Chapter 350
Not long after the duel, Draco exited the gates of Folkvagnr, a somber expression etched upon his features.
The last vestiges of the setting sun, painting the sky in fiery hues, seemed to mock the cold dissatisfaction coiling in his gut.
Although he hadn’t shown it, maintaining a facade of stoic contentment for Ottar’s sake, Draco was greatly disappointed with the fight.
The primal urge to revel in a true clash of titans, to utterly crush Ottar while being pushed to the limits of his might, had been left tragically unfulfilled.
He had longed for a blood-pumping battle, one that would force both combatants to transcend their current skill and strength, much like the duel between Ottar and Zald during the war.
He craved the exhilarating dance of power, the strategic exchange of blows, the moment where one's very existence was tested and reforged in the fires of conflict.
Instead, due to Ottar’s insistence that he go all out from the outset, the battle had ended with a disheartening swiftness, so one-sidedly that the mighty Boaz had barely managed to display any of his own abilities.
A low growl rumbled in Draco’s chest, a sound that rarely escaped him unless his frustrations bordered on the volcanic.
‘After all that nonsense of me holding back, that stupid boar didn’t even use Beastification or his own unique magic,’ Draco cursed silently, his powerful tail lashing out in a violent arc, scuffing the cobbled road.
‘If he had at least done that, if he had even attempted to summon the full breadth of his power, I wouldn't be feeling this hollow, this… cheated.’
The victory, though undeniable, felt cheap, lacking the catharsis he had envisioned.
It was a conquest without the triumph of true struggle.
Quickly recomposing himself, forcing the lingering pique deep down, Draco started making his way towards the Guild Headquarters.
His departure from Orario with Aasterinian was scheduled for early morning, and it was already late evening.
He needed to be swift, yet he also wanted to savor these last few hours in a city that had, against all odds, become a strange kind of home.
He intended to see two more people before returning to the familiar warmth of the Bahamut Familia’s temporary abode.
Walking along a side street that ran parallel and close to the southern main road, Draco observed as the city awoke to its nocturnal rhythm.
One by one, then in glorious cascades, the magic lamps flickered on, casting a soft, enchanting glow over the labyrinthine streets.
The air, initially cool and crisp with the departing day, now thickened with the scent of roasted meat, sweet pastries, and the faint, heady perfume of blossoming night flowers.
The streets, once primarily filled with merchants and adventurers, now teemed with a different kind of activity.
Laughter, music, and the low hum of conversation permeated the air, making Draco realize, with a slight internal groan, that he had veered a bit too close to a certain district.
The entertainment district, a vibrant, sometimes notorious, nexus of pleasure and commerce, lay nestled between the southern and western main roads, leaning prominently towards the southern side.
During the nighttime hours, these areas swelled with patrons seeking every conceivable form of diversion, from boisterous taverns and elegant performance halls to more clandestine establishments catering to baser desires.
Draco pulled his dark, hooded cloak tighter, ensuring it obscured his distinctive features and physique.
He didn’t want to be seen anywhere close to this particular district by anyone, especially not by certain troublesome women whose possessive tendencies and sharp tongues could lead to endless misunderstandings.
His haste to reach the guild had led him to believe this route, cutting close to the southern main road, was a convenient shortcut.
The guild was located in the northwest, and passing through the shadow of Babel tower always seemed the most direct course.
Although he possessed the ability to simply take to the skies and reach his destination in a fraction of the time, Draco had chosen to walk.
He wished to feel the city underfoot one last time, to breathe in its unique amalgamation of ambition, revelry, and quiet despair, to truly savor his last night in Orario before embarking on whatever new adventures awaited him.
However, after taking several more steps, a familiar, albeit cloaked, figure caught his peripheral vision.
It was Hermes, the capricious god, draped in a black cloak that, ironically, made him stand out more than blend in.
He was moving with a peculiar furtiveness, his head darting back and forth, a mischievous glint in his visible eye.
Judging the direction the god was heading, there was no doubt: straight into the heart of the entertainment district.
