Chapter 372

The sun was sinking into the western sky, its dying rays a bruised purple and deep crimson that bled across the horizon.

As the heat of the day retreated, it was quickly replaced by the cool, silver glow of the rising moon and the cacophony of a city coming to life in the twilight.

Orario, the labyrinth City, did not sleep; it simply changed its mask.

The streets of the Western Main Street were teeming.

Adventurers, caked in the dust and grime of the Dungeon, marched back with the heavy tread of those who had survived another day in the depths.

Their exhaustion was tempered by the promise of booze; soon, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and the sharp, yeasty tang of well-earned ale.

Happy and angry voices alike spilled from the taverns that lined the thoroughfare, creating a discordant symphony of urban life.

Orange light flickered from behind stained-glass windows and open tavern doors, bathing the cobblestones in a warm radiance that stretched the shadows of the passersby into long, dancing specters.

‘I’m sure it was somewhere around here,’ Draco thought, his brow furrowed as he navigated the thickening traffic.

He moved with a certain vibe, yet he looked around with the slight desperation of a lost puppy trying to find a familiar scent in a forest that had grown over.

As usual, his presence was a pebble thrown into a still pond, sending ripples of unease through the crowd.

People didn't just look at him; they reacted.

There was an involuntary flinching, a collective step backward as he navigated the flow of pedestrians.

It wasn't just his height, handsome face, draconic features or the way he carried himself with the stillness of a predator; it was the sheer weight of his presence.

Adding to the already suffocating atmosphere of intimidation were his companions.

Draco was escorted by two women of such terrifying beauty that they seemed to warp the very air around them.

Aasterinian and Bahamut, dragon goddesses in their own right, walked with indifference to those gawking at them.

Their prickly auras, though suppressed, leaked through like heat from a furnace, making the hair on the necks of passersby stand on end.

‘It’s so different from five years ago,’ Draco mused, his eyes scanning the architecture.

‘All these new buildings… the landmarks are buried under progress.’

The Orario he remembered was a place of sharper edges and deeper shadows.

Five years ago, the city breathed with a rhythmic fear, a by-product of the era when the Evilus had run rampant through these very streets, turning alleys into slaughterhouses.

Now, there was a palpable sense of security.

The fear had been replaced by a bustling commercialism.

He watched as humans and non-humans laughed together, merchants standing outside their shops using honeyed words to lure patrons into clothes stalls and weapon shops.

A group of Pallums and Gnomes, the diminutive races of the world, stood shoulder to shoulder near a fountain, singing a ribald drinking song to the delight of a growing circle.

Even a dour-looking dwarf had paused his trek to hum a few deep, vibrating notes in time with their melody.

Further down, the darker side of the nightlife began to stir.

Female beast-kin, their ears twitching at every passing footstep and furry tails swaying with practiced rhythm, posed outside bars in silk and lace.

They were masters of the "seductive" lure, yet their efforts were momentarily eclipsed as a parade of Amazons strode by.

Wearing little more than loincloths as cover, the Amazons moved with the swagger of apex seductresses.

They didn't care for the lingering gazes of the crowd.

Several of the Amazon warriors slowed their pace as they neared Draco, three of them even stopping entirely.

They tilted their heads, their curious eyes tracing the lines of his shoulders and the hidden strength in his frame.

One gave him an inviting, toothy smirk, beckoning with a flexed finger.

To most Amazons, strength was the strongest currency that mattered, and they could smell it on Draco from a block away.

Draco felt the weight of their gaze and found it hard to completely ignore the honest appreciation of the warrior women.

However, the momentary distraction was cut short by a sharp, bony jab to his ribs.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Draco," Bahamut hissed, her voice a low purr of warning.

She cast a chilling, predatory glare at the Amazons….a look so frigid it seemed to drop the ambient temperature by ten degrees.

The Amazons, sensing a territorial threat far beyond their current pay grade, scoffed and resumed their stride, though not without one last wistful glance over their shoulders.

The crowds seemed to part instinctively for Draco’s entourage after that, a vacuum forming in front of them as they moved.

Finally, the terrain began to look familiar.

The stone buildings grew sturdier, the signage more prestigious.

"…This should be it…" Draco murmured, coming to a halt.

They stood before the Hostess of Fertility.

It was a grand, two-story structure of solid stone, looking more like a fortress than a pub.

Even from behind the heavy, closed double doors, the roar of the evening rush was audible.

"You promised fine dining," Aasterinian said, her voice tinged with a playful skepticism as she looked at the rustic exterior.

"Isn't this just a common pub?"

Draco turned to her, his expression softening into a reassuring smile.

"Trust me, this is no ordinary pub. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, and the owner might throw you out if you breathe wrong, but the food and alcohol? They’re worth it."

Bahamut, however, wasn't looking at the door.

She was squinting at the weathered iron sign hanging to the left of the entrance.

Her eyes widened as a memory clicked into place.

"Ah!" she gasped, pointing at the emblem.

"I remember now. This is the place from back then. Only, wasn't it called 'The Benevolent Mistress'?"

Draco nodded, a flicker of nostalgia crossing his face.

"Indeed. Around five years ago, that was the name. Things change, but some things stay the same."

He recalled the last time he had brought her here; she had been uncharacteristically talkative, charmed by the rustic flavors of the city.

With a sense of purpose, Draco stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

Ding-ring…

The chime of the small bell above the door was immediately swallowed by a wall of sensory input.

The smell of roasting wild meat, spiced potatoes, and over-poured mead slammed into his nostrils like a physical force.

The heat of several dozen bodies huddled over tables filled the room.

Behind the massive polished bar stood a woman who looked like she could hold up the roof by herself.

