For Sale. Fallen Lady. Never Used.

Boom!

As soon as I reached out, the transfer gate crumbled into dust with a small explosion.

What’s going on? I haven’t even touched it yet.

Just as I was feeling both aggrieved and bewildered, with confusion spreading through the group, I felt a warm sensation flow into my fingertips.

For some reason, despite the transfer gate breaking, the remaining purple mana was absorbed into me.

At least it didn’t feel hostile. In fact, it felt more like the warmth and comfort of coming home.

I was about to lower my guard, which had spiked momentarily, when—

Flash!

A sudden light burst out from my body and enveloped the entire group.

Before we knew it, we were standing inside a massive stone structure.

“What now…?”

I frowned instinctively at the unexpected turn of events, but at least it wasn’t the worst-case scenario.

Though we had been abruptly thrown into this place, I immediately recognized the familiar marble decor.

This was Fafnir’s lair—or rather, the ruins of it.

The transfer gate, which should have taken us to the front courtyard, had somehow sent us straight into the center of the lair.

I wasn’t sure exactly why, but maybe it malfunctioned when it broke and reacted to me.

I still didn’t fully understand the reason.

As I was calmly processing the situation, I heard a panicked voice from the side.

“M-Master! What just happened?! It seemed like you absorbed the gate’s mana—are you okay? Is there some kind of collision reaction or—mmpfh?”

I covered Carla’s mouth with one hand and shook my head.

“Calm down. I’m fine. My body feels a little warm, but nothing’s wrong.”

“…Mmmpfh? Mmmph?”

As Carla mumbled through her blocked mouth, Elisha, standing next to her, acted as an interpreter.

“She’s asking if that isn’t a bit strange.”

“Is it? It’s true I absorbed some unfamiliar mana, but it feels oddly familiar… In any case, I don’t think it’s harmful.”

Mana, at its core, responds to one’s will. Once it enters the body, and with my Mana Affinity trait, reading the intent within it isn’t too difficult.

The mana from the transfer gate had a strange familiarity, along with a will related to the transportation itself. It’s puzzling, but it doesn’t feel dangerous.

“Mmmph.”

“…Ah.”

As I spoke with certainty, Carla and Elisha both nodded, seemingly reassured.

I could guess what kind of misunderstanding they were having, but I wasn’t about to correct them, so I exaggeratedly looked around instead.

The massive stone structure resembled an ancient Greek temple, and everything about it exuded an overwhelming sense of grandeur. Clearly, it wasn’t a place built by or for humans.

…Though, nothing here was intact.

The pillars were cracked and chipped, the statues lay shattered on the ground, and the doors had been broken and forcibly opened.

All that remained were the traces of its former glory.

Iris, observing the ruined surroundings, tilted her head in confusion.

“Master. Are you sure this is really Fafnir’s lair?”

“Yeah.”

“The legends say the floors were lined with gold coins, and each room was filled with a different kind of treasure. Is this really that Fafnir’s lair?”

“It is. But everything here was either used up, taken by me… or looted by the cultists.”

A bit of truth mixed with lies. That alone blurred the line between fact and fiction, making it harder to distinguish.

The bitter smile I wore as I recalled the frustration of reaching the lair only to find it stripped of all but a little information about the cultists was an added bonus.

I still felt uncomfortable with deception, but I knew it was necessary.

Yet, I couldn’t help but hope that someday I’d be able to tell them everything. It was an unavoidable desire.

Amidst the solemn atmosphere, the voices of the women, unsure of what to say, quietly drifted around me.

“Ah… So that’s why, Master…”

“Hmph. If my homeland had turned out like this overnight, I wouldn’t want to talk about it either.”

“B-but we’re here for you, Master!”

“Well, seeing how Yandel tends to gather people who can’t defy him, maybe he has trust issues because of a past betrayal? In that case, we should…”

“This is all because of those cultists. We must kill the cultists!”

Why does Helena always reach that conclusion…? Not that she’s wrong.

Anyway, now that I’ve successfully avoided talking about myself, I just need to wait for the system to give me the reward that brought me here…

Ding!

