The divine fire of the Tower of Babel altered many lives and events that year. Take the demonic faction, for instance—they deliberately stalled peace talks to squeeze more benefits and recover their strength. Now, not only have they lost their surplus gains, but they might even have to pay extra.

Utterly infuriating. Similarly, the various churches that had gradually declined after the fall of the gods began to make a comeback…

But what did any of this have to do with Esther?

He was still just a child.

Young El was currently exploring Uncle Byron’s weapon collection on Dragon Island with his best friend, Eli. Standing on tiptoe, he peered over the display case to examine a replica of the Final Greatsword up close.

Legend held that the original greatsword belonged to the King of Men from the stone slab intended for the funeral colossus of his mortal enemy, it now stands as a testament to the past. Beside the replica, ashen gold inscribed the King of Men’s final words: “After death, there should be no rest. One must continue to fight for the living.”

Young El knew nothing of the Final Greatsword or the Human King, nor whether the latter had truly returned from beyond as his last words commanded. All he knew was that this sword—shaped like an inverted coffin and occasionally emitting a low, funeral-bell-like hum—looked incredibly cool!

If only he could stick some star stickers on it, it would be even

Esther has recently become obsessed with “artistic creation.” To be precise, he’s started learning fine arts under Uncle Green Dragon. Uncle Green Dragon says art isn’t just about doodling and painting; it encompasses many other forms, like carving and pottery.

To rescue his lab equipment from the little one’s clutches, Lich Savvy taught Esther an even more devious trick— stickers. He crafted all sorts of flashy little stickers for him: fruit ones, rainbow ones, and Esther’s current favorite, star stickers. This little white curly-haired kid has been sticking them everywhere he goes lately.

Uncle Byron’s vast armory contained far more impressive treasures than replica swords. Before leaving, he specifically instructed the two cubs: “Stick whichever one you like, but it’s best if each of you stick only one type of sticker.”

He would give them whatever they liked, but the little ones were too young to remember which was their favorite and which belonged to the other.

The sticker method, however, was perfectly clear.

Elder Byron had learned this at some covert charity auctions among the human race. Each guest received small stickers of different colors or patterns. Placing a sticker next to an exhibit’s description box signaled bidding interest in that item.

“As long as it’s not under a protective cover, you can touch anything you’re curious about.”

“Because none of these are expensive?”

“Because none of these will harm you.” The silver dragon elder, who always called elves rich bastards but was actually filthy wealthy himself, chuckled and ruffled the cub’s white fur. ”Remember what the first lesson in the childcare squad was? — Safety first. Nothing else matters, because…“

”Because you’re the most important!” Little El had already learned to blurt out answers.

“Yes, you. You are the most important.” Byron tapped the youngling’s chest.

Dragon parenting was this contradictory—rough yet doting. The roughness showed in how they defined the armory as a playground for the young ones to roam freely. The doting was evident in how, even though this armory belonged to the Dragon Clan’s Grand Elder, the young ones didn’t need to say a single “please, please” before he’d already taken them on a tour.

Of course, this was merely one of Elder Byron’s many collection rooms, specifically opened for the young ones. Though even that statement seemed absurd in itself.

At least, the Lich Master on Saint Son Eli’s end had already let out a wail of despair.

Even these replica swords were one-of-a-kind masterpieces, meticulously crafted by Dwarven artisans as exact 1:1 copies of the originals. With the original swords lying dormant alongside the King of Men for untold centuries, these replicas had become priceless treasures beyond valuation. Could the young ones even appreciate them? Let me handle this!

The scholar-type Lich, upon seeing the Dragon Clan’s collection room, was like a mouse dropped into a rice bin—on the verge of overexcitement.

Unfortunately, after witnessing the fate of those treasures in Nidhogg’s lair, Elder Byron had explicitly posted a notice at the entrance to his own collection room: —No Lich or Dogs Allowed.

Now, Savvy could only satisfy his curiosity through his disciple’s magical transmissions.

