Velgrynd never felt so humiliated in her life.
Not even in her fiercest battles, not when standing before mighty calamities, nor in her most heated debates with her siblings. No, this — this — was a whole different level. Her pride, once as vast and unshakable as the crimson skies she ruled, now trembled like a leaf in a storm. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her heart, usually burning like a furnace, was cold.
She should not have lost.
She could not have lost.
She was Velgrynd. The Flame Dragon. A true dragon — one of the mightiest beings to exist. And yet…
She had been beaten. Humiliated. Tossed around like a child's plaything.
Yujiro Hanma. A human. A mere human.
Even as her body ached from the bruises — both physical and emotional — she couldn't stop replaying it in her mind. The way his eyes stared her down, unbothered by her fire, unshaken by her aura. The way he moved — calm, precise, devastating. And most of all… how little effort he seemed to use. It was like he wasn't even trying.
She gritted her teeth, the memories boiling her blood.
She had heard that he beat Veldora before — her foolish younger brother who often underestimated his opponents. She had heard that he beat Guy Crimson, the strongest demon lord. And even Velzard had fallen to him once. Perhaps she should've taken it seriously. Perhaps she should've backed off.
But her pride didn't allow it.
And now… she sat in defeat.
Deep inside, she wanted to fight again, scream, burn it all down and force another round. But the truth was clear.
She was outclassed.
No matter how much she hated it… she knew it.
And she should be grateful, really. Lucky, even. He hadn't killed her. He had simply walked away, unfazed, uninterested, treating her loss like it wasn't even worth a follow-up. That burned worse than any injury.
As she lay on the plush bed in the guest quarters of the Dragon Palace, her mind spun like a hurricane of shame and reflection. Somewhere in the distance, she faintly heard Milim's voice instructing the guards: "Take her to one of the spare rooms. Let her rest." Milim's tone had shifted. Less cheerful than usual. More serious. Like even she had been shaken by the duel.
Hours later…
The dining hall of the palace glowed warmly with golden chandeliers. A long obsidian table stretched across the room, adorned with silver plates, steaming dishes, and glittering goblets filled with Eurazania's rarest wines and juices.
Laughter echoed here and there.
Milim sat at the head, swinging her legs playfully while shoveling food into her mouth with a big smile. "Mmm!! Middray, you HAVE to try this grilled hydra tail! They used extra spice this time!"
Middray chuckled, shaking his head. "I swear you have a stomach made of steel, Lady Milim."
Across the table sat Yujiro — a tower of muscle and calm menace. His crimson suit looked slightly rumpled, probably from the earlier fight, but he didn't care. He cut through a massive steak with a steak knife so small in his hand it looked like a toy. A glass of fine wine was in his other hand, but his eyes were distant, staring at nothing in particular. His presence alone was enough to keep the chatter low.
A few of Milim's generals were seated around — some knights, scholars, a few beastfolk from Eurazania's delegation. Conversations bounced between politics, military movements, new training routines… until the door creaked.
Everyone turned.
Velgrynd walked in.
The clicking of her heels echoed like thunder in the quiet. Her long red hair swayed behind her, her usual fire dimmed but her pride holding her posture upright. Her golden eyes scanned the room carefully, almost shyly — a rare look for the mighty Flame Dragon.
The hall went silent.
Yujiro didn't even glance up. He continued cutting his steak, chewing slowly, sipping his wine like this was all just another Tuesday.
Milim waved enthusiastically. "Auntie! You're awake! Come, come! Sit by me!"
Velgrynd hesitated — just a second — before nodding and walking slowly to the empty chair beside Milim. Her movements were stiff, and though she sat tall, she couldn't bring herself to look in Yujiro's direction. That sting still lingered. That unhealed bruise on her soul.
The others avoided eye contact. They knew. They all knew.
Milim clapped her hands with a goofy smile. "Alright! Let's try this again — and no fighting this time!"
Yujiro raised one brow slightly, but still didn't look up.
Milim pointed with her spoon. "Uncle Yujiro, this is my Auntie Velgrynd! You've met… sorta. And Auntie, this is Uncle Yujiro. He's—well—you already know what he is."
Yujiro finally gave Velgrynd a glance. Just one.
Not of mockery. Not of disdain.
Just… neutral. Like he didn't care.
Velgrynd quickly looked away.
An awkward silence blanketed the table.
Trying to break it, Milim grinned. "Soooo, Auntie… how's Uncle Rudra doing? He hasn't come to visit me in a while!"
Velgrynd cleared her throat, her voice dry. "He's…busy. With politics. The usual affairs of the East."
