The Armored Dragon King, Perugius Dola—a name that carried weight across continents, whispered in reverence and terror depending on who spoke it.

Hero who defeated and sealed the Demon God Laplace when the world teetered on the edge of absolute destruction.

A Dragon species born from catastrophe itself, emerging on the day the world nearly ended at the Human God’s machinations.

Descendant of the deceased Dragon Ruler, inheritor of powers that predated human civilization.

God-ranked Summoner. God-ranked Barrier Master. Titles that barely captured the scope of his abilities, like calling an ocean a puddle.

For centuries, he had been docile—if such a word could apply to a being capable of reshaping landscapes with casual thought.

His existence centered on a single, consuming purpose: ensuring the complete destruction of the sealed Demon God Laplace.

What he had failed to finish in their first encounter haunted him across the ages, driving him to wander the continent in preparation for the day when the seal would inevitably weaken.

On this particular sunny day, as had become his routine across countless years, he traversed the land in his preferred mode of transportation—the flying castle that served as both home and fortress.

The massive structure cut through clouds with serene majesty, its barriers maintaining perfect climate control while its master contemplated problems that spanned geological time scales.

The interruption came without warning.

“My master! There is an attack!” The voice belonged to one of his elemental servants, its usual stoic composure cracking with something approaching panic.

“What?! How could that be?” Perugius’s response carried genuine surprise.

His barriers were legendary—few beings possessed the power to breach them, and fewer still would be foolish enough to attempt such a thing.

“They have unexpectedly appeared inside our defenses, and we are currently attempting to capture them!” The elemental’s report sparked immediate tactical analysis. Intruders who could bypass his barriers represented either unprecedented magical innovation or catastrophic security failure.

“Very well. Direct me to their positions. I’ll visit the location personally…” The Dragon King’s voice carried the weight of impending judgment. Whoever had dared violate his sanctuary would learn why his name inspired such universal caution.

“Accepted…”

“This is bad, this is absolutely dreadful!” Matthias’s panic was palpable as they navigated corridors that existed in defiance of normal architectural principles.

The walls themselves seemed to shift and breathe, alive with magical energies that made his craftsman’s instincts scream warnings.

He had never imagined that he would one day infiltrate the legendary Armored Flying Castle through what could only be described as breaking and entering. The very idea was insane—yet here they were, racing through impossible passages while pursued by constructs that moved with predatory grace.

Mud, despite being clutched protectively in Matthias’s arms, was grinning with pure exhilaration.

For a boy who had spent years listening to stories of adventure and danger, this was better than any tale.

The golems pursuing them moved with mechanical precision, their footsteps creating rhythmic thunder that echoed through the castle’s vast spaces.

“How could you possibly know the teleportation device’s activation code?” Lucas shouted over the chaos, his movements fluid as he deflected a golem’s crushing blow.

The young Undertaker’s combat skills were impressive—each parry perfectly timed, each counter-attack precisely placed to maximize effect while conserving energy.

Tring, tring.

The Minstrel’s response was musical rather than verbal, his instrument singing with notes that seemed to bend reality around them.

Lynn moved through the pursuing golems like water, each strum of his strings creating subtle distortions that caused their attacks to miss by hair’s breadth margins.

His smile remained serene, untouched by the violence swirling around him.

“Now all that remains is to meet the castle’s owner and ask him about Devils!” Lynn’s declaration carried cheerful confidence that seemed entirely inappropriate given their circumstances.

“How?!” Matthias’s question was nearly lost in the cacophony of pursuit and evasion.

“By being arrested!” Mud’s response sparkled with childish glee, his artificial eyes tracking the geometric patterns of their pursuers’ movements with mechanical fascination.

“NO!” Lynn’s denial was emphatic, his musical evasion never faltering. “I know you crave excitement, boy, but there’s a real possibility of being executed without the opportunity to ask our questions. For now, we can only evade capture and find the owner ourselves!”

Their flight through the castle’s labyrinthine passages was interrupted by a sound that made the pursuing golems seem like gentle whispers—a massive explosion that shook the entire structure, followed by the distinctive crash of something immensely strong meeting something theoretically immovable.

“What was that?!” Matthias’s scream barely registered above the rumbling aftershocks that continued to reverberate through the castle’s framework.

Lucas felt his blood freeze as familiar mana signatures washed over them in waves. “This Touki is…” The young operative’s voice carried recognition and something approaching dread.

He had felt this power before, witnessed firsthand what it could accomplish when unleashed without restraint.

Mud’s artificial fingers tightened convulsively on Matthias’s clothing, his enhanced senses picking up nuances that others missed.

The approaching presence carried chaos incarnate—not the random destructiveness of natural disaster, but something far more purposeful and infinitely more dangerous.

“Hahaha! Arumanfi of the Light, is this your best effort?” The voice that followed the explosion carried manic joy, the sound of someone reveling in combat against opponents worthy of their attention.

