Chapter 200 — The Creator of Dragons

“…!”

Silence filled the camp—shock, disbelief, and fear.

Viscount Kuranshivil—the cunning lord of House Twork, once Melvinger’s long-time ally turned rival—had always prospered after breaking away from their banner. Even the Imperial court and the Inspectorate had tried to win him over for years.

And yet, that very man had been crushed—utterly and decisively—by Elric Melvinger. Now, dead before their eyes.

The entire camp was frozen in disbelief. Especially the soldiers of House Twork—who had only moments ago reluctantly sided with Elric—were pale and trembling.

“He… really killed him?”

“That’s impossible…”

Among nobles, even traitors rarely met death. Titles and lands might be seized, but lives were usually spared. Such was the unspoken rule among aristocrats—to prevent endless cycles of vengeance and blood feuds.

But Elric had shown no hesitation. No mercy. He simply stared down at the fallen viscount’s corpse, his face expressionless—as if this outcome had always been inevitable.

He lifted his gaze, sweeping across the silent ranks.

The soldiers—Twork’s and Franz’s alike—averted their eyes in terror, pretending to look elsewhere. Even the bravest among them dared not meet his stare.

Every man in that field knew it: Elric was no longer a commander. He was sovereign.

Then his eyes met Count Calliger’s.

Neither spoke. But Elric’s look said everything.

—What will you do?

If Calliger wished to resist, he was welcome to try.

For a long moment, the count said nothing. Then, thoughts flashed through his mind like lightning.

Should I strike now? Should I call for mutiny?

But the letter— The letter he’d meant to send to Crown Prince Jeraitz— was already in Elric’s hands.

If Elric passed that evidence to Prince Chromhel, Calliger’s political life would be over. The letter was a leash around his neck, and Elric held the chain.

Rebel—or wear the collar myself?

He clenched his teeth.

If I’d known he’d go this far, I would’ve moved first!

He had never imagined Elric would risk civil war just to strike down Kuranshivil. And now, too late, he realized he’d underestimated him.

Finally, he lowered his head.

“We… are uninvolved in this matter. Whatever letter you speak of, Your Grace, I know nothing of it.”

He cast all blame upon the dead viscount. There was, after all, no proof he had written the letter himself.

It was a coward’s move—but a survivor’s one.

Elric watched him quietly.

“…Is that so?”

“Y-yes.”

“A pity.”

Calliger’s fists trembled. His jaw locked tight. Rage burned in his chest—but he said nothing.

Elric turned his back and spoke to the assembled troops.

“All authority and assets of the traitor Kuranshivil are hereby confiscated. Under normal circumstances, this would be reported to the Imperial court for judgment. But given our state of war, I, as commanding officer, will assume stewardship until further notice.”

“Aye, Commander!”

“Aye!”

“Furthermore,” Elric continued, “until Count Calliger’s connection to this affair is fully investigated, all of his powers are suspended, and he is to be placed under watch. His command will be transferred to a delegate chosen by the staff.”

The meaning was clear— Elric was stripping Calliger of his forces as well.

The count’s face darkened. His knuckles whitened. But there was nothing he could do.

He could only bide his time— and keep fingering the ring on his hand, a ring that pulsed faintly with unknown magic.

He did not see it: a single black crow perched atop the nearby wall, its crimson eyes fixed on him.

“You did well, Ate.”

Elric patted his adjutant’s shoulder as they left the command tent. Ate bowed silently, modest as ever.

In truth, much of today’s success had been due to him. He had quietly monitored and cultivated ties among both noble houses’ troops for months, acting on plans devised by the strategist Isabel— but executed by his own steady hand.

Elric had also employed the Phantom Eye he learned from Gility Tenz, using tamed beasts to spy across the camps of both the Franz and Twork armies.

“Will you leave Count Calliger as he is?” Ate asked, glancing toward the Franz encampment.

Elric smirked. “Of course not.”

Ate nodded. He’d expected as much. Elric never left dangerous roots alive.

“A blind arrow,” Elric murmured, “can fly from anywhere.”

His purple eyes flickered faintly as his sight shifted— sharing vision with a crow circling above.

Through its eyes, he saw Calliger fidgeting with the ring, whispering something to his son, Rodeo. The ring’s carved sigils resembled those etched into the forbidden diagrams of magitech relics.

Elric’s lips twisted upward. “He touched one of mine—and thinks he’ll walk away from it? Heh… heheheh.”

Ate paused mid-step.

“…Am I one of your people, too, my lord?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Elric blinked, then chuckled softly.

“Of course you are. Why would you even ask?”

“….”

“You’ve stood by me. Helped Brian. Fought for me. If you stand by the lord, the lord stands by you.”

Ate bit his lip, eyes shadowed with some unspoken doubt.

Elric exhaled through a smile.

“So when the time comes…”

“…?”

“…tell me what you’re hiding.”

“…!”

“I’ll go on ahead.”

Elric walked off without another word, leaving Ate standing motionless under the cold wind, his thoughts a storm of their own.

—Assemble all troops.

The order spread swiftly.

It was time.

Mobilization.

The long-awaited moment had come. Even amidst the chaos of Kuranshivil’s punishment and Brian’s recovery, the entire camp turned its focus to one goal: war.

Command of the Franz and Twork forces was swiftly reorganized. Their officers were detained alongside Calliger, and their soldiers absorbed into the Star’s Legion.

It was, in all but name, a forced unification under House Melvinger.

Yet no one objected. No one dared. Not after what they had witnessed.

Elric’s authority was absolute— and fragile. If it ever wavered, the army could collapse overnight. But he didn’t seem worried.

He had already decided to swallow them whole. This was merely the cost.

After all, the Franz and Twork lines had once been part of Melvinger. He was only reclaiming what was his.

With their absorption, the Star’s Legion swelled to five thousand strong— a massive force unmatched since Melvinger’s golden age.

When the drums of war sounded, the ground itself trembled.

“Our target,” Elric declared, “is the demonkind.”

The soldiers roared in approval.

For over a thousand years, the Melvingers’ ancient enemy had been the demons. The fallen Lion Corps’ alliance with them was common knowledge. None questioned Elric’s command to march against them.

If anything, the prospect thrilled them. After so long drilling in camp, they would finally test their blades.

“Open the gates!”

“Form the triangles! Vanguard in front, second and third lines support!”

“Advance!”

THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.

War drums thundered. The wooden palisades surrounding the camp swung wide, revealing a vast open plain— the kind of expanse one only saw in legends.

It stretched endlessly ahead, the sky pale and cold above it— a perfect stage for the rebirth of Melvinger’s legend.

At the front, Elric raised his spear. His mount Spot snorted, pawing the earth, then charged forward.

Behind him thundered the Star’s Legion, the Blue Lions of House Hermann, the Gray Lions of House Weill, and the Black Skull company of Sailor Holmes. Even the Sar’nai tribes and their sacred warriors joined the charge.

“Waaaaaah!”

The roar shook the sky. After a thousand years of silence, the legend of Melvinger was rising once more— its first step toward destiny echoing across the plains.

The Talent-Swallowing Magician.