"Oh?" Milim's eyes sparkled. "Tell him to drop by sometime! We haven't sparred in ages."
Velgrynd nodded absently, but her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes flickered to Yujiro again, just for a split second. He was drinking his wine, his eyes now closed, savoring the flavor like a gourmet judge. How could someone like him exist? No magic. No aura. No divine status. Just… raw, terrifying strength.
Then, Milim turned back to Yujiro.
"Uncle," she said, her tone more serious, "Why do you always fight everyone strong who shows up? Even Auntie…?"
Yujiro placed his goblet down.
He looked at Milim, then at the rest of the table, and finally, his eyes locked onto Velgrynd's — calm, piercing, matter-of-fact.
"Because," he said, "they all live in an illusion."
Milim tilted her head. "Illusion?"
Yujiro leaned back in his chair. "Yes. An illusion that power comes from magic… or titles… or bloodlines. They walk around thinking they're invincible because of spells or divine birthrights." He turned to Milim. "Tell me something. What would you do, if one day… you woke up with no magic? No skills. No energy. No aura. Nothing. Just your bare hands."
The table went silent again.
Milim blinked.
She had never thought about that.
Why would she? Magic was as natural to her as breathing. Skills were extensions of herself. To imagine a world where none of that existed… was like imagining a world without air or sky.
For the first time in a long time… she had no answer.
Yujiro smirked slightly. "Exactly."
He reached forward and gently patted her head. "That's why I fight. To remind people of what real strength is."
Milim's eyes widened.
Velgrynd stared down at her plate.
The atmosphere remained heavy, but beneath it all… there was understanding.
A rare kind of understanding — one not built on domination, but revelation.
The dinner continued slowly after that. Conversations started to rise again, awkward at first, then slowly returning to normal. Velgrynd stayed quiet most of the time, occasionally glancing at Yujiro. She still hated losing.
But now… a small part of her was curious.
Not just about how to beat him.
But about what he meant.
What was strength… truly?
And why, despite everything, did a part of her want to find out more?
The night was far from over.
"Hmph, politics," growled one of the generals down the table, an ogre named Bardok. "Waste of time. Talk too long, act too slow."
"It's not that simple," Velgrynd replied, her voice a bit sharper. "Managing empires isn't as straightforward as swinging swords."
Yujiro snorted at that, finally speaking.
"Funny. I've never had to talk to rule anything."
Everyone froze.
Velgrynd looked up. Her crimson eyes met his.
"That's because you don't rule," she said coldly. "You dominate. There's a difference."
Yujiro smirked, setting his goblet down with a soft clink. He leaned back, the fire casting shadows over his carved, monstrous form.
"To weaklings, maybe," he said casually. "But tell me, dragon... when your magic fades, when your titles vanish... when there's nothing but raw flesh and instinct—can you still fight?"
Velgrynd's jaw tightened.
He was repeating what he told Milim earlier. The same truth that had shaken her.
Across from them, Milim stared into her plate, unusually quiet.
Yujiro continued, his voice deep and sharp like a jagged blade.
"You were born powerful. You never had to struggle for it. You never earned it. That's not strength. That's a gift."
Velgrynd stood up suddenly. The table creaked from the motion. Her eyes flared, but no flames came.
"You think I've never struggled?" she hissed. "You think being a True Dragon is easy? We've fought wars that scorched the heavens. We've held back apocalypses. I've burned entire nations to survive."
Yujiro didn't flinch. He took a slow bite of meat, chewed, and swallowed.
"You fought with fire. Try fighting with nothing."
Velgrynd trembled—not from fear, but rage. Yet it was not directed only at him. It was also inward.
Because some part of her knew… he was right.
Suddenly, Middray, spoke up. His voice was soft, respectful.
"Lady Velgrynd, if I may… perhaps Lord Hanma's point isn't about strength alone. But what lies beneath it."
Velgrynd blinked, caught off guard.
"And what exactly lies beneath your strength, Middray?" she asked, her tone gentler now.
Middray placed a hand on his chest. "Conviction. Purpose. The will to protect." He looked at Yujiro. "He fights because he can. Because there's nothing above him. That's frightening… and admirable."
Yujiro chuckled at that. "Smart kid."
Milim finally smiled a bit, the tension beginning to ease.
Velgrynd sat down again, slower this time. She didn't look at Yujiro—but she didn't avoid his presence either.
She reached for a piece of bread, and for the first time that evening, she ate.
It was a small gesture. But in that hall filled with gods, monsters, and warriors… it meant more than words.