Originally, Elder Byron planned to take the two young ones room by room through his collection chamber, built out of sheer idleness. Yes, sheer idleness—not even worthy of the term “pride,” for that was reserved solely for his exquisite culinary tastes.

Speaking of fine cuisine…

Byron shot a wary glance at Nidhogg, reminding him, “You will honor your promise, won’t you?”

“My sincerity.” The dragon presented the fried fish cakes, already wrapped in oil paper. They glowed golden brown, promising a crisp exterior and tender interior, infused with just the right amount of magic.

After carefully “verifying the funds,” he was satisfied and promptly led the dragon to meet their guest for the day. Unexpected events always arrive before tomorrow, and he had some urgent official business to attend to. These individuals could conveniently assist Nidhogg with a minor task.

Before departing, the uneasy Silver Dragon Elder stationed his assistant at the entrance to the collection room. The walnut-colored door, with its golden handle wide open, ensured that should any danger arise, the skilled assistant could immediately enter and rescue the young dragon.

But Esther was quite well-behaved, showing no inclination to touch the dangerous items under the cover.

He merely circled the replica of the Final Greatsword several times, back and forth, as if performing a ritual. Once finished, he stood with his hands on his hips, admiring his masterpiece. Look! The Star Greatsword!

This pitch-black giant sword, as long and wide as a full-grown adult, should have gleamed with a cold, hard light, radiating the unstoppable might of a sovereign. Instead, it now resembled a kindergarten bulletin board, covered in crooked, childish drawings. Some were poorly affixed, their edges curling precariously. Whenever the blade emitted its unique, bell-like chime, the stickers trembled and rustled, as if they might fall off at any moment. Yet they clung precariously to this ultimate weapon of slaughter.

Under the Saint Son Eli’s unspoken, hesitant gaze, Esther opened his pocket’s sticker collection, eagerly hoping his friend would choose a favorite design to share in the joy of sticker-sticking.

But Eliadeos flatly refused, rejecting the offer without hesitation.

It was painfully obvious why the Dragon Clan’s Grand Elder treated them so well: Esther’s father was His Majesty Nidhogg, the ancient dragon. Back when Eliadios was still the duke’s heir, he knew this dynamic all too well. He understood perfectly where his boundaries and limits lay as the mere appendage of an appendage, brought in as an afterthought.

Of course, Eliadeos thought, he wouldn’t blame El for not understanding these things. It was only natural. He himself hadn’t understood them when his grandfather was alive, nor had he needed to.

“You don’t like any of them?” Esther’s beautiful golden eyes widened in surprise, round and sparkling like jewels.

“Hmm, nothing much,” the blond-haired, blue-eyed Saint Son lowered his gaze, trying his best not to look around, even though the precious grimoires lining the bookshelves held a deadly allure for him.

“Then let’s eat!”

“…Hm?”

“Eat, you know.” After Esther spoke again, he pulled out the cod fish cakes his father had made before leaving from his portable game storage.

When the great dragon cooked for the silver dragon, he naturally hadn’t forgotten his own son.

Fresh cod caught just this morning at four a.m. from the frigid seas, its gills still glowing coral-red. Mixed with radishes whose cut stems oozed emerald-green juice, wholegrain flour personally ground by the dragon father, eggs from the Lofoten Islands, and sour cream fermented in juniper barrels—all whipped together into a fluffy fish paste resembling ocean waves.

When the iron skillet glowed faintly blue over low heat, it was the perfect moment to fry the fish cakes until golden brown on both sides. As freshly ground nutmeg powder sifted down with a soft rustle, the entire kitchen filled with an irresistibly mouthwatering aroma.

The black dragon truly possessed a natural talent for cooking.

His young cub would always stand eagerly before the hearth, helping Dad count down the magic number seven. Hmm, his son was incredibly gifted at counting!

Amid the sizzle of butter, the edges of the fish cakes began to form crispy, golden-brown crisps, like patterns of ice cracks. Finally, drizzled with the lingonberry sauce Uncle Green Dragon had been curing since last year, the cakes took on a layered, sunset-like glow. The incredibly delicious Sura-style fried fish cakes were ready!

