What an amazing little kid! Not only did he finish half a bowl of milk oatmeal porridge, but he also snuck a bite of Lord Job’s treasured Saint Donut Black Caramel Cream Puff from his spatial pouch.

The name was too long; no one could remember it in full.

The little one only remembered that the caramel-glazed puff pastry was truly delicious.

The stone giant, rough yet observant, had secretly watched Job several times. It wasn’t that he had any particular fondness for human food—just as humans couldn’t understand what was tasty about ore or sand, the stone giant found it hard to grasp the appeal of plant fruits.

He simply remembered this particular cream puff. Back then, before setting off on his journey, Job had nearly missed his once-every-six-months chance to enter the Abyssal Depths just to buy it.

He even spared no expense, using a rare spatial pouch that completely suspended time to store it.

“This is the pinnacle of cream puffs—a classic creation born to honor the patron deity of sweets,” Young Master Job declared. On Farres, this magical continent teeming with gods, even the deserts had their own deities. ”This one comes from a bakery on Hibbs Street with over three hundred years of history—a Victory Commemorative Edition for the Third Expeditionary War!”

That was the great war involving the dragon Nidhogg.

“This will also be the celebratory dessert when I find my future.” Job always believed that the more patience and waiting he invested in something, the more delicious it would become.

You could say he truly understood the concept of delayed gratification.

Yet now, Young Master Job casually shared his cherished sweet treat with everyone, as effortlessly as popping open a bottle of champagne. Why? Did he not plan to live for the days ahead?

Job did not explain. Only after the little one had eaten his fill and began chasing the dragon father’s tail in circles—as if discovering some new game—did he straighten his slightly disheveled clothes after the hurricane and formally reintroduce himself to the dragon before him.

Not that he hadn’t properly introduced himself earlier, when he mistakenly believed Nidhogg was an adventurer exploring the Abyss of Chaos like them.

This time, however, he added more detail.

“Greetings, Lord Nidhogg. I am Job Ponce de León, a human mage.

You likely don’t know me, but perhaps you’ve heard of my ancestor? During the late stages of the Third Expeditionary War, he served as Legion Commander of the Second Army of the Human Expeditionary Force, primarily responsible for the Eastern Front. He participated in the secret mission to escort the newly appointed Holy Maiden Juana to the borders of the Demon Realm…” At the time, Holy Maiden Juana was merely a newborn infant, yet she was already a pivotal figure capable of swaying the course of the war.

The dragon dismissed the lengthy tale, not hearing a single word. He cared little for any Holy Maiden and wouldn’t bother remembering a war he’d won centuries ago.

“Unfortunately, they were betrayed by a traitor and ambushed by the demonic forces’ main army, nearly suffering total annihilation.” Job attempted to stir the dragon’s memory of this insignificant skirmish in the vast river of time. He knew it would be difficult, but every event had its angle. “Did the elven expeditionary force nearly suffer a catastrophic defeat due to their own carelessness?”

Oh, that Nidhogg remembered. It was the most humiliating defeat for those Elves, arrogant for millennia. The point wasn’t the scale of their losses, but that they needed him—a Dragon—to rescue them.

Nidhogg would never forget the Elf King’s expression when he led the army back—a look of gratitude more painful than eating shit.

Even now, dragons love to bring this up whenever they quarrel with the elves.

So what?

What does this have to do with you? Nidhogg didn’t even spare Job a glance.

“My ancestor, Adam… Adam Ponce de León was also among the millions of lives you saved. He knew himself to be insignificant, yet he was filled with gratitude toward you. Our ancestor left a family creed: should any descendant of Ponce de León ever have the honor of meeting you again, we hope to express our gratitude anew and also dare to tell you what he lacked the courage to say back then—whenever and wherever you need us, the Ponce de León family will not hesitate to lay down our lives.”

Mage Job took a deep breath, kneeling on one knee before the colossal dragon. He performed the knightly salute he had practiced countless times since childhood, finally executing it with flawless precision for his ancestors.

His hands trembled as he did so.

For there was no one across the entire continent of Farres who did not know of the dragons’ arrogance. Though the dragons often scorned the elves for their pride, the two races were equally haughty in their superiority. Of course, they had the capital for their arrogance: their unquestionable, absolute power.

This pride made them utterly disdainful of aid from other races.

Not to mention that the creature before him was the last ancient dragon on the entire continent—the mightiest of the entire dragon race. Job knew he was being incredibly bold, but he spoke anyway, striving to convey his ancestors’ gratitude spanning centuries. This, he felt, was likely the future foretold by the crystal ball—fulfilling his ancestors’ mission.

As for whatever retribution the dragon clan might unleash next…

Job clenched his eyes shut beneath his thick beard, mentally prepared to face whatever consequences awaited.

This was the education they had received since childhood. Without the dragon Nidhogg, their ancestors would never have survived, and there would be no Ponce de Leon today. He was ready!

The black dragon, seated nearby, merely manipulated its iridescent tail, burying it deep into the hardened, scorched earth as if it were soft sand. Occasionally, a pointed tip would emerge from the gravel here and there, training its son in the art of cornering prey. The young dragon pounced and bit at the tail, utterly engrossed in the game.

Nidhogg’s ears were filled with the cub’s delighted giggles. Just as Job had boldly suggested earlier, the little one would surely want to move around after eating and drinking his fill.

He was right.

And so, at the very end, Job—eyes tightly shut, secretly afraid of pain—heard only a soft whisper: “I remember him. He was a brave human.”

He defended a city alone, fighting to the very last.

He was prepared to sacrifice himself to take the enemy down with him.

He was one of the few humans Nidhogg remembered—a rare human who could easily lose his reason in battle.

