Chapter 80: Grap

Compared to the deafening clamor and celebration outside, time inside the room seemed frozen by an invisible force. The core elite of the Duchy—whether shrewd administrators or valiant generals—now stood in silent gathering within this cramped bedroom, like mourners circling a candle about to gutter out.

Their gazes, without exception, fell heavily upon the bed. There lay the withered swamp toad, his shrunken body nearly fused with the wrinkled sheets, his breath as faint as a candle in the wind. The entire room reeked of decay, the scent of life nearing its end.

This heavy silence held a strange power—even Irogr, the red dragon whose temper usually sparked fire at the slightest provocation, was unnaturally still. His massive frame pressed flat against the floor, his blazing dragon eyes fixed unblinking on the bed, his thick tail curled tightly, daring not to stir a sound, as if any motion might shatter the old man’s final peace.

Vylanther’s deep gaze swept over the emaciated shell on the bed, then returned to the faces before her, her voice low as an echo from distant mountains: “Let him depart in peace. Holding him back one more night only adds suffering.” She stepped forward slowly; a soft glow shimmered between her great antlers. “We should grant him a quiet, eternal sleep.”

As the ancient druidic spell flowed from her antlers, an odd fragrance drifted through the room—clean as rain after a storm, warmed by sun-dried hay. The scent of life’s beginning and end intertwined, loosening the tension in the room; each person felt a quiet peace rise from within.

In this calming atmosphere, Grap’s furrowed brow slowly relaxed. His labored breathing grew steady, and at last, as if sinking into a long-awaited dream, he closed his eyes.

“The funeral will be tomorrow,” Sakavi broke the silence, his tone gentle but absolute. “Today is Sulede and Inolin’s day. We old ones should yield the stage to the young.”

“Oh, please!” Krosuna cut in immediately, her exaggerated tone meant to dispel the gloom. “You’re only two years older than Sulede, and you’re not even as old as Inolin—how dare you call yourself ‘old’?” She crossed her arms, glancing sideways at him. “Your skin’s gotten thicker with age, hasn’t it?”

“I’m your duke. The more I worry, the faster I age. Dragons grow old not just from years, but from weariness. Isn’t that how ‘elder’ comes to be?”

The funeral proceeded as scheduled the next day. Dawn’s light was diluted by leaden clouds, casting a solemn silver-gray over the Ironhoof Highlands. The wind howled through the valleys, setting the tone for the ceremony.

Along the long road from Agrik to the graveyard, every high-ranking official, general, and civil administrator of the Duchy stood in silent formation. On the left, led by Grand Steward Brag, members of all races wore uniform black mourning robes, watching the funeral procession in solemn stillness.

On the right, led by Morax, all dragons and dragon-beasts who had passed their juvenile stage, along with commanders of the Peacekeeping and Shadow Intelligence Bureaus—all levels of the Duchy’s armed forces—lined the route in strict order of strength, serving both as guards and mourners.

Low, mournful funeral music drifted slowly along the path, setting the rhythm for the procession. At the front, the great Thornstag stood with head bowed, its massive form like a silent mountain, leading the way with slow, solemn steps.

Behind it came the four bearers of the coffin. On the left, Sakavi in his dragon form shouldered the front end, his wings retracted, his steps unnaturally steady. On the right, the elf-woman Verna walked beside him, her silver hair fluttering in the wind, each step firm and restrained.

Behind them, the newlyweds Sulede and Krosuna in dragon form lowered their gazes, jointly carrying the rear of the coffin, following in silence.

As the four pallbearers passed slowly, those lining the road began to move. Brag and Morax, clad in special ceremonial robes, stepped forward and joined the procession with steady strides. Behind them, the rest followed in orderly silence, like a solemn black river flowing quietly toward the highland’s resting place amid the dirge.

The grave lay upon a cliff facing the eastern dawn, overlooking the entire wasteland. The soil at the cliff’s edge was a deep brown, rich with nutrients; a few hardy highland grasses swayed gently in the wind. It was an eternal watchpost, perfectly fused with the order he had built.

