Chapter 44: The Price of Progress

Chapter 44: The Price of Progress

The conversations around us died out like candles. The entire dining hall seemed to hold its breath.

I slowly set down my cup.

— "You came to finish what you started?"

Sylvara didn’t answer right away. She folded her scaled, pale-fingered hands on the table, absently tracing the edge of the wood.

Her golden eyes locked on mine with unsettling intensity. Not hatred. Something worse — focus.

— "You talk too much with your fangs bared, human," she said calmly. "But this morning, I didn’t come for a fight."

I raised an eyebrow, unmoving.

— "No? I thought that was your way of saying hello."

A faint twitch crossed her jaw. Not a smile — a micro-spasm. She held it in.

But Garrum didn’t.

— "Watch your tongue, runt!" he growled, his voice making the cutlery tremble.

I didn’t flinch. He stood behind her — predictable as always, a wall of muscle serving someone else’s pride.

I turned my head just enough to meet his gaze.

— "I’m talking to your superior, not her shadow."

His nostrils flared. One more step, and the table would fly.

But Sylvara raised her hand, sharp, authoritative. Garrum froze.

She didn’t break eye contact.

— "You really have a talent for annoying people."

— "That’s my superpower. And you? You take notes on how the weak sweat, so you can steal their secret later?"

Her expression shifted. She leaned in slightly — her scent, metallic and strangely sweet, brushed against my senses.

— "Exactly that. I’ve been watching you."

I paused.

— "...Excuse me?"

The fact that she admitted it so directly surprised me. Even Garrum looked startled in the background.

— "Yesterday, in the gym. That... method. Destruction, healing, feeding. You push your flesh to the brink of breaking to reshape it. It’s barbaric, but fascinating."

Her eyes glimmered — feverish light dancing within.

— "I saw your body tremble, scream, and then be reborn. It’s more than training. It’s a living forge. A kind of raw alchemy. I want to understand that fire."

I froze for a second.

Seriously — she’d just described me like a lab experiment... with the reverence of a priestess witnessing a miracle.

— "So, if I get this right... you want to join our training?"

— "Yes."

— "To learn how to sweat and suffer?"

— "To surpass my limits."

Her tone was dry. Sincere. It almost disarmed me.

But my gut? It smelled a trap.

— "And what do I get out of it?"

She blinked — confusion flickering briefly in her eyes.

— "You want a reward for sharing a method that doesn’t even belong to you?"

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on Garrum — who tensed immediately.

— "No. I want a reason."

I let the words hang. Then, lower, voice rasped by fatigue:

— "Because everything I’ve shared here has earned me nothing but wounds. Insults. And the conviction that this world owes us nothing. So if you want something from us, at least give me a reason to believe it’s not just another way to crush us."

The silence grew heavy.

Sylvara stood tall, unflinching. Garrum behind her clenched his jaw — ready to leap, to defend his pride.

I didn’t look away. Not for a heartbeat. If it came to it, I’d finish it right there. Kill him if I had to. I was done with this so-called "hero." The stronger he grew, the bigger the problem he’d become. Might as well end it now, if he gave me the chance.

But Sylvara cut through my thoughts.

— "I’ll give you my training hall," she said at last.

— "Come again?"

— "The Heirs’ Hall. Full access. Gravity weights, draconic forge, pure mana chamber. You and your team can use it whenever you wish. In exchange, you integrate the three other draconid heroes — and me — into your method."

I almost laughed. Tempting. Too tempting. But I couldn’t show it.

— "Not enough," I said flatly.

The silence dropped another degree. Garrum stepped forward, but she raised a hand without breaking eye contact.

— "Not enough?!" he barked.

— "Quiet," she hissed.

Good move, Sylvara — you just saved his life. One step more, and I wouldn’t have hesitated to use Oblivion.

Then she looked at me again, and for the first time, I saw a crack in her armor.

— "Then what do you want?"

I pretended to think, just to let her stew.

But the truth? I already knew. I wanted her to bend. Just a little.

I wanted to see a dragon do something no draconid had ever done before me — recognize worth beyond brute strength.

I lifted my cup, drained it in one go, and said quietly:

— "An apology."

Her eyes widened.

— "An... apology?!"

— "For yesterday. For looking down on me. For calling humans lesser. For treating me like an insect."

Garrum leapt to his feet.

— "You’ll never—"

— "Garrum!"

Sylvara’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. He froze, fists tight.

She stood — slowly — and to everyone’s shock, bowed slightly. Not a full bow — dragons don’t bend without pain — but enough to see.

— "I apologize," she said.

A murmur rippled through the hall.

I went silent.

Fuck. She’d done it.

She straightened, jaw tight.

— "Satisfied?"

