The Dragon Lord's Aide Wants to Quit [BL] - Chapter 234

Chapter 234: The Hall of Unyielding Flames
As someone who had survived as the dragon lord’s aide, it would have been impossible not to pick up a few things here and there.

Like knowing how to handle political incidents, understanding when it was best to hide, developing a sixth and seventh sense for possible assassination attempts, and nurturing that strange obsession with buying and reviewing essential survival bits and bobs.

And Riley had made a name for himself online as @ThisOneBetterWork. This username became relatively popular in that little section of Eryndra’s biggest online store for hoarding and testing every little packet on the market that claimed to be waterproof and fireproof.

Obviously, he became notorious for leaving reviews that mostly featured bags that did not quite make the cut. But in doing so, Riley had also managed to uncover the rare gems, the ones that could survive the daily pains of working for a fire-breathing dragon with anger management issues.

But why did he resort to using human goods?

Well, that’s because in most cases, defensive artifacts would be useless against Kael’s mana.

And yes, that was based on personal experience. Because the hopeful human, of course, turned to magical artifacts first, until his savings ended up incinerated about an hour after going to work.

Also, artifacts would likely trip magical defenses, forcing Riley to submit to more annoying checks that would inevitably delay his boss’s schedule.

Thankfully, human technology gave him hope, and eventually, he found his holy grail.

It became inseparable from his body. A pouch that perfectly held his small wallet and his fragile life. IDs, cash, and that thing that would definitely receive a glowing five-star review, provided he could make it out alive from here.

See, aside from needing a relatively reliable way to keep his things safe, the walking corpse of an aide also needed a way to vent.

But as someone who couldn’t simply rely on eating all the papers he had doodled curses on, there was one item that had been part of Riley’s daily life just a month after he had started working for his golden boss.

A multi-tool.

Yes, the one with a bottle opener, a screwdriver, a small utility blade, and a small wheel that would determine today’s life or death.

Riley gingerly took it out and admired it before getting to work and sending a few or a lot of the guardians into shock.

__

Because from behind the veil, the topic of discussion had been what to do after the mortal failed the second trial. Would the seal unravel right away? From what they knew, it should. But at the same time, how would they explain the tragic end to the young dragon lord?

Then again, how come they seemed so certain that Riley would fail the second trial?

That was because the Hall of Unyielding Flames was a mana suppression chamber that suffocated one’s mana, making it difficult to ignite even a single flame.

Younglings frequently failed to release their flames at all, so only those capable of maintaining consistent mana control while producing such an intense output could hope to pass.

It was a grueling test, even for those who already met the requirement of mana use. So what more for someone who lacked mana entirely and could not summon a flame to begin with?

He would definitely fail, right?

Right.

And yet, the guardians who were busy debating about what to do next were caught off guard by a sudden yelp.

“?!”

“What now?” asked one of the guardians, startled by the sharp sound.

“Look! You have to look!”

“Huh?”

“Just what are you even—”

“!”

The words died instantly, because from where they were observing, they could clearly see sparks. And not just any sparks.

Fire.

“!!!”

“Thyrran! What is the meaning of this?!” screeched one of the guardians. But the serpentine guardian remained strangely composed, only because he genuinely had no idea what was happening.

Just moments ago, the young mortal had been seen pulling something out from his clothes. It did not look special. It did not glow. It did not hum. It did not behave like any artifact the guardians recognized.

And yet here they were.

Watching.

Riley crouched near one of the braziers, holding something tiny in one hand. The guardians leaned in closer, horrified and fascinated as the little mortal flicked a strange rolling wheel with his thumb.

Each flick produced a spark.

A bright, cheerful spark, not the kind of usual pitiful breath of fire they’d usually see from the younglings.

“What is he doing?” whispered one guardian.

“Is that… fire?” another asked weakly.

“Impossible. There is no way. Not in this chamber,” muttered a third, voice trembling.

But their disbelief only grew worse, because the mortal started tearing what looked like paper, rolled it up, planted it into the brazier, and flicked the wheel again.

Spark.

Spark.

Spark.

Tiny burst of flame.

The paper caught fire immediately.

“!!!!!!”

“HE SUMMONED IT.”

To their abject horror, the puny guy wasn’t even sweating, nor was he crawling or internalizing.

“What is happening?!”

Then the terror in their stone hearts grew worse when Riley let out a hysterical laugh. One filled with relief and amusement, as if this entire ordeal was a silly inconvenience and not an ancient trial meant to break people.

The mortal continued happily rolling sparks and lighting torn paper, then bringing them over to each brazier while walking without difficulty.

The guardians stared, frozen in absolute shock.

Just what were they watching?

How could any of this be possible?

Thyrran then thought back to that fateful day, when he first wondered why the masters were going to such great lengths to safeguard the subject.

It was a memory that came in soft, hazy fragments. A memory scented with ancient ash and warm light. A memory from when Thyrran himself had been much smaller, curled like a coil of black and blue ribbon at their feet.

“Hmmm…”

The first master had hummed thoughtfully as their hand gently patted the top of Thyrran’s tiny serpentine head. Their touch was firm, warm, and impossibly reassuring. Even now, the echo of that warmth lingered in his scales.

Another hand joined the first, stroking down his neck with a fondness that made the little guardian’s eyes flutter closed as he remembered.

Then came that familiar voice. Calm, steady, and heavy with a tenderness that few beings in existence had ever heard.

“Because for all that we will owe this little one, even our best would not be good enough.”

Thyrran remembered lifting his young head then, confused and curious. He had not known who the little one was. He had not understood what debt such great beings could possibly owe.

The second master spoke next, quiet and resolute.

“When the time comes, you will understand. And hopefully, when that time arrives, this little one will understand as well. But if it never comes, then we will accept it, for how dare we even ask for forgiveness?”

Their voices held no pride. No demand. Only a sorrowful reverence.

A soft sigh drifted from the other as a palm pressed to the top of Thyrran’s small form, sealing the memory into him.

“But we hope that you could be here in our stead, so you can watch and marvel at our greatest treasure.”

“…”

The present guardian let out a sigh at that sudden recollection.

Hah.

Was this what they meant?