"So, what are you even good for?"
Throne paused, eyeing her with a mix of skepticism and calculation.
"Wait. Maybe you're not completely useless."
An entertainer by his side—there were possibilities here. She wasn't entirely unlike Melina, but she didn't need his active help. She just needed to be used. And judging by the look on her face, she didn't seem to mind being used by him.
Killing her was off the table. The benefits didn't outweigh the risks. At the very least, he could squeeze some intel about the Ancient Dragons out of her.
"Do whatever you want," Throne said, his voice dripping with menace. "Just don't get in my way, or I'll cut you down."
He couldn't afford to show weakness, not now.
"That sounds like a transaction," she remarked, her tone light.
"Transaction my ass!" Throne snapped, his patience fraying.
"What have you even contributed? The only reason I haven't told you to scram is because you're still useful."
At least Melina had given him a horse. If this Ancient Dragon didn't have some utility left, he'd have kicked her to the curb already. I'm loyal to Ranni, and that's final. So what if she's attractive? I'm not falling for some veteran's tricks.
Lansseax didn't flinch at his harsh words. Instead, she grinned, her amusement plain.
"The way you try so hard to find utility in everything is hilarious."
She could see it—he wanted to use her. Fine by her. She wanted to use him too. The risks didn't outweigh the rewards, and Throne had no reason to kill an Ancient Dragon who wasn't hostile.
As long as they could communicate, she'd eventually get played. You want entertainment? Then play along.
"Let's go," Throne said curtly. "And remember—don't hinder me."
"Are we going to slay a dragon?"
Lansseax's eyes lit up with enthusiasm.
Throne turned to stare at her, incredulous.
"We're going to town. If the Redmane catch you, I don't know you."
He led his horse forward, his demeanor a far cry from the way he'd treated Melina. Melina had been dense at first, but at least her stance had been clear—she was on his side.
Throne didn't trust words. He observed people slowly, carefully. Should I report this to Ranni? The thought lingered, but he pushed it aside. Recent events had left him uneasy. No matter. She was just an Ancient Dragon. He'd find a way to pry information out of her, and then they'd part ways.
First, he needed to test whether Lansseax would be discovered. If she was, her value would plummet. Together—a dragon, a man, and a horse—they made their way toward Caelum. The entrance was heavily guarded, knights stationed at every corner. Not far off, Redmane Guards with long tassels on their helmets patrolled the area. The defenses were tight.
Throne's expression grew serious. He didn't underestimate the knights, even with his increased strength. He knew better. Even Godfrey hadn't relied solely on his own power—he'd brought the Golden Order Army. Throne glanced back at Lansseax. Her slender figure was cloaked in a brown robe, her eyes scanning the surroundings with curiosity.
Noticing Throne's gaze, she smiled quietly. "Don't be nervous. Even if we're discovered, I can just kill all these people."
Throne nearly stumbled.
"Killing people indiscriminately is hindering me," he hissed. "If you do that, I'll attack you too."
"You can't beat me," she replied, her tone casual.
"That's fine. Go ahead and try. Even if you escape, I'll cut you down every time I see you."
Throne wasn't certain he could kill her, but he knew he could inflict serious damage if he unleashed everything. They'd clashed before, and Lansseax understood this human wasn't someone to underestimate. Otherwise, she wouldn't be trailing him so casually. Besides, if they fell out, where else would she find her amusement?
"Fine," she conceded. "I'll listen to you. Go slay the dragon. Greyoll's far harder to kill than me."
"You've fought her?"
Throne's question slipped out before he could stop it.
"She tried to recruit me. After I refused, there was... friction. We haven't seen eye to eye for a very long time. Why else would she leave Crumbling Farum Azula?"
Throne fell silent. The flood of information was overwhelming. He thought of Ranni's intelligence. Drakes were the degraded descendants of Ancient Dragons. The proud Ancient Dragons looked down on their weaker kin, much like humans treated demi-humans. Conflict between them was inevitable. Had the dragon race fractured over something? Greyoll, a faction leader, likely grew tired of the arrogant, stagnant Ancient Dragons. She'd taken her drakes and left, clashing with Lansseax again.
This was bad news. Greyoll hadn't lost her combat prowess. This massive drake had even driven Lansseax away. Yet something didn't add up. If Lansseax had fought Greyoll, why were there no scars? Was the battle brief, or was she hiding the truth?
"You, an Ancient Dragon, couldn't defeat a drake?"
"Greyoll isn't like ordinary drakes. You'll understand when you see her."
Lansseax huffed, irritation flickering across her face.
"She's just... enormous. How could I not know?"
"But you still didn't beat her."
"She's the Mother of Dragons. She has countless small dragons. But I didn't lose either."
Throne glanced at the proud Ancient Dragon.
"That's not necessarily true. And the excuse of recruiting you isn't enough."
Lansseax stopped abruptly, her smile vanishing. She stared at Throne's back, an unexpected sense of unease creeping in. Being too clever wasn't always a good thing. She opened her mouth to speak, but Throne cut her off.
"Just kidding. I realized you're useful."
He ended the probing abruptly.
This kind of intelligence was something even Patches couldn't have gathered. Throne buried his doubts deep, letting the topic fade. Lansseax continued to follow.
"Then, do you want to return a hug?" she asked, her tone teasing.
"Why?"
Lansseax licked her lips, smiling.
"For living beings, physical contact fosters understanding. Perhaps, if the mood strikes, we could discuss that power of yours further."
Pierce you with my 'sword,' and see if I can absorb the Ancient Dragon's power? Throne's mouth twitched. While it was a serious scientific topic, he decided to avoid it.
"Sorry, not interested."
He quickened his pace, putting distance between himself and the dragon woman.