Brother Eli explained that Sura was the capital city of the Upper Penia Federation. The Upper Penia Federation and the Glorious Empire were the two superpowers of the Human Realm, the largest and most important entities. The Federation was closer to the sea, renowned for its exceptional seafood, with many famous seafood recipes originating from there.

While Brother Eli, seemingly an all-knowing encyclopedia, shared his knowledge, El was left with nothing but burying his head in chewing munch munch.

At this very moment, he seemed to have truly cast aside the great mission of sticking stickers, left only with the joy of sharing food with friends: “How (munch munch munch) can these fish cakes (munch munch munch) be this delicious? (munch munch munch).”

Eliadeos never expected Esther to understand his predicament, and logically, he shouldn’t have.

But the situation before them was this: Esther was trying his hardest to comfort him in the best way he could think of. Or perhaps “comfort” wasn’t quite right. More accurately, it was simply Esther’s nature. He never said things like, “Since you don’t like it, I won’t either.” He only expressed his steadfast commitment to sharing the same fate through his actions.

With not a shred of regret.

It wasn’t because his dragon father could grant him more; in Esther’s worldview, living beings always held greater value than inanimate objects.

Through their time together these past days, the Holy Son Eli had come to fully grasp his companion’s values.

A virtue so dazzling it always made Eliadeos feel inadequate by comparison. He could exploit this flawlessly to effortlessly obtain resources once unimaginable, like the support of ancient dragons or the treasures of the dragon clan… But in the end, he just smiled. From the pile of flashy stickers, he picked a small black dot representing himself and stuck it onto his good friend’s gray-blue silk shirt.

Esther was flustered by the sticker and let out a kitten-like “Hm?”

“You’re my favorite person in this room,” declared the Holy Child, standing half a head taller than the little boy, with solemn earnestness. “Alright, go pick your favorite now. You’ve already eaten too many snacks today.”

And then?

When the dragon returned, he was greeted face-to-face by his son’s sticker assault—both the genuine hug after picking him up and the inexplicable barrage of stickers plastered all over him. From the collar embroidered with pearl buttons to the chest adorned with various honorary medals, his son had covered him completely.

A full-blown sticker demon outbreak.

And the little one in his arms seemed far from satisfied. Now he was straining his tiny arms, trying to stick the star stickers onto Uncle Byron behind his dad.

The silver-haired beauty leaned in, happily indulging him: “Why the sudden urge to stick things everywhere?”

Following Elder Byron’s gaze, he saw the tiny Saint Son in the collection room, covered in stickers, wanting to take them off yet reluctant to do so. All traces of his previous little-adult composure had vanished, leaving only cheeks flushed bright red, spreading from his ears all the way down to his neck.

The quick-witted little El happily declared, “Because in this room, I like Eli the most!” He liked him so, so much that he stuck on lots and lots of stickers.

Of course, now that Daddy had entered, his favorite person became Daddy, and the little boy began diligently sticking stickers on his father. He also liked Uncle Silver Dragon, so he stuck one on him, too.

The human envoy group, which had followed them just a few steps behind, was already screaming internally.

Is this something we’re supposed to see?

Is this something we should be seeing?

An ancient dragon covered head to toe in star stickers? Are we ever going to leave Dragon Island today?

Clearly, they could still leave. Elder Byron apologetically explained, “The collection room is a bit messy—please forgive the disorder. The replica of the Final Greatsword is right there. As I said, you may borrow it. No need to feel pressured. It’s no big deal. I only require a very small favor in return.”

Before arriving, the human delegation hadn’t fully believed this claim. Now, seeing the greatsword covered in stickers identical to the dragon’s…their inner turmoil was beyond words.

Meanwhile, the ancient dragon continued to glare intently at the one on Byron’s face. That miserly look made it even less likely that Byron would peel off the sticker. “Well, El just happens to like me. If you don’t like it, report me to the sheriff.”

