12. How to Break a Dragon Knight
A single cow was being devoured.
In the middle of a pasture, a brown cow lay on the ground, its neck crushed by a ‘black dog.’ The dog straddled the cow, its innards spilling out, being greedily consumed.
The other cows, in a frenzy, had broken through the fence and fled.
They knew.
They had to escape.
From that terror.
From that death.
One of the villagers, alerted by the commotion, rushed to the scene, only to turn back, shouting in alarm.
This wasn’t something one person could handle.
They had to call for help.
They had to kill that dog, and then round up the escaped cows.
The villagers didn’t understand.
Just how terrifying it was.
They didn’t even know what they were up against.
Seeing the villagers gather, armed with farming tools and crude weapons, the black dogs fled.
The villagers gave chase, shouting.
To drive them away completely.
To see where they would go.
So, they didn’t notice.
That they were being lured.
That every ‘human willing to fight’ had been drawn out.
In the dim forest, the pursuing villagers breathed their last.
The last thing they saw were translucent wraiths in deep purple hoods and a pack of Black Hound Barghests.
—What is a dragon?
Tough scales.
High magic resistance.
Near-complete immunity to fire.
Resistant to toxins.
A robust skeleton and powerful muscles.
A massive body that floats effortlessly, soaring through the sky at high speeds, thanks to its wings and magic.
That was a dragon.
Even a Lesser Dragon was a terrible match-up for the Virus King, Lord of Disease’s forces, which primarily consisted of assassins.
The Listrea Demon Kingdom’s borders were naturally fortified by the Lital Mountains, a treacherous range of peaks that served as the dragons’ nesting grounds, and a sea teeming with large, aquatic magical beasts.
They had sealed off the single passable point, built a fortress, and concentrated their forces there, achieving a partial balance of power.
Sieges favored the defenders—provided they weren’t outmatched in terms of magical power.
However, Dragon Knights, by riding dragons, could attack from above the Lital Mountains or from the sea. While they couldn’t conquer the fortress on their own and still needed to breach the walls, they could infiltrate behind enemy lines.
They were a direct counter to the Listrea Demon Kingdom’s defensive strategy, a terrible match-up.
But they were Dragon Knights.
—They were not dragons.
“Master. First report from the field. The operation is proceeding smoothly.”
“Excellent.”
Liz held the carrier pigeon in her hands for a moment before releasing it into the sky. It looked ordinary, but upon closer inspection, its body was translucent.
A ghost pigeon.
A low-level undead, but its average flight speed and range were far superior to a normal pigeon. While its actual flight speed was comparable, it could fly at night, effectively doubling its speed. And since it didn’t require rest, it was even faster.
Like regular carrier pigeons, however, they had a tendency to go missing, so sending multiple birds was standard practice. They didn’t require food. Undead were powered by the magical energy of the living, so holding them for a while, as Liz had just done, ‘recharged’ them.
While convenient in this world, I did miss more efficient communication methods like phones and email.
That said, I wouldn’t want the enemy to have them either. So, I should be grateful that our communication network was slightly better than the humans’.
“Any details?”
“None. Just that everything is proceeding smoothly without casualties.”
That was to be expected with coded, short messages. We couldn’t include too many details in case the message was intercepted.
The brevity was also partly due to the fact that ghost pigeons weren’t suited for carrying heavy letters or packages. Apparently, they’d tried using larger undead for transport, but that hadn’t worked out too well for various reasons.
“Well, as long as it’s going smoothly.”
“Indeed. Let’s wait for the regular report.”
Members of the field operative units were rotated periodically, partly to give them a break. They provided more detailed reports during these rotations.
Non-regular reports, like the one we’d received about the Dragon Knight attack, were delivered by messengers… and that had been the first. Things have been going well so far, I thought.
“—That concludes the report.”
After listening to the ‘regular report’ about a month after the operation began, I smiled.
“Thank you for your hard work. You must be tired. Rest well until the next rotation.”
“Yes. Then, if you’ll excuse me.”
The messenger departed, and Liz and I began reviewing the report.
In short, the report stated that everything was ‘proceeding smoothly.’
We were systematically targeting the livestock—cows, pigs, sheep—that served as food for the dragons, as well as the pastures where their fodder grew. And, of course, we were also disrupting the livelihoods of the farmers who tended the livestock.
One notable entry was a request for more Barghests, as they were proving exceptionally effective. However, we only had twelve left at the mansion, so that wasn’t possible.
The report concluded with the writer’s signature and a Barghest paw print stamp, which was incredibly endearing. Whose idea was that? Utterly outrageous. This was an official report.
—It’s too cute. I can’t focus on work.
…But I couldn’t afford to be distracted, so I composed myself and returned to my duties.
The security around the dragon pens was the tightest in the kingdom. However, the security around the cowsheds, pigsties, and sheep pastures was practically nonexistent.
Even Lesser Dragons could survive for a month without food. When it came to mere survival, they could enter a pseudo-hibernation state to conserve energy. Starving a dragon to death was difficult.
But “Dragon Knights” were, by definition, “soldiers who rode dragons that obeyed human commands.” If the dragons went into hibernation, or, better yet, if they simply stopped obeying human commands due to lack of food, that would be enough.
‘Proceeding smoothly’ meant that the food supply was dwindling, and morale among the dragons was likely at an all-time low.
And if dragons, who required over ten times the amount of food as humans, were starving, then the human food supply must also be critically low.
Meat was already an expensive commodity, but the nearby royal pastures supposedly supplied not only the dragons but also the surrounding region.
And they had prioritized feeding the Dragon Knights, the cornerstone of their offensive, over supplying food to the civilians.
How would the people left behind, those who had lost their livestock and their livelihoods—who had been murdered—feel about that?
How would the herdsmen feel about tending livestock not for humans, but for dragons?
This was it.
This was where hell began.
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