As the coffin was slowly lowered by ropes into the grave, naturally woven by ancient tree roots, Sakavi stepped forward first, scooped up a handful of fertile soil mixed with wildflower seeds, and gently scattered it over the lid. Then Verna, Krosuna, Sulede, and all the silent high-ranking officials stepped forward in turn, completing this final, reverent rite.

When starberries fall upon rotting earth

When newts slip into icy rivers

The forest never asks when you’ll return

The soil always opens its arms

You once drew navigational paths on cracked riverbeds

Filtered the poison of an entire age through your gills

Now, in the pulse of the marsh

Every drop of living water carries your heartbeat

Look—

The steel plow cuts through black soil

Salt crystals form in clay jars

The seedlings you watered

Now grow crowns wider than dragon wings

From now on, you have become

The phosphorescent gleam in the prow’s eye

The warmth deep within the granary

In every southern wind that ripens the wheat

You breathe, still unextinguished

“Vylanther, I never knew you could write poetry. When I was at your home, I never saw a single poetry book. When did you learn this?”

“When the ogres came last time, the night elves came too. I learned a few lines from a bard. This isn’t mine—I only heard him sing it a few times. Today seemed the right moment to use it.”

“Let’s carve this poem onto Grap’s tombstone. I think it suits him, even if he was brutally strict in how he ran things here.”

Sakavi turned and spotted an old acquaintance—but the ancient lizardman, having traveled far, clearly wished to avoid him. With no escape, he could only force himself forward to greet him.

“Loen greets his master. May your scales outlast stone, may your claws tear through storms. You are the embodiment of wisdom and strength. To see you again is my honor.”

“You haven’t been my vassal for years. No need for such formality. All these years have aged you. I remember when you left—you were still a young lad. Now you need a cane. Where have you been hiding these days?”

“I failed to follow you when I was your vassal. I have no face to show myself before you now.”

“Hah! I was the one who got us chased down and ran off alone. You thought following me led nowhere—that’s no fault of yours.”

“You two shut up—you’re both cowards. Last time I went to the Kadorun plane, I heard Aqilong say you didn’t even show your face, hahahaha!”

“Krosuna, when will your mouth stop making me want to throttle you? You’re always exposing my weaknesses.”

………

“Vylanther, I feel the plane’s magic stirring—someone broke through to legendary rank. Was it you?”

“Come here, Sakavi. I promise I won’t kill you. I came all this way to help you, and now you’ve trapped me here—I’m going to break your legs today.”

“Then don’t go back. My place is fine too. I’ve entrusted the Great Swamp to Loen’s son—he’s already a high-rank warrior, more than capable of handling normal threats. And I happen to need a Grand Director of the Edict Bureau.”

“I won’t take it. I go where I please. Why should I care what you think?”

“Hmph. If you won’t take it, you won’t leave. Look where you are—this is my nest!”

“You’ve gotten arrogant in just a few years?”

“This is my territory—who could be more arrogant than me? Sulede, hand over the duties of Grand Director of the Edict Bureau to him. Also, fire those two druids. There’s a cheaper way now.”

“You’re this broke now? How am I supposed to start anything? Have you figured out how to raise funds?”

“No. Because I have no intention of giving you any money.”

“No money? Then why send me to clear a plane? I’m not that powerful.”

“If I had money, would I send you? There are so many undead there—you could sell them for cash. I can only give you five thousand skeleton soldiers as labor. There’s also an abandoned undead factory up there—I’ve repaired it. Go develop it.”

“If I hadn’t known you since you were a kid, I’d think you were a starving blue dragon who painted yourself black to trick me. Only a blue dragon who loves exploiting his subordinates would dream up something like this.”

“Hah! I can’t help it—your star students spent all my money. Now I’m forced to rely on you. Once I get through this crisis, things will improve.”

“Fine. Give me some time. I’ll contact my sons—get them to come over. And ask the night elves if they can send anyone too.”

“Then I leave this to you. You’ve helped me before, and now you’re helping again.”

“Sakavi, look at that field out there. When the plane is cleared, I want five times that area as my own fiefdom—I choose the land, no arguments.”

“Then move quickly. I need to transfer personnel before the demons invade. I’m not sure we can hold out this time—no faction will support me. They all hope I die at the demons’ blades.”