‘Does he have some pressing business with Ishtar, perhaps a clandestine meeting of the gods, or is it merely for… sex?’ Draco curiously pondered, a fleeting thought entertained and then swiftly dismissed.
He wasn't particularly close to Hermes, despite their occasional interactions, and getting involved with that famously mischievous deity rarely ended in anything but trouble.
For a brief moment, Draco considered slightly altering his route, slipping away unnoticed into the throng of evening revelers.
But it was too late.
Hermes, had already spotted him.
A wide, conspiratorial grin split the god's face, and he waved, a gesture that was both inviting and commanding, signaling for Draco to come over.
Draco, of course, could have pretended that he hadn’t seen Hermes, continued on his way, and hoped the god would lose interest.
But he knew Hermes.
Such an action would only pique the deity’s interest further, perhaps even making the situation worse.
He knew how cunning and annoyingly persistent Hermes could be, despite the playful, open, and seemingly guileless outward persona he frequently portrayed.
With a sigh, barely audible even to his own sensitive ears, Draco changed course.
"Greetings, Lord Hermes."
His voice was deep, resonant, and carried an undercurrent of polite resignation.
"Ah, Draco! Orario’s newest… Hero!"
Hermes greeted back, his smile genuine, radiating an infectious warmth that was hard to resist. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a flicker of expectation…..
"Hero," Draco repeated, the word tasting like ash on his tongue.
He shook his head slowly.
"I am far from anything like that, Lord Hermes."
"Hoh, and why do you feel that way, my dear Draco? Is it because of the rumors that swirl around you like a tempest?" Hermes asked, his eyes wide with an almost childlike curiosity, yet betraying a deeper, probing intelligence.
"No, I could care less what strangers think of me," Draco denied, waving a dismissive hand. "Their fleeting opinions hold no sway over my actions or self-perception. Most of my actions, the very deeds that have earned me these… monikes, did not stem from noble intentions. There is a great deal of selfishness involved, a pursuit of my own desires and the well-being of those I care for, and I don’t think that would change anytime in the future. I do not want to carry on my shoulders the unreasonable expectations of strangers, lest both they and I end up disappointed." His words were delivered with a frank honesty, a stark refusal to don a mantle he felt was troublesome.
"Hmm, I see your point. A commendable honesty, truly," Hermes mused, stroking the rim of his hat.
"However, do all those small details truly matter, Draco? In the end, most of your actions so far, regardless of their internal motivations, are nothing short of heroic in their impact. You saved countless lives, and stood against overwhelming evil. Besides," Hermes paused, leaning in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, "you managed to bag that crazy goddess."
A shiver, surprisingly genuine, ran down Hermes’ spine as the terrifying image of a raging Bahamut flashed unbidden in his mind.
The thought was quickly replaced by a knowing smirk.
"Additionally, from my extensive experience and careful observation… you, my friend, are well on your way to building a veritable harem. No one else has the balls to aim for such a magnificent beast of a task besides a true hero… eh?" Hermes teased, playfully jabbing Draco on the side with an elbow, a twinkling mischief in his gaze.
"That is…." Draco wanted to refute, to utterly deny the god’s outrageous claim, but the words caught in his throat.
A blush, faint but noticeable even beneath his dark skin, crept up his neck.
Indeed, there were other women, powerful and captivating, who had shown more than a passing interest in him, and he did, in uncomfortable honesty, plan to reciprocate those feelings at some point, albeit on his own terms and timeline.
Hermes had seen through his carefully constructed aloofness with infuriating ease.
"Hehehe, that’s what a hero should look like," Hermes muttered, nodding his head sagely as he watched Draco's inner struggle play out, clearly enjoying the younger male’s discomfort.
"A man capable of attracting and captivating beautiful, strong women, even if it brings him no end of headaches."
"Ahem," Draco coughed, a desperate attempt to shake away the sudden embarrassment and regain his composure.
"By the way, how is Asfi, Lord Hermes? I haven't seen much of her in the last two months."
He quickly sought to change the topic, redirecting the god’s playful focus.
"Eh, don’t tell me you are going after my Asfi too, Draco?" Hermes feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart dramatically.