Lansseax glanced at herself—her tall frame, pale pink hair, the curves of her body, her long legs revealed by the hem of her clothes. By human standards, she was flawless. She tilted her head, puzzled. Not even interested in this?
Throne wasn't foolish. A few sentences of conversation had revealed much. Lansseax was hiding something. Staying here for entertainment wasn't the whole story. Why she'd appeared in Caelid was unclear. Was this some ploy to lure him in? The thought lingered as he pressed forward.
Greyoll's true motives were still a mystery, but Throne had pieced together a few facts. Greyoll wielded power like a warlord. Lansseax had clashed with her and hadn't come out on top. Throne adjusted his assessment—she was dangerous but not unbeatable.
Lansseax's reasons for being here didn't matter to him. Whether she sought amusement or harbored some scheme, he didn't care. At worst, they'd use each other. That was fine.
He just needed confirmation: Greyoll and Lansseax weren't allies. They wouldn't team up to ambush him. Beyond that, the details were irrelevant. Entering the town was smooth. The Redmane Knights hadn't expected an Ancient Dragon to stroll past them so boldly. Once they confirmed Throne was a participant, they let him through.
Lansseax seemed right at home among humans. The bustling streets didn't faze her. She lingered over odd trinkets sold by the Tarnished, soon weighed down by an assortment of goods.
"Hey," Throne stopped her, eyeing the dragon woman gnawing on a Silver-Pickled Fowl Foot.
"We're supposed to keep a low profile."
"I am being low-key."
She shrugged.
"Besides, I paid for these. Back in the day, I would've just taken them. Want one?"
"No thanks. Who eats precious consumables like snacks?"
"They're useless to me. Aren't they just snacks?"
She didn't wait for his reply, rummaging through her pouch and pulling out a black, murky heart. She sniffed it, grimaced, and tossed it aside.
"This is inedible! That bastard lied to me!"
Throne glanced at the discarded organ—likely from some corrosive creature, usually used for weapon enchantments. He grabbed her arm, steering her away.
"Don't waste Runes like that."
"I've got plenty. More than I can ever use."
Throne's gaze darkened. He'd grown poor buying snacks for Melina. Now he understood why the Tarnished hunted dragons. Lansseax had no idea how much wealth she'd hoarded over the years.
"Tell me about that power of yours, and I'll give you a mountain of Runes."
"I don't care about Runes. Don't insult me with money."
Throne turned and walked deeper into the town. His demeanor was bland, drawing a yawn from Lansseax. She trailed him silently, her interest piqued when he stopped.
"A tavern? I didn't take you for the type."
"I'm here for information. Places like this are full of people talking. You can wait outside."
"Cheapskate. I'll pay for the drinks."
"It's not about money—are you even listening?"
Throne looked up. She was already inside. The stench of sweat and tobacco hit him, and he hesitated. Lansseax wasn't like Melina. Melina was honest. This dragon did whatever she pleased and ignored him completely.
Reluctantly, Throne followed. The tavern was dim, its patrons a rough crowd. All eyes turned to the woman at the door. Her cloak did little to hide her figure.
Lansseax casually pinned a man who tried to grab her, slamming him to the floor. When others stood, swords drawn, she grinned.
"Don't start trouble. Drinks are on me."
Although her face couldn't be seen clearly, her figure couldn't be hidden even by her cloak.
She tossed a Rune to the man clutching his shattered hand, his whimpers filling the stale air.
"For your wounds. Buy sobering draughts with the rest—drunken deaths make poor stories."
The coin clattered across the floorboards.
Glasses rose in ragged unison as the crowd settled. Their practiced movements spoke louder than words—this woman wasn't some lost lamb wandering into a den of wolves. She moved like someone who knew the dance of back-alley taverns. Throne unclenched his fists. This one had seen too much. Just how many centuries had she burned away in places like this?
Lansseax strode to the bar with the ease of a regular.
"Your strongest," she told the barkeep, then jerked a thumb at the surrounding tables.
"A round for the house."
Her fingers flicked in some coded gesture. Hardened mercenaries chuckled, abandoning their seats for shadowed corners without complaint. Chair legs thudded against wood.
Two clay jugs hit the counter. The bartender's voice dropped to a growl.
"Shout if you need killing, miss."
He vanished into the gloom, leaving them in a bubble of enforced privacy. Payment meant silence in these parts—a language Throne understood all too well.
The dragon woman draped herself across the stool, crossing legs that went on forever. Amusement glittered in her sideways glance.
"You look like a man who's never seen a tavern brawl solved with coin instead of blood."
She spun the jug idly.
"I've graced noble halls and sacred rites, yes, but the real stories ferment in cellars like this."
Throne didn't marvel at her centuries of experience. He leaned in, teeth bared.
"You just chased off every loose tongue in the room. How exactly am I meant to gather information now?"
Lansseax blinked. Her triumphant grin faltered.
A laugh burst from her lips, half-embarrassed, half-chagrined.
"Ask me instead! I'm practically an archive of—"
"I'm here to verify your claims, not swallow them whole."
Throne slumped onto the stool. Leaving now would raise more suspicion than staying.
The wine hit his nostrils before the jug touched his lips—Caelid's signature burn, like swallowing a branding iron. He coughed as fire raced down his throat.
"This could strip paint from armor."
Lansseax upended her jug without flinching. Amber liquid sloshed down her chin.
"Gods, I'd forgotten how this stuff kicks. Last time I drank it..."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"...was with an amusing human."
"Which human?"
"Godfrey."
Her fangs flashed.
"Now there was a man who knew how to hold his liquor. And his axes."
Throne turned his head in astonishment, thinking to himself that this wasn't as simple as just being 'interesting'. Godfrey was the strongest human, the first Elden Lord.