These human envoys were brought by the permanent human embassy on Dragon Island, tasked with negotiating recent cooperative matters with the dragon race. Everything proceeded smoothly until one envoy from the Upper Pannian Federation attempted to make an unreasonable request.

As mentioned earlier, the capital of the Upper Pannian Federation is called Sura. In the ancient language, Sura signifies “Dawn of the End.”

The Human King hails from the Federation, and his Final Greatsword derives its name from this very place.

The Federation’s envoy hoped to discuss with Elder Byron the possibility of borrowing a replica of the Final Greatsword. Their War Memorial Day was approaching. The genuine Final Greatsword had long since been laid to rest with the Human King. The replica most closely resembling the Final Greatsword, recognized by the Dwarves, was the one held as a treasured artifact by the Dragon Clan’s Grand Elder. They hadn’t held out much hope, but the other party was unexpectedly accommodating.

So accommodating it felt almost unreal—something felt fishy. Their worries finally eased upon seeing the sticker giant sword. The Dragon Clan was likely just plain wealthy.

But now the question was: “El, do you really want that greatsword?”

Byron hadn’t expected the little one to take a liking to it either, and now he found himself in a bit of a bind. Not because choosing between the Chosen One and the youngling posed any dilemma—such a choice was utterly meaningless to the dragon clan, who would always, and only ever, choose the youngling. The difficulty lay elsewhere.

But the little one was already shaking his head like a rattle: “I don’t want it. I just want to make it prettier. How about it? Pretty, right?”

The dragon dad holding the cub was the first to feign blindness: “It’s especially beautiful. Daddy wants to keep it as a collection piece.”

“I can stick something else on Daddy.” Not a single one of Daddy’s honorary medals had escaped the cub’s mischievous hands. Esther was already so immersed in her art that she didn’t know what was happening around her.

In any case, everyone was happy. Only after the human envoys happily departed with the greatsword did Elder Byron turn to his friend and say, “Alright, now they owe us an enormous dragon debt. Your matter should be fine.”

“Thank you.”

“For your culinary skills, and for bearing such an adorable cub.” Elder Byron rolled his eyes again, though less gracefully this time. If it weren’t for the chance to savor a meal prepared by an ancient dragon himself, and the fact that the cub was a dragon clan’s good-luck charm, would he have gone to such lengths?

“You think he’s mine too, right?” Dragons only hear what they want to hear.

Byron: I didn’t! I didn’t! Don’t make stuff up! And seriously, why are you still clinging to this ridiculous idea that primal power can lay eggs?

“Even an elf tree can bear offspring. Why can’t my primal power do the same?” What makes me inferior to elves? 

Byron: …That’s such a sharp angle, I can’t even argue with it.

Elder Byron, who was incredibly kind to the young ones, not only gave Little El everything except his greatsword but also packed up and handed over the precious magic tome that Eliadeos had just glanced at a few extra times upon entering.

Holy Child: ” !!“

”Young ones should think about what young ones need to think about. The world of adults is still far beyond your reach.” The wise Elder Byron crouched down and gave the little Holy Child a playful flick on the forehead. When he gave things, he truly meant to give them—why would he care about some ancient dragon or not? He was filthy rich, after all! “This is your parting gift. After all, you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

Just how much had the Divine Flame of the Tower of Babel influenced events? Young Esther didn’t care, but he would soon learn it had even affected him and his best friend.

Once the divine flame passed through the Path of Light, the existence of the two Holy Sons ceased to be an anomaly. Instead, it became irrefutable proof that the divine flame undoubtedly belonged to the Goddess of Light.

The entire Church of Light was swept clean of its long-standing ailments.

Eliadeos was no longer a Holy Son forced into hiding. Instead, he became the universally acclaimed Supreme Glory.

The very circumstances that had once nearly suffocated the small Holy Child were now effortlessly overturned in the blink of an eye by mere words. Absurd and laughable. Yet Eliadeos felt he ought to be happy about it—if only he didn’t have to part ways with his friend.