Then, his expression melted into a wide, approving grin.
"Just so you know… I approve. She requires a strong hand to guide her genius, a true hero to appreciate her quirks."
"It’s not like that…." Draco drawled, his words losing some of their conviction upon seeing the god’s knowing gaze.
He understood.
Asfi's absence likely stemmed from a confidential mission, a sensitive undertaking that Hermes, a master of information and intrigue, would naturally gloss over with a joke, especially on a busy street teeming with unknown ears.
‘How silly of me,’ Draco mused, feeling a pang of self-reproach.
‘I still have a lot to learn in certain areas’
"As long as she is okay with it, I won’t refuse a pretty lady," Draco joked back, falling into Hermes' rhythm, playing along with the lighthearted banter.
It was an odd feeling, this casual exchange with a god known for his unpredictable whims.
He found himself enjoying it, a rare moment of masculine camaraderie.
After that, Draco and Hermes entered a random bar as they talked about various random topics, their conversation drifting from the mundane to the utterly bizarre.
They debated the best place to discreetly peek into a female bathhouse (Hermes had surprisingly detailed intelligence on this), reminisced about legends of past heroes, discussed the intricacies of Orario's underground economy, and even delved into the philosophical implications of certain things that needed to change.
It was a rather weird and unique experience for Draco, who, owing to his singular nature and the responsibilities of leading a familia, had never truly cultivated any male friends.
Hermes, with his jovial demeanor and genuine interest, made him feel as though he could talk about anything, no matter how outlandish or trivial.
However, a part of Draco, the cautious part, remained ever vigilant.
He knew to be careful; in the end, Hermes was a deity, and deities, for all their charm and wisdom, could be quite unpredictable, their motives often veiled behind layers of playful intrigue.
Bidding a genuine farewell to Hermes, promising to seek him out upon his hypothetical return to Orario, Draco resumed his trek to the Guild Headquarters.
The air felt lighter after his unexpected conversation, a strange mix of amusement and newfound perspective settling over him.
Upon arriving at the Guild, a bustling hive of activity even at this late hour, Draco began his search for Rose.
His relationship with her was, to put it mildly, quite a weird one.
He wasn’t sure if he could even call her a friend or merely an acquaintance.
After a minor argument, followed by her rather abrupt avoidance of him for the past two months, he wasn't sure what their relationship was, or even if it still existed in any meaningful form.
He knew, however, that he needed to try and fix it, or at least gain some closure before his departure.
He owed her that, at the very least.
He navigated through the crowded hall, past adventurers signing up for quests, clerks diligently filing reports, and weary warriors sharing tales of their escapades.
He checked the usual places….the reception desk, the mess hall, even the private rooms where she often had meetings.
But Rose was nowhere to be seen.
A part of him, an almost cynical part, had half expected her absence.
He sighed, a quiet exhalation of defeat.
Reaching into an inner pocket of his cloak, Draco took out a finely folded letter he had pre-written.
He approached a trusted guild staff member, a kind-faced woman who had always been nice to the Bahamut Familia, and discreetly handed her the missive.
"Please, give this to Rose when you see her," he requested, his voice low.
"It's important."
The woman nodded, her expression understanding, and tucked the letter away.
Leaving the guild, another knot of unresolved emotion tightening in his chest, Draco had one last place to visit along the western main road.
It was a location that held a significant meaning for the fledgling Bahamut Familia.
It was the first place they had ever stayed after arriving in the sprawling metropolis of Orario.
It was Nekomata Inn, a quaint, welcoming establishment run by a kind-hearted cat person, along with her many spirited daughters.
After the devastating war with the evilus, Draco, driven by a deep sense of responsibility, had made considerable efforts to locate them.
He spent days searching through refugee lists and war-torn districts, his heart heavy with dread. Luckily, the innkeeper, and all her children had survived the war physically unscathed, a small miracle in itself.
However, the mental scars, the indelible trauma of experiencing the horrors of war firsthand, still remained, etched deep into their psyches.