The moment I thought about it, the notification rang.

I glanced around, expecting the system window to pop up, but instead, something else appeared before me.

It was as though another layer had been overlaid on top of the ruins.

Yes… It was the image of Fafnir’s lair in its prime, back when it was still intact.

---

A massive underground structure lined with heavy pillars, predominantly black and purple, exuding a somber elegance.

The place resembled a temple from the underworld, though its gloomy atmosphere was at odds with the lavish decorations throughout.

Gold coins piled up into small mounds on the ground.

Each room was tightly sealed, yet the doors were adorned with large gemstones, crossed swords, shattered glass crafts, and other striking symbols, as if to show what treasures lay within.

It was a sight that would leave anyone speechless… but that feeling didn’t last long.

Thud!

Something enormous fell onto the golden mound.

Obsidian-like shimmering scales. Sinister purple eyes. A sleek, streamlined body. And a massive size.

It was a dragon, a species thought to be extinct.

Is that Fafnir?

For a moment, I was mesmerized by his imposing presence, as if he were real. But upon closer inspection, I noticed that Fafnir wasn’t intact.

His smooth scales were chipped and melted in places, his wings were tattered, and one of his horns was broken.

Blood seeped from his body, staining the pile of gold beneath him.

This must be the moment just before Fafnir died.

Obviously, none of this was ever shown in H&A. There must be a reason the system was showing me this.

Swallowing my surprise, I focused on the scene before me. Fafnir, struggling to breathe, began to mutter something.

[My treasure… I can’t die and leave it behind…]

Even as he was dying, he was obsessed with his hoard. Ridiculous, but I suppose that’s how he managed to gather such immense wealth in the first place.

Just as I realized this, time suddenly sped up.

Fafnir repeatedly fainted and awoke atop the pile of gold, and each time he regained consciousness, he bombarded himself with healing magic.

Eventually, after a long time had passed, Fafnir fully recovered. Though the broken horn didn’t regrow, everything else returned to its former state.

Yet, it seemed like Fafnir had come to some realization in the face of death. His eyes still gleamed with greed as he stared at the bloodstained gold, but there was another emotion present.

Rage.

A clear fury directed at those who had wounded him and brought him to the brink of death.

From there, the flow of events became predictable.

Fafnir left his lair as soon as he recovered, likely seeking revenge.

The problem was that he kept returning covered in blood.

Was this during the height of the War of the Gods?

Each time, Fafnir returned on the verge of death, only to recover and head back into battle repeatedly.

With every return, more irreparable wounds accumulated.

It began with his broken horn, followed by a blunted tail, a deep scar across his chest like a trench, and scales on his face burnt beyond recognition.

Eventually, his injuries outnumbered the intact parts of his body… but Fafnir never gave up.

Even when he became terminally wounded and was living on borrowed time.

Even after the Hero Rahim brought the War of the Gods to an end.

At some point, it became clear that Fafnir’s rage wasn’t just because he had almost died.

The dragons, once called great beings, were slaughtered like mere insects. His kin, who, despite his foul personality, had become his friends. Even the weak who had clung to Fafnir, hoping for salvation, had their fists clenched in hope.

Fafnir bore too much weight on his back.

This, more than any other scar, was the deepest wound Fafnir carried—the price he paid for surviving the War of the Gods.

Though all the Evil Gods had been sealed, and the cultists had been driven away, Fafnir couldn’t shake off his anxiety and anger upon returning to his lair.

Rahim was undoubtedly a hero, but he had only sealed the Evil Gods.

And nothing lasts forever.

Fafnir, who had lived for millennia, knew this all too well. He had seen gods, far older than dragons, fall into corruption and disgrace.

One day, the Evil Gods would be released, and there would be nothing this world could do about it.

The Good Gods would not recover their strength in time, the short-lived races would have forgotten the past, and Fafnir himself would have long since died from his festering wounds.

Staring at the wealth he had accumulated throughout his life, Fafnir muttered softly.

[I need an heir.]

Even if he were to be the last of the dragons.

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