softly, her tone carrying a complex emotion—
It wasn't fear, nor was it relief, but rather a kind of...
"Who exactly is this person...?"
She murmured to herself.
"God? Demon? Or...?"
She paused.
"Player."
Her eyes deepened as she uttered the word.