Lord of Caldera

The defeat of the duke, whom they had never doubted as the strongest mortal, and the sight of a half-dragon bloodline kneeling him on the ground—it was more than a blow to their pride. They had seen their seemingly invincible protector fall and were forced to recognize the overwhelming power of this human right before them. Their fundamental belief that humans could easily be overcome had been shattered.

"His Grace was right. A marriage alliance is our only option."

"What nonsense are you spouting!?"

"Am I wrong? If that human turns hostile toward us, how will we defend ourselves?"

The dissenters fell silent. Here was someone who could make even the duke kneel without much struggle. If he entered their army and unleashed his power, countless elves would surely fall.

"…There's no need to assume hostility. At least this human seems to have a favorable view of elves."

"Hah."

A scoff of derision cut through the crowd. Before the disgruntled elf could retort, another voice, laced with bitter laughter, chimed in from the side.

"Fine, let's say this human is trustworthy. But what about his descendants? Humans multiply, reaching five or even ten within a hundred years. What do you think will happen if descendants inherit even a fraction of that power?"

"...."

The elf who was about to argue felt as if he had been struck on the head. Yes, over generations, the bloodline might dilute. But what if, even if only partially, many of his descendants inherited that strength? What if one among them, through some genetic twist, ended up with power akin to Sylas's? And what if those descendants held no affection for elves?

'It's terrifying.'

Just the thought sent shivers down their spines. In the silence born of fear, someone let out a sigh.

"There's only one way to prevent such an outcome."

"Marriage, is it."

"If his descendants carry elven blood, at least they won't seek our extermination."

"...."

No one argued. No one could deny their own blood. Without proof, it might be doubted, but with clear history and records, it would be an affront to oneself. Even if generations passed and affection faded, pride would compel Sylas's descendants to protect the elves. One of the silent elves closed his eyes and murmured.

"His Grace's foresight is beyond reach. Could he have foreseen this far ahead?"

"Hmm."

They regretted their shortsightedness and marveled at the duke's broad vision, unaware that this situation had gone well beyond Arathion's original expectations.

Two days later, when Arathion met Sylas again, he laughed heartily.

"The impact was more than I expected. Those who opposed the marriage alliance have all shifted to fully support it."

"That's surprising."

"It's because the strength you displayed exceeded their expectations."

Frankly, anyone who still opposed the alliance after witnessing that power would have to be a fool. Arathion breathed a sigh of relief, reassured by his decision. He wondered what might have happened had he not proposed this alliance in time.

'Perhaps, centuries from now, one of this man's descendants would have been the one to destroy our duchy.'

Though it was still just speculation, the possibility was far from negligible. Smiling bitterly, Arathion looked at Sylas with a serious expression.

"I, Arathion, swear this: you are my friend and an ally of the elves. Your descendants will be welcomed in elven lands, and no elven blade shall seek to harm your bloodline."

"...."

"So, I ask you to pass this on to your descendants—that the elves are friends to the half-dragon. As long as your bloodline continues, so too shall our friendship."

Arathion's voice was dignified, filled with pride, yet Sylas sensed the desperation hidden within—a leader's concern for the future of his people.

"I, Sylas Corleone, swear that my bloodline, even if not descended directly from Eldira, shall be a friend to the elves. As long as the elves welcome us, my descendants shall never raise a hand against them."
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"Ah."

With Sylas's vow, Arathion finally relaxed, relief evident on his face. This was the moment a pledge was made that would extend the life of the elven race by at least two thousand years.

Even after everything was resolved, Aratheon decided to stay a few more days. He had no pressing matters, so there was no harm in taking his time.

"Sometimes it's good to personally inspect the trade routes, make sure everything's running smoothly. Just by being here, no one would dare try any funny business," he explained.

"Isn't that a bit much? If Your Grace stays any longer, the food might just get stuck in my throat," Sylas joked.

"You're leaving soon anyway. I'll head back around the same time," Aratheon replied.

In other words, he intended to stay as long as Sylas was around. Sylas immediately understood Aratheon's intentions.

'It's about Eldira, isn't it?'

If Aratheon left, Eldira wouldn't have any reason to stay either. He clearly wanted his daughter to spend more time with Sylas, perhaps to grow closer. Eldira, evidently aware of her father's intention, approached Sylas eagerly.

"Good morning to you! Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"Not yet…."

"Then let's eat together! I was just about to have mine too!"

Sylas sighed. Eldira, who had already accepted the marriage proposal readily, had become even more forward since that day. She seemed to be more impressed by Sylas's strength than by her father's defeat. Sylas, on the other hand, felt slightly uneasy with her bold approach.

"Don't be so uncomfortable," Eldira teased. "Once we're married, we'll be closer than this. Right now is simply the time for us to get accustomed to each other."

"I suppose that's true," Sylas replied.

"And I'd like to get closer to her as well," Eldira added, glancing at Rey. "Who knows, we might end up as sisters one day."

"Excuse me? Sisters?" Rey, taken aback, stared at Eldira, bewildered. Eldira returned her gaze with a mischievous smile.

"What? He hasn't told you yet? Sylas can be so cheeky."

"No, it's not that…" Sylas stammered.

"Well, as your future sister, I suppose it's my duty to explain it to you!"