The raging night wind once more swept through the Abyssal Depths, fanning the blazing campfire and whipping the black dragon’s white cloak before him. He still wore the standard uniform of the expeditionary force from years past: black boots, a white short cloak, and those golden eyes brighter than the sun itself.

Ancestor Adam had said, “You will recognize him the moment you see him, for he is incomparable.”

And now, His Lordship the incomparable Dragon Lord was asking him, “Do you have any advice on raising children?”

His Lordship the Dragon needs me!

In the most beautiful daydreams of the Ponce de León family, they never dared imagine they could truly be of assistance to an ancient dragon, even in the smallest way.

Mom, I’ve made it! I can help dragons!

I can take care of kids—I’m great at it.

Fearing the dragon might not believe him, Job hurriedly produced a pocket watch he’d always kept close to his heart. He opened the double-sided frame inside—one side showed his parents, the other his lively, energetic little nephew.

“I have a nephew about the same age as your young one. For various reasons, I was the one who looked after him before I left home.” 

The child in the frame wore the most traditional noble attire of the Glorious Empire—a crisp white shirt with a ruffled collar, knee-length black breeches, and a look that seemed to say ‘I don’t like you’ to everyone.

But he was undeniably a healthy, robust child, well-cared for by his family.

“If I were you, I think the first thing I’d do is take the child away from here,” Job stated plainly.

Nidhogg paused, taken aback. He cherished the Chaos Abyss; the chaotic energy that others found overwhelmingly brutal nourished him constantly. Job’s suggestion offered a perspective he hadn’t considered.

Job leaned forward slightly, allowing the dragon a closer look at his eyes—now a hazy, murky gray. “They used to be a beautiful blue. Not to brag, but perhaps you’ve heard another nickname for our family? The Sapphires of the Groundline.”

This was the price Job had paid for the future he pursued. His vision had deteriorated severely, an irreversible erosion by the Chaos Force—at least according to the knowledge Job possessed. Honestly, he hadn’t anticipated such an outcome before entering. Regret? Before meeting the dragon, he hadn’t known the answer. But now he could say with certainty: he had no regrets.

“But if I had a child, I’d never let them take this risk.”

Nidhogg finally looked directly at the young human before him for the first time.

This gesture, representing tacit approval, greatly encouraged Job, prompting him to speak with even greater enthusiasm—from a child’s basic needs to the current changes across the outer continent.

“Your Highness will inevitably encounter the outside world someday. I imagine a child might prefer to understand it through their father? Take the Third Expeditionary War, for instance. After that, the demon race plunged into a civil war quagmire known as the ‘Millennium Blood War.’ To be precise, this civil war had already begun before the previous Demon Lord sought to destroy the world. The reason for launching the external war was to divert internal conflicts, but the war failed, plunging the demon race into an even more frenzied civil war.”

The demon race is a bunch of certified lunatics—cruel to others, but even crueler to themselves. They single-handedly blacklisted the entire continent and love having their own legions blacklist each other internally.

“But before we entered the Chaos Abyss, word is the Thousand-Year Blood War had ended. Now, Farres has entered a rare period of peace, with inter-faction negotiations on the agenda. As for when they’ll actually materialize? Who knows. You know how the Light Church operates…”

Put nicely, it’s called being cautious; put bluntly, the Goddess of Light has chronic procrastination, capable of dragging things out until the end of time.

Nidhogg hadn’t realized so much time had passed. He’d merely slept intermittently in the Abyss of Chaos, and now the world was at peace?

How could the demon race have gone this long without producing another madman bent on destroying the world?

“Truly astonishing,” the dragon, the human, and the stone giant all murmured in unison. Then Job continued, “In any case, the Continental Common Tongue will inevitably become the dominant language of the modern continent. Children need to communicate.”

Job expressed his concern—as tactfully as possible—that the little one still didn’t seem to speak the universal language.

In their Glorious Empire, speaking a local dialect would get you laughed to death.

Nidhogg humbly inquired, “Are you humans that strict? Do newborn infants need to master a foreign language?”

Job froze. “Newborn? Who?”

“My son,” Nidhogg declared, pointing over to the toddler still wailing as he charged toward the dragon’s tail, pretending to battle monsters. The child seemed utterly engrossed in his game, moving with surprising skill. He even asked his dragon father if he wanted to join his monster-hunting squad—though the dragon didn’t understand.

Job was dumbfounded: “…This doesn’t look like a newborn to me at all?”

“Doesn’t it?” The dragon, utterly clueless about children, looked genuinely puzzled.

“He looks about the same age as my nephew. When I left, my nephew was five years and eleven months old, about to turn six and start elementary school at the Magic Academy.”

“Only five years old and not an infant?” The ancient dragon, accustomed to immense lifespans, was profoundly shocked. Among dragons, even 180 years might not qualify as adulthood. Immortal beings truly couldn’t comprehend the short-lived species destined for mere centuries.

“But your son isn’t dragonkin,” Job lamented, realizing he’d likely have to teach the dragon the fundamentals of parenting from scratch.

“What else could my son be if not a dragon?” Nidhogg frowned.

“He doesn’t look like a dragon to me, does he?”

The two, who had been reasonable moments before, now bickered fiercely over the child’s race, each stubbornly refusing to yield. One insisted the child was human, the other adamantly claimed his son was a dragon—an ancient dragon!

Elder Byron of the dragon clan stared blankly at Nidhogg, who had suddenly reestablished contact. Before he could even rejoice that the other had finally emerged from the Abyss of Chaos, he was met with a crushing blow. The pride of their entire dragon clan, the hero of the Third Expeditionary War, was solemnly holding up a squishy little cub in the magical image, proudly declaring to him: “Look, I gave birth to this one myself!”

Grand Elder:?