"Yumeria. Why do you follow these humans?"
The voice was cold. Measured. Carrying the particular brand of concern that was indistinguishable from judgment.
Arthur turned to see a silver-haired elf woman approaching, her lithe form clad in the polished armor of a knight.
Her features were aristocratic—high cheekbones, piercing eyes, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
She moved with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate and controlled.
Her name surfaced from the depths of Arthur's memory.
Erdellia.
He remembered her.
Not from this life.
From his past one.
From a pornhwa he'd picked up out of bored curiosity and dropped halfway through because the premise was fucking insufferable.
The art had been good—excellent, even. The smut had been top-tier.
But the story? The characters? A goddamn rage-bait factory designed to make you hate everyone on the page.
And this character? She'd been one of the worst parts. Toxic. Arrogant. Obsessively attached to her "queen" in a way that screamed repressed lesbian yearning.
Apparently, those traits weren't just canon. They were real.
Great, Arthur thought. A yandere elf knight with a racism problem. Just what this party needed.
Erdellia's cold expression softened—just slightly—as she looked at Yumeria.
Concern flickered beneath the ice.
"I heard you were bullied again. Because of your son's mixed blood, Yumeria."
Then her gaze shifted to Kyle.
The softness vanished.
What replaced it was pure, unfiltered hatred.
Kyle winced but did not look away.
His small hands clenched at his sides, his jaw set with the weary resignation of a child who had endured this exact moment more times than he could count.
He had learned long ago that looking away only made it worse.
That showing weakness only invited more cruelty.
Arthur's brow furrowed.
What the fuck is this arrogant elf's problem?
Yumeria moved before anyone else could speak.
She stepped in front of her son, her body a living shield, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
"Please don't blame Kyle, Erdellia. I'm the one who is too weak."
Erdellia sighed—a sound heavy with something that might have been affection, twisted into frustration.
Erdellia's cold expression flickered—just for a moment—into something almost tender. "You are not weak, Yumeria. You are strong. You could be something more. Something magnificent."
Her gaze slid back to Kyle, and the tenderness curdled back into contempt. "But your son... he holds you back. He anchors you to a life of shame and suffering. If you would only—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Kyle's fists trembled.
His nails bit into his palms hard enough to leave marks.
But he said nothing.
Because what could he say?
Erdellia was right.
That was the worst part.
If he hadn't been born—if his mother hadn't borne a half-blood child—she wouldn't have been cast out.
She wouldn't have been pelted with stones.
She wouldn't have to endure the sneers and the whispers and the constant, grinding humiliation of being deemed "lesser" by her own people.
If I wasn't born...
The thought was old.
Familiar.
A wound that had never properly healed, just scabbed over and torn open again and again.
...Mother would be free.
He was on the verge of accepting it.
Of sinking back into the familiar, suffocating embrace of self-hatred.
Of believing, once again, that his very existence was a burden his mother should never have had to bear.
Then warmth enveloped his head.
A hand. Gentle. Firm. Grounding.
Kyle froze.
He looked up.
Arthur stood beside him, his emerald eyes soft but unyielding.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet—meant only for Kyle—yet it carried the weight of absolute truth.
"I'm a half-blood too, my friend."
Kyle's eyes widened.
"I'm a dragon," Arthur continued, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "But I am also human. Two natures. Two bloodlines. Neither one diminishes the other. Neither one makes me less."
He squeezed Kyle's shoulder gently.
"Your origin does not define your worth, young one. Your character defines your worth. Your actions. Your choices. What you choose to do with the life you've been given." His voice softened further.
His gaze flickered toward Yumeria, then back to Kyle.
"There was a great man who once said to me: 'Never ask what the world can do for you. Ask what you can do for the world.'"
Kyle's vision blurred.
Tears—hot, shameful, relieved—spilled down his cheeks. No one had ever spoken to him like this. No one except his mother had ever looked at him and seen anything other than a mistake.
"Thank you..." he whispered, his voice cracking.
Arthur smiled.
Then Erdellia opened her mouth again.
"That's a nice sentiment, human." Her voice dripped with disdain. "But are you worthy of speaking such words? You, who claim to be a dragon? You, who surround yourself with misfits and outcasts? What have you done to prove your worth?"
The air changed.
It was subtle—a shift in pressure, a charge of static electricity, the primal instinct that screamed danger—but everyone felt it.
Arthur's smile didn't waver.
But his eyes...
His eyes went cold.
"Silence, you wench."
The words were soft.
Almost casual.
Then the wind screamed.
An invisible blade of compressed air—a mere flick of Arthur's will—slashed across Erdellia's cheek.
The cut was precise.
Superficial.
A warning written in blood.
She staggered.
Her hand flew to her face, coming away wet and crimson.
"I'm... bleeding?"
She touched the wound again, as if confirming its reality.
Her eyes—those cold, arrogant eyes—widened with disbelief.
With shock.
No one had ever dared.
No one had ever been able to—
Her legs buckled.
She dropped to her knees on the stone floor, the impact jarring through her armored frame.
The world swam around her.
Her consciousness flickered like a candle in a storm, threatening to gutter out entirely.
What... what is this pressure?
She couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't do anything except kneel in the dust, bleeding from a wound she hadn't even seen coming, utterly and completely broken before a man who hadn't even drawn a visible weapon.
"Erdellia!"
Yumeria rushed to her side, her hands glowing with soft, green light as she pressed healing magic into the wound.
The cut closed—the skin knitting together seamlessly—but the shock remained.
Arthur turned away, dismissing the fallen knight from his attention.
"Kyle."
The boy straightened, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. "Yes, my lord?"
"Go. Accompany your mother. She may need you." Arthur's voice softened. "It's time for you to man up and show her your determination. Show her that you will protect her. Not someday. Not eventually. Now."
Kyle's chest swelled.
The tears were gone. In their place burned something new—something fierce and bright and hungry.
"I will, my lord." His voice didn't waver. "I will become as strong as you. I promise."
Arthur reached out and ruffled the boy's pale hair, a genuine warmth returning to his eyes.
"I look forward to it, my friend."
He gestured toward Yumeria and the kneeling Erdellia.
"Tell your mother this: after she tends to her... friend... she may choose to stay here, or she may choose to continue with us. We will be waiting outside. The choice is hers."
Kyle nodded firmly. "I will, my lord."
He turned and ran to his mother's side, his small hands reaching out to help support Erdellia's weight.
The elf knight flinched at his touch, her eyes flickering with something complicated—hatred, confusion, and perhaps the faintest spark of shame—but she didn't pull away.
Arthur watched for a moment, then turned and walked toward the exit.
His party fell into step behind him.
Olivia's expression was thoughtful.
Stephanie's was carefully neutral, though her eyes lingered on the bloodied elf knight with cold assessment.
Merlin, invisible and unseen, chuckled softly in Arthur's ear.
"That was cruel, my king. Efficient. But cruel."
Arthur didn't respond.
The moment they were outside, Cleare's form flickered into existence beside him.
Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed with simulated excitement.
"That was fucking cool, Master!"
Arthur blinked.
Then, slowly, a genuine laugh escaped him—warm and surprised and utterly human.
"Thank you, Cleare."
The AI beamed.