Bashington DC, Pentagon
Meanwhile, inside one of the meeting room in the Pentagon, Solo had gathered his inner circle for what should have been a simple discussion.
It wasn't.
"I still don't understand why defeating the elves or the church can't be considered an achievement," Stan muttered, arms crossed.
"For the last time," Famine snapped, "defeating Murica's current enemies is something you're supposed to do anyway. That's not a tribute. That's a 'job', you idiot."
"And do you think he's capable on doing that without our military?" Mo added calmly, adjusting his glasses. "Also once the enemy realizes Solo can't be killed, it'll end with him being captured and locked somewhere."
Stan opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again.
Levi leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Then perhaps we should think bigger. What if Solo unites the entire world under a single organization? One built on peace, cooperation, and shared prosperity—while secretly being controlled by us? Or even better, they know we control it but are powerless to stop it."
He smiled, clearly proud of himself.
"Don't you try to sweet-talk me with your word-twisting, you little brat," Death snarled. "That's literally what Murica has been trying to achieve since day one. You just replaced the Murican government with a different logo."
Levi leaned back, offended. "Branding matters."
Hours passed.
Nothing was good enough.
Finally, slumped in his chair, Solo sighed.
"What else then? Should i go hunting a dragon or something?"
The room froze.
"Hm…" Stan muttered, suddenly thoughtful. "That's… actually not a bad idea."
Mo nodded slowly. "Most adventurers who call themselves 'dragon slayers' only kill wyverns, drakes, or some other lesser dragon."
"So no one has ever slain a true dragon," Stan said, eyes widening.
"And having a true dragon slayer as a leader," Levi chuckled, "is the kind of propaganda material that I can really use."
Every head slowly turned toward Death and Famine.
Death tilted her head. "Fam… when was the last time you saw a dragon?"
Famine thought for a moment. "I think I saw one flying once. That was… super ancient times. Before Lilith was born."
"Same," Death said.
She tapped one finger on the table, considering.
"Well," Death finally declared, "based on strength, rarity, and sheer mythological prestige… hunting a true dragon qualifies as an achievement worthy of tribute for Lilith and her baby."
"Oh finally," Solo groaned, leaning back in relief. "So… any of you know where to find one?"
Silence.
Long, heavy, uncomfortable silence.
"Unfortunately," Stan said slowly, "I've never seen one."
"Same," Levi added. "I saw sea serpents underwater. That's… not helpful."
"Sir," Mo said carefully, "even among adventurers, true dragons are considered a myth now. No one alive has ever seen one. At least, no one who stayed alive."
Solo stared at them.
"…Demons exist," he said slowly, "but dragons are a myth? What kind of world is this?"
Solo sighed again, rubbing his face. "Fine. Then we'll just have the satellite start scanning for one."
"No, you can't," Death cut in instantly. "Satellite technology is considered above demon duke power level."
"Heheh," Famine added, smiling sweetly. "If you want to do tradition, you have to do it the traditional way, nephew."
"Finding the dragon," Death continued, "is the start of your journey."
"If I may suggest," Levi said gently, "maybe start by asking the dwarves. There's an old saying—'a dwarven weapon can even kill a dragon.' There might be some truth behind that."
Solo exhaled.
"…I guess I'm going to the Dwargonia embassy."
---
Bashington DC, Dwargonia Embassy
Moments later, Solo's convoy rolled to a stop in front of the Dwargonia Embassy.
Solo, Levi, Famine, Cinderclaws, and Vixen sat around a large table in the meeting hall, waiting.
Then the doors swung open.
Cupid, Dancer, and Comet marched in carrying several enormous pints of Dwargonian ale. They slammed them onto the table one by one.
The meeting room instantly looked less like a bilateral negotiation and more like a tavern.
"Cheers!" everyone at the table said in perfect unison.
They drank.
"Aaah," everyone said, also in perfect unison.
"Now we can start the meeting," Cinderclaws said, wiping foam from his beard.
Solo blinked. "Huh. That's… a fun way to start a meeting."
"You should adopt this tradition for Murica too, nephew," Famine said cheerfully, already gulping down another ale.
"So," Vixen began, folding her hands politely, "what can we help you with today?"
"Do you remember the tribute for our Chief of Staff and her baby?" Levi asked politely.
"Oh yeah," Cinderclaws muttered, scratching his chin. "The do-or-divorce tradition."
Solo winced.
"So," Cinderclaws continued, "have you decided what you're planning to do?"
"Yes," Solo said, setting down his mug. "I'm going to hunt a dragon."
"And you came to us," Cinderclaws said slowly, eyes narrowing, "because of the saying that dwarves can make weapons capable of slaying dragons?"
"That's right," Solo replied, staring back just as intensely. "I need to know where I can find a dragon."
The air grew thick.
"Hmmm…" Cinderclaws said. "That would be… difficult."
Solo swallowed.
Silence stretched.
They kept staring at each other, locked in a tense eye contact.
"Because that saying," Cinderclaws finally said, "was made for marketing purposes only by our ancestors."
"What!?" Solo shouted.
Levi chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
"Ambassador," Vixen sighed, "you should have said that at the beginning."
"But he was looking at me so intensely," Cinderclaws replied defensively. "I didn't want to break the mood. Besides, you're the one who told me to stop being too blunt and read the room like a proper ambassador!"
"Yes," Vixen sighed again, longer this time, "and apparently I still have so much to teach you."