Recognition dawned immediately. “Oh my goodness, is that your boss?” Lynn’s question to Lucas carried genuine curiosity mixed with professional interest. The Minstrel had clearly connected the dots between the legendary figures he’d heard described and the reality now manifesting before them.

Then came the second impact—BOOM!—as something emerged from the damaged wall in a cloud of pulverized stone and twisted metal. Through the settling dust, they saw a figure embedded in the opposite wall, the impact crater suggesting forces that defied casual comprehension.

Footsteps approached through the destruction, each step creating small tremors that spoke of barely contained power.

But what the others saw differed dramatically from Mud’s artificial perception.

Where normal vision revealed a masked figure moving with predatory confidence, Mud’s enhanced senses detected something far more complex.

The approaching presence radiated chaotic external forces unlike anything in his limited experience.

Within a single body, two distinct powers writhed against each other—not the harmonious balance of yin and yang, but something resembling two serpents attempting mutual consumption.

The boy observed what appeared to be fierce snakes locked in eternal combat, each trying to devour the other while simultaneously struggling for dominance.

Their Touki was chaos given form, repelling all attempts at restraint or control.

“What is that…” Mud’s whispered observation carried genuine awe mixed with instinctive fear.

His artificial nature allowed him to perceive energy patterns that others might miss, but this was beyond his experience or understanding.

“Hmmm, Undertaker. What are you doing here?” Claude’s voice cut through the settling dust with casual familiarity, as if encountering his subordinate in the middle of an ancient Dragon King’s fortress was merely mildly surprising.

“Woah! What a remarkable development! As predicted by your terrifying prophecies, Cloud King! You become more powerful each time I see you!” Lucas’s response mixed professional admiration with genuine concern. His master’s power had clearly grown since their last encounter, but the chaotic nature of that growth was troubling.

“Minstrel? What in seven hells?” Claude’s perplexity was understandable.

The mysterious bard they had been unable to locate despite deploying every available resource had simply appeared in what should have been one of the most secure locations on the continent.

But before further questions could be voiced, the castle’s true master made his entrance.

“Is it not somewhat impolite to destroy another’s residence, Cloud God?” The voice carried ancient authority, speaking with the measured cadence of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

Perugius Dola stepped into view surrounded by his elemental servants—beings whose individual power rivaled most human practitioners, yet who served as mere extensions of his will.

Some were stronger than Arumanfi, others weaker, but Claude recognized that their combined might represented a force capable of reshaping continents.

“I am merely responding to sudden murderous intent with appropriate force,” Claude replied with diplomatic precision. “It would indeed be impolite to barge into another’s home uninvited, but you don’t exactly provide conventional means of announcing one’s presence. Perhaps consider installing a doorbell that visitors can ring—or at least make it possible to knock!”

The Dragon King’s ancient features showed what might have been amusement. “I shall consider your suggestion seriously. Since it is indeed impolite to leave guests waiting in damaged corridors… follow me. Let us proceed to more appropriate accommodations.”

The reception hall embodied impossible luxury—furniture that existed in defiance of normal crafting techniques, walls that displayed living murals of historical events, air that carried the perfect balance of temperature and humidity without any visible climate control systems.

Five visitors sat on furniture that adjusted automatically to their individual preferences, facing the Dragon King across a space that felt simultaneously intimate and vast.

Perugius’s elemental entourage stood in perfect formation behind their master, while Lucas took his customary position behind Claude.

The young Undertaker’s posture suggested readiness for immediate violence, but his stance also showed deep respect for the ancient being who commanded their current environment.

Mud found Claude’s presence reassuring now that the chaotic Touki had been restrained.

Whatever internal conflict had been raging within his teacher seemed temporarily resolved, allowing the boy to relax slightly despite their extraordinary circumstances.

“Before we proceed with our discussion, I must confess curiosity about something.” Perugius’s words carried the weight of centuries, each syllable carefully chosen. “I believe I have never had the pleasure of meeting you, Minstrel… so how, precisely, did you acquire knowledge of the teleportation gate activation codes in the Strife Zone?”

The question landed like a physical blow, causing both Reida and Claude to stiffen with surprise.

Teleportation networks were among the most closely guarded secrets of the ancient world—knowing their access codes implied either unprecedented intelligence gathering or connections that predated recorded history.

Claude’s eyes found Lucas, receiving a subtle nod in return. Despite the fact that one of his most pressing questions had been answered indirectly, the implications were staggering.

Access to Perugius’s transportation network would be invaluable for future operations, but only with proper authorization.

“I simply know these things,” Lynn replied with infuriating casualness, his bardic persona firmly in place. “I will not elaborate further regardless of threats or inducements.

Let us proceed to more pressing matters and not waste time on trivial details!”

