Chapter 144: So Be It
"Ah, it's not something easily explained in a few heartbeats," Borch said with a weary smile, gesturing toward the girl in the corner who was still buried in her food.
"We were supposed to arrive this morning, but the girl's mastery over polymorphy is still... unrefined. She nearly slipped up at the city gates. I had to find a quiet place to help her stabilize her form. Who knew that just as we finished, your friend here would corner us? He's been hounding us all the way here, practically begging for a duel!"
Dandelion turned a bewildered gaze toward Arthur. The young knight threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"My friend, look at it from my perspective! If you were walking down the street and felt someone burning a hole in your back with their gaze—at a time when you happen to have a powerful, vengeful enemy—wouldn't you want to clear the air? I considered the possibility of a misunderstanding, but the 'Count' here was all evasive talk while heading straight for my inn. It's hard not to draw the wrong conclusion."
"Ha! So that's how it is!" Dandelion exclaimed, his voice ringing with the tone of a man who had suddenly solved the riddle of the universe. "I see now! A misunderstanding! A total, utter misunderstanding!"
The bard looked ready to launch into a lengthy mediation, but from the moment he had appeared, he had become the gravitational center of the hall. The calls for a song were growing louder and more insistent.
Resigned, he grabbed Geralt, who had been brooding in solitary sorrow by a window, and shoved him toward the group. He left the witcher to lead them to a quieter corner to talk.
Compared to the bard, the witcher's vocabulary was admittedly sparse, but it was also far more efficient. He laid the matter out with a bluntness Dandelion could never achieve.
Geralt pointed a finger at Borch. "He's a dragon. He's traveling with his daughter and wants no trouble with strangers."
He then pointed at Arthur. "He recently witnessed a bloody conspiracy on the Brugge border, so his reaction to anything unusual is... aggressive."
The two men stared at each other for a moment before their expressions softened into mutual understanding.
Arthur studied Borch with undisguised curiosity. "It's the first time I've met a dragon capable of taking human form. Truly remarkable."
Borch returned the sentiment. "And it's the first time I've met a human capable of sensing hostility through a mere look. You're like something out of a legend."
With the pleasantries finished, silence fell over the trio—Geralt was lost in thoughts of his distant lover, while Arthur and Borch simply didn't know each other well enough to keep the conversation flowing.
Seeking to break the awkward stillness, Arthur reached for a neutral topic. "So, about that hostility... was it you or your daughter who unleashed it? Why such a violent reaction out of nowhere?"
Geralt winced. Who asks a question like that to a dragon they just met? But it was too late to signal Arthur to shut up.
Borch looked slightly sheepish. "Truth be told, that's my fault. To keep Saskia from being reckless in the city, I told her stories about 'Dragon Hunters'—dangerous men who hunt our kind for sport, their hands stained with dragon blood..."
Arthur let out a dry laugh. "So, she took me for a butcher? There are thousands of people on the streets. Why did she single me out?"
Borch spread his hands wide. "Because of the dragon-scent on you, of course."
"Dragon... presence?" Arthur blinked, mishearing the term.
Arthur and Geralt voiced their confusion in unison, turning toward Borch with gazes that demanded an explanation.
"It is dragon-scent, not dragon-presence! Dragon-scent is a quality only kin can perceive—and it is exceptionally pungent on you."
At this, Borch gave a sheepish smile. "Our kind is dwindling. Most of us will live and die without ever crossing paths with another of our blood, so I excised the lessons on 'Dragon-presence' from the girl's curriculum. She assumed dragon-scent was something that could be usurped through slaughter—she likely mistook you for the Dragon Hunter I described."
Arthur felt a mix of shock and amusement. He had never expected to one day earn a reputation fearsome enough to serve as a nursery bogyman for young dragons. As for this so-called "dragon-scent," it was likely the result of the Thu'um—that linguistic power rooted in a dragon's soul—leaking from his being.
He shook his head with a light chuckle, letting the matter slide, and pivoted to a more pressing topic. "Earlier, when I mentioned Corve, you seemed to hold him in utter contempt. Have you had dealings with him?"
Geralt chimed in from the side. "The conspiracy Arthur witnessed recently likely had Corve's fingers in the pie."
Hearing that they shared a common enemy, Borch's demeanor warmed significantly. To the accompaniment of Dandelion's soaring lute and song drifting from below, he began to recount a tale of the past.
In those days, Borch had not yet met his Zerrikanian guardians. He was still attempting to find a way for his kind to coexist with humanity. Relying on a golden dragon's unique ability to polymorph, he wandered the lands in human guise and quickly became enamored with the ideals of human chivalry.
To follow that path, he traveled far and wide, hunting bandits and punishing corrupt petty lords. He soon earned a grand reputation as a knight-errant and befriended a band of "kindred spirits." Borch may have been centuries old, but before the duplicity of human emotion, he was as naive as a child. He truly believed they were bound by shared ideals, never dreaming that one day they would "share" his heart and liver in a far more literal sense.
The shift occurred shortly after a man named Corve joined their ranks. He was a handsome young man with a bright, easy smile; though he claimed to be a mercenary, he got along famously with Borch's knightly companions. He was particularly lethal with a weighted iron staff, and his skill was such that he could even trade a few blows with Borch himself. Within days, he had become the group's second-in-command.
In those days, Borch was brimming with passion, confident that he could lead this land toward a brilliant new future. Until, one day, he awoke from his dreams to find his body leaden and weak, his limbs bound by thick, heavy ropes. The very "brothers" he had campaigned with stood over him with bared blades, prepared to carve him open.
They were so confident in their poisons and their methods that they were arrogant enough not to kill him immediately. Instead, they boasted of their entire plan. As it turned out, mercenary was not Corve's only identity; he was also a sorcerer of considerable standing—which meant he, above all others, understood the true market value of a dragon.
Having found the breadcrumbs that revealed Borch was a dragon in human skin, Corve had orchestrated a bold, mad scheme. He hired a small army to pose as knights and flock to Borch's side. Once the time was ripe, they fed the dragon a massive overdose of poison.
"Clearly, those fellows failed to account for proper dosage," Borch said, shrugging his shoulders. "Though my form was human, my essence remained that of a dragon. The dose they forced down my throat was enough to paralyze three grown men until they died of respiratory failure. But for a dragon, that amount of toxin provided a lethargy no more bothersome than a few heavy flaps of the wings."
"Hmph. Not to be critical, but you're too soft-hearted," Arthur sighed, a note of regret in his voice. "If it were me, I'd have made sure every one of them stayed dead."
Borch shook his head. "I didn't let anyone go. Once they finished explaining their grand plan, I shifted back to my true form and tore them apart with tooth, claw, and flame. All except Corve—he opened a portal into the void and escaped."