The effects were especially prominent in the youngest daughter, Cleo, a shy and gentle soul who had become even more withdrawn, even from her own loving family.
She rarely spoke, often retreating into herself, her bright eyes now carrying a distant, haunted look.
With some of his personal funds, Draco had helped the family rebuild their inn, purchasing new supplies and repairing structural damages.
Now, Nekomata Inn was once again thriving, a beacon of warmth and normalcy in the ever-turbulent city.
Once in a while, Draco paid a visit to the inn, often accompanied by his siblings.
They had formed a rather off-kilter, yet meaningful, connection with little Cleo.
Dimitra, would often tell her stories and draw pictures, while Vasileios, with his gentle nature, would simply sit beside her, radiating a quiet comfort that Cleo seemed to absorb.
Draco, in his own gruff way, would bring her small, unusual gifts……a shiny crystal, a peculiar feather, a smooth, strangely shaped stone…..and she would always accept them with a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
However, today was going to be his last visit, at least for a very long time.
He pushed open the familiar wooden door, and the scent of freshly brewed tea, simmering stew, and warm wood engulfed him, a comforting embrace.
The bustling inn, filled with the cheerful chatter of patrons and the clinking of glasses, seemed to completely dispel the last vestiges of gloom that clung to him since the duel.
The inn keeper spotted him from behind the counter, her eyes widening in surprise before crinkling into a warm smile.
"Draco! What a pleasant surprise, dear! Cleo, look who it is!" she called out, gesturing towards a quiet corner.
There, nestled by the hearth, a small figure with two prominent cat ears peeking from her hair looked up.
Cleo.
Her eyes, still holding a hint of their past trauma, brightened slightly upon seeing him.
Draco made his way over, a soft smile gracing his lips.
He spent the next hour simply being there, listening to the inn keeper’s updates on the inn, exchanging pleasantries with the other daughters, and most importantly, sitting in quiet companionship with Cleo.
As the hour grew late, and the other patrons began to thin, Draco rose.
"I must go now," he said, his voice tinged with a subtle melancholy.
"I am leaving Orario in the morning."
The inn keeper’s ears drooped slightly.
"Oh, Draco, we'll miss you. You've been such a blessing to us."
He nodded, a sense of finality settling in.
He knelt again before Cleo, who was now clutching his cloak tightly.
"Be strong, little one," he murmured, gently ruffling her hair.
"And don't be afraid to speak your mind. The world needs to hear your voice."
Cleo, for the first time in a while, whispered, almost inaudibly, "Will… will you come back?"
"I don't know when, Cleo," he admitted honestly, "but I will return."
He gave her a final, reassuring smile, a silent promise to remember her.
…………………………………………………………………………….
The last vestiges of twilight clung to the sky as Draco materialized back at Stardust Garden, the lingering scent of Nekomata Inn still faintly clinging to his attire.
The day had been long, filled with a lot of activity.
He stepped into the familiar warmth of his home, where a small gathering was already in progress.
Unlike the boisterous, spirit-fueled revelries of previous nights, tonight's affair was a subdued, congenial affair.
Laughter was soft, conversations flowed easily, and the air buzzed with a gentle camaraderie rather than the heady thrum of fermented spirits.
Plates laden with savory treats and pitchers of spiced fruit nectar circulated amongst the residents.
Draco found himself unwinding amongst his companions, sharing anecdotes from his day, listening to their own experiences.
The absence of potent drinks for the older members seemed to foster a different kind of intimacy, a quiet appreciation for each other’s presence.
As the night deepened, a comfortable weariness settled over the group.
One by one, they bid goodnight, the soft murmur of their good wishes echoing through the quiet halls.
Draco, too, felt the pull of his bed.
He anticipated the familiar weight of Bahamut settling beside him, her scales a cool comfort against his skin.
However, as he slipped beneath the silken covers of his bed, the space beside him remained empty.
He paused, a flicker of mild surprise, but the day's exertions quickly overrode any lingering curiosity.
Bahamut, no doubt, had her own reasons.
Draco needed his rest; the journey to the Valley of Dragons was an arduous one, demanding an early start.