Mia Grand, the "Mama" of the establishment, was a stout dwarfess with arms thicker than most men’s thighs.

She was currently barking orders, but as the door opened, her sharp eyes flicked toward the entrance.

They widened by a fraction of a millimeter…..before settling back into a mask of neutrality.

Draco saw the familiar faces of the staff weaving through the tables with unnatural speed and dexterity.

He spotted Syr, the grey-haired beauty with hidden depth; Luniore, always looking slightly overworked; and Anya, the cat-girl who seemed to be tripping over air while successfully delivering four mugs of beer.

He noted the absences, too.

Ryuu Lion and Chloe Rollo were nowhere to be seen.

In this timeline, the threads of fate had pulled them elsewhere……Ryuu to the Artemis Familia and Chloe to his own Bahamut Familia.

The world was different, but the stage remained.

Mia didn't move to greet them.

She knew exactly who he was, but in her house, the only thing that mattered was the weight of one’s coin and the quality of their manners.

Seeing her lack of outward fuss, Draco simply offered a small, respectful wave.

It was Syr who broke away from the fray to greet them.

She approached with a light, airy step, her signature smile firmly in place…..a smile that seemed to radiate a warmth that didn't quite reach the calculating stillness of her eyes.

"Welcome to the Hostess of Fertility!" she chirped, clasping her hands together.

Aasterinian narrowed her eyes, her intuition picking up the discordant notes in Syr's "innocent" aura.

Beside her, Bahamut let out a soft, subconscious scowl.

The presence of another "power" in the room, however well-disguised, set their instincts on edge.

Draco, sensing the brewing atmospheric pressure, stepped in to smooth the waters.

"Table for three, please. Preferably somewhere obscure. We’d like to watch the room, not be the center of it."

His eyes strayed toward a specific corner table near the back.

He scanned the room and realized the Loki Familia hadn't arrived yet, nor had the "hero" of the current era.

He was early.

‘Perfect,’ he thought.

‘We can see the drama from the beginning.’

"Of course," Syr said, her eyes lingering on Draco for a second longer than necessary before she spun around.

"Please, follow me."

She led them to the shadows of a corner booth, tucked away from the main thoroughfare of the servers.

As they took their seats and began to peruse the leather-bound menus, the bubble of silence that had followed them into the pub finally popped, replaced by a low, frantic whispering from the surrounding tables.

"Oi," a woman at the next table whispered, leaning toward her companion.

"Do you see that man? What kind of demi-human is he? He looks…handsome, but feels dangerous."

The man she was with, a burly warrior with a notched sword leaning against his chair, took a long pull of his ale and slammed the mug down.

"Who cares? He’s just another handsome bloke. Probably some dark-elf and beast-kin mixed bastard. He doesn’t look like much."

A second man at their table hissed, his face pale.

"Shh! Keep your voice down, you idiot! Don’t you recognize him? Have you no memory of the stories?"

"What stories?" the first man scoffed, though he lowered his voice.

The second man leaned in until his nose was almost in his drink.

"Five years ago. The Great Feud. The end of the Evilus. I was there, near the Factory District. I saw it with my own eyes."

He took a shaky breath.

"That man… he didn't just fight. He turned into a literal dragon monster…….and erased half the district in a single breath. He didn't just kill the Evilus; he deleted them."

The woman gasped, her hand going to her throat.

"That’s not even the half of it," the man whispered, his eyes darting toward Draco’s corner. "Before he vanished, he challenged the King. He fought Ottar, the Warlord of the Freya Familia, and he walked away. People say he’s the one who truly holds the title of Orario’s strongest, even if the Guild won't admit it."

"Isn't that a bit… exaggerated?" the woman whispered, looking at Draco’s calm face as he discussed the wine list with Bahamut.

"Exaggerated?" the man countered.

"Look who he’s with. That’s the goddess Bahamut. Her Familia has been one of the backbones of the city’s safety for five years while their Captain was away. If she’s sitting there treating him like he is an equal, what does that tell you?"

The rumors rippled through the pub like a slow-moving wave.

Draco leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment as the fragments of conversation reached his ears.

It was a strange sensation…..to be a ghost in one's own city, a legend that people spoke of in the past tense while he sat mere feet away.

But as the stories traveled, they began to warp.

"...I heard he eats the hearts of the monsters he kills to keep his humanoid form..."

"...they say any child who stays out past curfew in the West Street gets taken to his lair..."

"...the Bahamut Familia is just his personal harem, he only recruits women to satisfy his monstrous lust..."

Aasterinian let out a muffled snort of laughter, shielding her face with the menu.

"A harem master? Huh!."

Bahamut’s eyes flashed with a dangerous amusement.

"Eating children? Honestly, Draco, you really should improve your diet. It’s no wonder you’re so grumpy."

Draco sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same. People would rather believe a scary bedtime story than the truth."

Syr returned then, trailing the scent of lavender and grease, and behind her was Anya.

The cat-girl was balancing three platters of appetizers, her tail twitching with suppressed energy. She looked like she was dying to ask Draco a dozen questions, her mouth hanging open as she prepared to speak.

However, the words never left her mouth.

The bell above the door rang again, a sharp, clean sound that cut through the low hum of the tavern.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.

It wasn't the heavy, suffocating pressure that Draco had brought in, but something lighter, more frantic.

Draco looked toward the door, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a familiar mop of snowy white hair and a pair of wide, ruby-red eyes that looked far too innocent for a place as rough as this.

Bell Cranel had arrived.

The boy stood in the doorway, looking breathless and overwhelmed, the quintessential "rabbit" entering the lion's den.

Draco leaned back into the shadows of the booth, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"The show begins," he whispered.

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