Dragonkin. A race of Ain with a pair of horns and a tail reminiscent of dragons, along with vertically slit pupils like a reptile.
According to historical records, Dragonkin have claimed to be a great and superior race descended from dragons since the times of the Great Race War.
However, an interesting point is that it has been revealed that Dragonkin are not biologically related to dragons, and their origins are closer to being a type of Beastman rather than a separate race.
Just like there are Lion Beastmen, Wolf Beastmen, and Cat Beastmen, there are Dragonkin with dragon-like features.
Of course, if we look at the details, it’s clear they are now quite independent from other Beastmen, but if that were the only reason, the claim of being descendants of dragons would have been mocked as arrogance and ignorance.
However, that’s not how history played out. History tends to be shaped to the taste of the strong. Even though ultimately they were driven to the north by humans who looted their homes, during the age of war in the past, nobody dared to utter words like “descendants of dragons” in front of Dragonkin.
Naturally, the reason was their overwhelming strength. Although they weren’t biologically descendants of dragons, Dragonkin boasted superior abilities far beyond those of typical Beastmen.
Beastmen as a race indeed have large variances between individuals. Depending on the animal traits they inherit, their physical abilities and lifespans vary widely, which is characteristic of Beastmen.
However, within that disparity, there are degrees of difference. There are differences that can still fall under the umbrella of a race; while there are certainly exceptionally gifted individuals in every race, most Beastmen stay well within that variance.
For instance, the longest-lived among Beastmen might live around 200 years at most. While the differences in traits, such as raw strength vs. agility and reflexes, are certainly there, when it comes to total combined potential, the gap isn’t particularly significant.
But Dragonkin were different. Claiming they were altogether a separate existence from ordinary Beastmen, their abilities followed a completely different trajectory.
An average lifespan of up to 500 years.
Skin so tough it can deflect even steel blades, coupled with a high resistance to magic.
Powerful breath that is synonymous with dragons.
Although they have a weakness in that their magical aptitude is relatively low, making them somewhat clumsy in using magic other than breath attacks, when it comes to close combat, they are unarguably the strongest race among humans.
It’s an immutable truth that rage control capabilities dramatically improve in front of a fist, so who could ever dare to call them lizards?
Oh, there probably were a few. But those folks must have all died.
But this terrifying reputation has become a thing of the past. Nowadays, Dragonkin are said to be a reclusive race holed up in the north of the continent, rarely coming out.
Yet here I am, meeting a Dragonkin in a place like this.
I never thought I would encounter one in human society. Though I question if it’s appropriate to describe the human society as the base for illegal slave traders.
I looked at the Dragonkin girl trapped among us.
What should I do with her? Thinking of safety, killing her would be the right thing.
She may not have directly witnessed what I’ve done to the human slaves here, but she couldn’t be oblivious to the fact I’ve fed on their blood just by sound.
In other words, the girl knows I’m a vampire. Even if she doesn’t know that I’m a Progenitor, there’s no reason to take the risk of letting someone who knows my whereabouts live.
“Her blood must be nutritious.”
Though I primarily feast on humans, that’s mainly because regular human blood is the tastiest, most abundant, and easiest to acquire. In terms of possible vs. impossible, I could technically drink anyone’s blood, as long as they are human.
In fact, considering stronger blood gives me significantly greater power, the girl would likely be a far more attractive meal than ordinary humans.
Though she may still be young, isn’t she a Dragonkin with the highest potential among humans?
Given that she smells of rich nutrients even more than the disappointing slave traders and their lackeys, it would stand to reason that her blood would be incredibly appealing. It’s already a proven fact that the more powerful the blood, the more delicious it is.
But as I looked into her golden eyes that do not shy away from my gaze, I found myself lost in a dilemma I didn’t see coming.
Killing her certainly seems to be the right choice. After the point of my identity being exposed, there’s no reason to leave any loose ends.
If she were human, I wouldn’t even hesitate. Even though we’re in the mountains, this is still human land, and freeing a human slave would quickly result in whispers about me.
Or if she were a member of another race, back in my days before stepping foot in the duchy, I would have killed her without a second thought.
However, I now felt a hint of hesitation within me. The small change in my mindset came after meeting Martini.
At present, my vengeful feelings are directed solely towards humans.
Every single human I know is my enemy, and I’ve realized that I can never coexist with them.
Exceptions? Sure, there might be an exception somewhere in this vast world; perhaps there’s a lunatic human who claims they can be friends with a vampire.
Or there might have been an exception among the humans I’ve already sacrificed or might sacrifice in the future.
But I couldn’t care less about such matters. I lack the strength to claim peace or even the leeway to seek out my conscience.
There will be exceptions. But just by being human, there’s a high probability that they would hold animosity towards vampires or, even at the least, harbor negative feelings towards us.
And even if I do meet a truly exceptional human, without the ability to read minds, I have no way to confirm it.