The dismissal was breathtaking in its audacity. Treating access to godlike transportation systems as “trivial details” demonstrated either supreme confidence or spectacular ignorance of the forces he was dealing with.

Neither Claude nor the others responded to Lynn’s refusal to elaborate. They had already recognized that the mysterious Minstrel harbored secrets none of them fully understood, and pressing for details would likely prove counterproductive.

“Very well, we shall return to that matter at a more appropriate time,” Perugius conceded with the magnanimity of someone secure in his ultimate authority. “For now, please explain the circumstances that led to your… unconventional intrusion into my fortress.”

The Dragon King poured himself tea from a service that materialized without visible servants, the liquid steaming with perfect temperature as he settled back to listen. His ancient patience was legendary, but his interest in their story was clearly genuine.

Lynn, Mud, and Matthias exchanged glances that carried volumes of unspoken communication.

Finally, Matthias assumed the role of primary narrator, his craftsman’s attention to detail making him the logical choice for comprehensive explanation.

“Everything began several years ago…” Matthias’s voice carried the weight of memory, of decisions that had shaped multiple lives in ways none of them could have anticipated.

The old man recounted his first encounter with the miraculous infant who had survived in conditions that should have proven fatal even to healthy children.

He described years of observation and care, providing opportunities for normal childhood development despite circumstances that defied conventional understanding.

His narrative painted pictures of patient craftsmanship—creating prosthetics that would grow with the child, maintaining artificial body parts that required constant adjustment, learning to read the subtle signs that indicated pain or discomfort in someone whose nervous system had been fundamentally altered.

“Obviously, some might doubt both the child’s remarkable resilience and the accuracy of my observations,” Matthias concluded with characteristic humility.

“I see. Given the information provided by our musical friend here, you believe the boy’s parent employed sacrificial magic to summon Devils?” Claude’s question carried undertones that suggested deeper familiarity with such practices than casual academic interest would explain.

As he spoke, fragments of memory surfaced from his incarnations—games and comics from Kuro’s homeland that featured similar concepts, fictional narratives that might contain kernels of reality applicable to their current situation.

“I can understand the Minstrel’s reasoning, but there’s a logical inconsistency,” Claude continued thoughtfully. “There are no locations in the Strife Zone that have experienced sudden prosperity within the past several decades. Such dramatic changes would be impossible to hide from intelligence networks.”

His analysis drew on extensive study of regional development patterns, cross-referenced with information gathered from multiple sources across his various lifetimes.

The Strife Zone’s harsh conditions made any form of civilization precarious—sudden wealth or prosperity would create ripple effects visible from considerable distances.

“However, this is indeed the first time I’ve encountered references to Devil summoning,” Claude admitted. “Does the Summoning God possess knowledge of comparable practices?”

The question was directed toward Perugius with the respectful curiosity of one expert consulting another.

Claude’s own summoning abilities were considerable, but they paled in comparison to someone who commanded ancient spirits as subordinates.

“It appears that I, too, lack comprehensive knowledge of this phenomenon,” the Dragon King replied with surprising candor. “None of the ancient spirits in my service have dealt with this particular type of Devil. We have never encountered summoned creatures that use a child’s physical form as an anchor point in this realm. However, the topic is… intriguing.”

Arumanfi materialized beside his master with the fluid grace characteristic of high-level elementals, accompanied by an unknown spirit whose presence made the air itself seem denser.

The newcomer’s form was difficult to focus on directly, suggesting power levels that strained normal perception.

The unknown spirit approached Perugius with deference that spoke of ancient hierarchies, bending low to whisper information that others couldn’t quite hear.

Whatever intelligence was being shared caused subtle shifts in the Dragon King’s expression—surprise, perhaps, or recognition of something significant.

“I see…” Perugius’s response carried implications that extended far beyond simple acknowledgment.

The weight of unspoken knowledge settled over the reception hall like a physical presence.

Whatever the spirit had reported was clearly relevant to their discussion, but the Dragon King’s decision to process the information privately suggested complexities that would require careful consideration before sharing.

Matthias felt his craftsman’s instincts responding to subtle changes in the room’s atmosphere.

Years of working with delicate mechanisms had taught him to recognize the precise moments when systems shifted from stable operation to something requiring immediate attention.

The conversation was approaching a threshold beyond which their situation might change dramatically.

Mud’s artificial senses detected energy fluctuations that others missed—currents of power moving beneath the surface of polite discourse.

His unique nature allowed him to perceive the true stakes of their discussion, even if his limited experience prevented full understanding of the implications.

The Dragon King’s ancient gaze swept over his guests with renewed intensity, as if seeing them for the first time rather than mere curiosities who had breached his defenses.

Whatever information his spirit had provided was reshaping his understanding of their situation in ways that might prove either fortunate or catastrophic.

The silence stretched, pregnant with possibilities that none of them dared voice aloud.

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