With a sigh, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
A peculiar sensation roused him hours later…..a warmth, soft and unfamiliar, pressed gently against his lips.
His mind, still shrouded in the remnants of slumber, struggled to process the unexpected intimacy.
Adrenaline surged, jolting him from his grogginess.
He shot upright, a guttural gasp escaping him, only for his forehead to collide with something unexpectedly solid and yielding.
“Ouch!” a distinct, feminine yelp of pain echoed in the sudden silence, barely a foot from his ear.
Disoriented, Draco fumbled for the bedside magic lamp, his fingers brushing against the cool crystal.
A soft, amber glow bloomed, chasing away the shadows and revealing a startling sight. Crouched awkwardly by his bedside, one hand clamped to her forehead, was Hephaestus, her single, keen eye squeezed shut in discomfort.
“Ah, I am so sorry!” Draco exclaimed, his voice thick with sleep and genuine concern.
He quickly shifted, leaning over to gently touch her head.
His palm tingled as he channeled a minor current of water magic, a soothing coolness radiating from his touch to ease the burgeoning ache.
Hephaestus slowly opened her eye, a faint blush creeping up her neck and cheeks, visible even in the dim light.
Once he was sure she was settled and the pain had subsided, Draco pulled back slightly, his brow furrowed with a mixture of confusion and burgeoning questions.
The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
He knew he had to address the utterly bizarre situation.
“Uhm, why are you here?” he finally managed, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate.
Hephaestus’s gaze darted around the room, avoiding his, her face now a vibrant crimson.
Her lone eye, usually so direct and intense, seemed to search for an escape route that simply wasn't there.
She fidgeted, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap.
“Bahamut… she said you were leaving tomorrow,” she began, her voice a hushed whisper, barely audible.
“And since you didn’t… didn’t come to see me, I thought I would come see you instead. Since you were sleeping, Bahamut said that it was a mortal custom of good luck… to give a kiss to one embarking on a long journey, so I…”
Her voice trailed off, lost in a wave of embarrassment.
She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the memory, her shoulders slumping.
It was clear she wished the floor would simply swallow her whole.
With a sudden, jerky movement, she pushed herself up, her movements stiff and uncoordinated. Without another word, she practically fled towards the door, leaving Draco utterly dazed, his mind struggling to piece together Bahamut’s seemingly mischievous meddling and Hephaestus's mortified compliance.
The door swung open just as Kaguya’s sharp, disdainful voice sliced through the lingering silence, jolting him back to a harsh reality.
“Tsk. Womanizer.”
Kaguya stood framed in the doorway, her slender form silhouetted against the dimly lit hall.
She wore a loose, flowing kimono, its fabric rustling softly, and her lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed in an expression of unmistakable displeasure.
She clicked her tongue, a sound that resonated with contempt, her gaze scathing as it swept from Hephaestus’s fleeing figure to Draco’s bewildered face.
Before he could utter a single word in his defense, before he could even process the accusation, Kaguya pivoted sharply on her heel.
The swiftness of her departure was matched only by the violent, resounding slam of her room door, which reverberated through the entire house.
The sudden, concussive bang shattered the stillness of the night.
Across the halls, both up and downstairs, a few doors creaked open almost immediately. Confused murmurs began to ripple through the quiet dormitory.
“What was that noise?” came a sleepy, muffled query from one room.
“Is everything alright?” another voice chimed in, laced with concern and irritation at being so rudely awakened.
Draco simply sat there, frozen amidst the chaos, the warmth of the phantom kiss still lingering, the sting of Kaguya’s accusation burning, and the repercussions of Bahamut’s bizarre advice already echoing in the disturbed peace of Stardust Garden.
A/N: Refer to chapter 49 to remember Nekomata inn. Finally we will be moving on to the journey……then one or two time skips. As for the Bahamut familia status sheet……I am still working on it, it’s kind of hard finding information on certain Astraea familia members abilities, some of these characters have basically no info.
A/N: Feel free to read ahead on pat3on, donate and read 1 extra chapter as a free member.