So, I had to kill her. To grow strong, to survive, it had to be done.
But how did I feel about other races?
Due to the nature of needing to drink human blood, vampires are a target of revulsion for everyone. Therefore, Ain are likely to be hostile towards vampires, including this Dragonkin girl before me.
However, my meeting with Martini confirmed a faint possibility that not everyone in this world is my enemy.
That faint possibility was holding me back. Of course, it’s understandable since Martini is a vampire, the only one who could understand the woes of her kind, so it may be hard to receive positive reactions from other humans.
Still, until I witness it with my own eyes, it was difficult to erase my lingering desire to keep out the possibility of non-hostility with other races.
Could there be a way to not understand each other yet not be hostile towards other races?
After all, it’s said that an enemy’s enemy is a friend. Perhaps there lies a chance to join forces against the common enemy—the humans who currently dominate the continent and oppress the Ains.
I was too weak to survive this treacherous world on my own, and I wanted to believe that this Dragonkin I’d met for the first time was not my enemy.
In retrospect, this choice isn’t just about taking one more life or not.
To avoid stumbling at crucial moments, I must decide on my course of action and stick with it. If I decide to kill this girl solely because she’s a Dragonkin, it would essentially mean declaring hostility against the entire race.
But that wasn’t the only reasoning behind my indecision. Knowing that baseless beliefs can be poison, I still couldn’t easily decide to kill the girl and leave the scene.
I was afraid.
Just as I had to leave, burdened with guilt and regret for not opening my heart to Martini’s kindness before leaving the duchy, I feared I would later regret killing this Dragonkin girl and taking her blood.
“……”
The girl neither flinched from my gaze nor expressed hostility.
It didn’t seem like she was just blankly staring; still, she looked utterly devoid of the will to break free from the imminent peril she faced.
Perhaps after about two minutes of exchanging meaningless stares, the girl slowly closed her eyes.
“Could you… please let me die without pain… in the end?”
“…What?”
I hadn’t planned on engaging in conversation, but her utterly unexpected words made me reflexively ask.
Not begging for her life, but asking for a nice death coming from a girl who looks barely in her early teens felt quite unsettling.
Yet perhaps taking my response as something else, she blinked a few times before closing her eyes again.
“Oh. I see.”
Now I understand why I hesitate to kill this girl, the real reason.
This girl resembles me. She looks just like I did back then, hanging in the basement, enduring hellish tortures while merely waiting for the day of execution.
The small fist tightly clenched behind her back.
Her body slightly trembling, almost without sound.
She’s not unafraid of death. She simply doesn’t resist because she knows that her desires won’t be fulfilled.
How could I not recognize that feeling?
Even if I cried and begged for my life, no one would listen.
In the basement of the Luminous Kingdom, I was less than livestock, and the repetitive pain dulled my senses and stripped away all hope.
When I realized that nothing I did would change the hellish reality, trying to hold onto any hope felt foolish, letting me endure only through overwhelming rage.
The bruises and scars covering the girl’s body caught my eye.
Her body, which would be difficult to injure even with basic weapons, had been brought to such a state.
Even I, who had experienced death once, struggled with just that; how could a girl barely in her early teens bear such harsh treatment after falling into slavery?
The answer was right before me.
A slave without will or hope, merely obeying the dictates of others.
A puppet that doesn’t even entertain thoughts of resisting her own death.
“It’s sickening.”
Realizing this made me feel even worse. While Dragonkin blood is undoubtedly appealing, it would be crueler to put an end to the life of a young girl, already ruined by humans.
Isn’t it often said that the one who delivers the final blow is the one truly responsible? Even if I were to gain experience points, I wouldn’t want to deal the final blow to a girl who resembles me.
So, I left the girl and went to another tent. As expected, aside from the largest tent, the remaining ones showed signs of life as though they were where the slave traders lived.
After rummaging through a desk, I found a ton of money. It seems that scummy people always have a lot of it; with what I found, one or two people could live for a lifetime without worries.
Returning to the large tent, the girl was still tightly closing her eyes and trembling.
Yeah, so what if some little Ain saw me?
Even if she were to beg for her life, she’s not in a position to squeal to the humans, so whatever happens, she can go elsewhere.
In truth, it’s doubtful she would survive even if I released her. The weakened girl wouldn’t even be able to traverse down the mountain. Even if she made it down, it’s still human territory, so she’d die anyway.
Thus, leaving the story of a girl similar to me with an open ending was merely a form of self-satisfaction.
In reality, I didn’t care if the girl lived or died. Actually, the odds were overwhelmingly in favor of her dying, allowing me to make a clean decision to let her go.
Creeeeak!!
Gripping the iron bars with both hands, I put some force into it gently, and the iron bars screamed. The metal gave way, creating a hole big enough for a small child to pass through.
I then tossed the pouch of gold coins in front of the girl.
“You won’t need that gold. Use it as fare to the afterlife.”
“Take that and get out.”
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