On a street in Neold, a burly man wearing a black glove on one hand leaned on his companion's shoulder as he spoke.
"Aaron, I'm telling you, I saw a Black Dragon with my own eyes last night..."
"That Black Dragon was ferocious. Its horns swept back into a crown, and a scar slanted down its face from its forehead, disappearing into the long whiskers beneath its jaw. One look told you how powerful it was..."
"I was scared, of course. But then I remembered I was a descendant of the Dusk God, with a god's blood running through my veins. I couldn't disgrace my ancestor. So I drew my sword and pointed it at the Black Dragon. Guess what happened."
"It ran away."
The man burst out laughing. "I scared it off."
"Vellevim, have you been drinking?" Aaron complained, still pinned beneath Vellevim's arm. "Haven't I told you not to drink? Every time you do, you start talking nonsense."
"Aaron," Vellevim muttered, "I haven't been drinking. Smell my breath if you don't believe me."
"Purification Spell." Aaron rolled his eyes. "Don't think I don't know you like to use it on yourself after drinking. Once you've purified yourself, no one can find any proof."
"Then I'll swear in the name of a god. Will that do?"
Vellevim raised his hand to swear, but Aaron quickly caught it. "I believe you."
An oath sworn in a god's name had to be true.
Just then, Aaron saw a dark-skinned, bald man in a trench coat walking toward them. A scar slanted down his face from his forehead, giving him a fierce look.
The man stopped a few steps away from them.
"Hello."
The man in the trench coat pointed toward an old castle in the distance and tried to make his