"So the dwarves have no information about dragons at all?" Levi asked.
"Well… not the kind that's known to the public," Cinderclaws said, rubbing his chin while desperately trying to remember something useful. "But there might be one thing."
Everyone leaned in.
"What is it?" Solo asked. "Anything dragon-related is fine. I'm not picky at this point."
"When the Silverfist clan gave me a tour of their headquarters," Cinderclaws began, "they showed me their family heirloom. Something they call the 'dragon egg'."
Solo straightened instantly. "A real dragon egg?"
"Not really," Cinderclaws admitted. "It looks more like a rock."
Solo slumped.
"But," Cinderclaws continued quickly, "it keeps vibrating. Repeatedly. Even after hundreds of years."
Solo slowly sat back up.
"The Silverfist say their ancestor found it where a dragon once rested. Whether that's true or not… I have no idea."
The table went quiet.
Solo leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "Well, I guess that's my first clue then."
Levi raised an eyebrow. "You're starting from Dwargonia?"
"Yeah," Solo nodded. "If I'm going to look for a dragon, I might as well start where the marketing lies are strongest."
"Well then," Cinderclaws muttered, "I should probably inform home that you're coming."
"And I'll arrange transport with the Secret Service," Levi added smoothly.
"Nuh-uh."
Everyone turned.
Famine had just finished draining his pint and slammed it onto the table.
"No one will do anything for Solo," he declared. "He's not starting this adventure as a Prime Minister."
Silence.
"He will do it using only his own power," Famine continued, pointing at Solo with the empty mug, "as Solo. Not as the Murican leader."
Solo stared at the table.
"Sigh…" he exhaled heavily. "I guess… this will be like 130 years ago all over again."
---
Bashington DC, Nearby Wasteland
Meanwhile, at a nearby wasteland, Lilith had already begun her pregnancy exercise.
With Luke.
BOOOOM–CLANK–WHIIZZ–BOOOM–SPARK–BZZZT–BOOOM!
Explosions tore through the clouds. Energy beams carved glowing scars through the air. Shockwaves rippled across the land, flattening what little vegetation dared to exist. Both Luke and Lilith were already in their true demon forms—flying, colliding, separating, then colliding again with the enthusiasm of gods who hated each other deeply and had no coping mechanisms.
"What are you, five years old?" Luke snarled, firing another beam at her. "Calling your daddy to beat me up?! During business hour?!"
"I'm not asking him!" Lilith snapped, twisting mid-air as the beam missed her by centimeters. "Maybe he just knows you're an asshole who deserves to be put in your place!"
She blinked.
One instant she was gone.
The next, she was behind Luke.
"Which is writhing on the ground!" Lilith roared, swinging her claw down with full power.
CLANK!
Her strike was blocked.
Luke raised his sword behind his back without even looking, stopping her claw dead in its tracks.
"You think you can pull the same trick twice on me?" Luke grinned, wings flaring wide.
"Tch," Lilith clicked her tongue.
Luke spun, slashing with his second sword. Lilith was forced to fly backward, skidding through the air as sparks burst from the impact. Luke immediately gave chase, sword raised, laughing like a lunatic.
Far below, Sam, War, and Bub watched the apocalypse unfold like a scheduled program.
Bub scribbled on his clipboard, occasionally nodding.
"I heard your new fighter plane managed to kill an Archangel," War said casually. "Congrats."
"Thanks," Bub replied, not looking up.
"Heh… guess we really are living in an age where it doesn't need an ancient demon like me or a demon duke like you to rock heaven anymore," War muttered.
"It's called progress," Bub said, finally looking up with a grin. "And I'm the one who build it. Muhahaha."
Ting. Ting.
Sam's phone vibrated.
He glanced down, then raised his head.
"Oh," Sam announced, "Solo decided to go dragon hunting."
War raised an eyebrow. "Well, a dragon's worthy enough. None of us ever defeated one."
"I agree," Sam nodded.
He looked back up at the sky, where Lilith and Luke were currently turning clouds into shrapnel.
"A dragon's head as proof of fatherhood…" Sam murmured to himself.
He smiled faintly.
"Heh. That would be something."
---
Bashington DC, Pentagon
Back at the Pentagon, another group was sighing heavily.
Solo and Mo stood in front of a large monitor, staring at it deeply.
"Are you sure this is our best option?" Mo asked, voice heavy. "No SEALs? No Green Berets? No other special operations units?"
"Unfortunately, no…" Stan sighed, rubbing his face. "This is our best option."
Mo slowly turned to him.
"Despite their… unorthodox nature," Stan continued, choosing each word carefully, "they've already proven themselves to be well-versed in adventuring, and they have more experience operating in foreign soil than any other unit in Murica."
That sentence hurt to say.
Both of them turned.
At the end of the table, Death sat quietly, sipping her coffee elegantly.
"I'm fine with those four," Death said calmly.
Stan and Mo froze.
"The demons are lower rank," she continued, eyes half-lidded. "No above-average power. So yes—"
She took another sip.
"They are qualified to be serfs for Solo's journey."
Stan and Mo sighed in perfect unison.
Slowly, painfully, they turned back to the monitor.
Four pictures stared back at them.
Irving.
Kovalski.
Bella.
Ivy.
The whole misfit gang all grinning.
"I know our Prime Minister is immortal," Mo muttered, "but I really hope we don't somehow kill him with this arrangement."
"I sure hope so, Mo…" Stan whispered. "I sure hope so."
---
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