I smiled, swallowing a laugh.

— "Almost. But I think you just lost a bet with your ego."

She gave a tense half-smile.

— "If that’s the price to pay for progress, so be it."

And right there — in the middle of our duel of pride and sincerity — a cold voice cut through the air behind me.

— "Are you done comparing sizes?"

Reina.

Always showing up when pride is about to explode.

She approached, notebook in hand, gaze razor-sharp.

— "Sylvara. Garrum. Did you come to negotiate, or to put your egos on display?"

Sylvara lifted her chin.

— "Negotiate."

— "Good. Then let’s talk strategy."

Reina sat down without waiting.

Her tone shifted the room instantly — no more duel, only calculation.

— "You want to join our method. Fine. In return, you give us your hall and equipment."

She scribbled a few words in her notebook.

— "We supervise the pace, the cycles, the progression. You observe, you participate, but under our rules. Do you accept?"

Sylvara hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded.

— "Accepted."

Reina snapped her notebook shut.

— "Good. First cycle starts at dawn. And if you vomit blood, don’t come crying."

I smiled, lifting my empty cup.

— "You heard the boss, sweetheart. Better warm up those muscles."

She shot me one last look — half hatred, half respect.

— "I’ll surpass you with your own method, human."

I shrugged.

— "Try. But be careful — here, pain is our native tongue."

Her thin, almost predatory smile was her only reply. When she stood, the entire hall exhaled — as if a storm had passed.

Garrum followed her, throwing one last dark glare my way.

I stayed seated, a grin tugging at my lips, watching the last curls of steam rise from my cup.

Fuck.

I’d actually made a dragon bend. Okay — one who’d probably sell her mother for a perfect six-pack — but still, a start.

We spent the rest of the day sweating like sinners.

Reina and I laid out the pact to Ayame, Hikari, and Miyu over another burning cup of coffee.

Their reactions fit them perfectly: Ayame nodded serenely, saying, "All progress comes from exchange." Hikari smiled timidly, relieved I was talking instead of fighting. And Miyu... Miyu folded her arms, her tone sharp.

— "Great idea. Let’s help the lizards become even more unbearable."

Sarcasm dripped from every word — but she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Then, no more words. Just sweat, cycles, and the sound of labored breaths.

The day unfolded in a perfect loop: break, heal, feed.

And for the first time, everything clicked. Mana flowed like a metronome; our bodies matched its rhythm. We’d finally found balance.

Perfect. Almost too perfect.

By the end of training, Sylvara showed us her personal facilities — a subterranean hall carved from volcanic rock: a forge, a gravity basin, and, above all, a vast room filled with golden mist — her pure mana chamber.

The moment I stepped in, my blood seemed to hum. I could meditate here. Truly meditate. Maybe even breathe without pain.

I left the place with a dumb grin, muscles trembling but mind light. The sun was setting as we headed back to our quarters. And that’s when we ran into him.

Reinardht. Except this time, he looked like a developer who’d spent seventy-two hours debugging code in the desert. Dark circles, three-day stubble, vacant stare. His cloak hung like a towel, his boots dragging fatigue behind every step.

Miyu burst out laughing at the sight.

I almost joined her.

He looked up, and for an instant, his eyes opened wide — a real flicker of surprise.

— "How... how did you get so much muscle in just a few days?"

His gaze scanned us like a sensor.

— "Is this the power of the Draconic Academy?"

I clenched my jaw to keep from laughing. He’d spotted it instantly. One glance. His perception was on another level.

I replied, voice smooth as a mask.

— "We developed a training method faster than the norm."

For a moment, his eyes lit up with childlike excitement — then he closed off again, serious.

— "That fascinates me... but I don’t have the time. I only came to say goodbye before leaving. You can show me next time."

To my left, Hikari’s hands tightened against her chest. Her voice trembled.

— "But who will protect us if you go? What if... something like Duskfall happens again?"

Reinardht smiled gently.

— "Don’t worry. The dragon princess is here. The professors too. All of them elites. And above all — the Rector. You’re safe."

Reina stepped forward, her icy tone softening slightly.

— "Still, it’s good to see you. But... what could’ve worn you out like this?"

He gave a tired half-smile, then straightened like a soldier.

— "The peaks of the world are stirring. Endless meetings — too long. And as you know... I’m more of a field man."

His voice carried that proud fatigue — the kind worn like a medal.

Miyu stepped forward, that mix of curiosity and resentment sharpening her gaze.

— "Before you leave... I’ve got questions I’ve been holding back."

I looked at her, curious what she’d throw at him.

She didn’t hesitate.

— "You never told us about your blessing. What is it?"

Reinardht blinked, then slowly nodded.

— "True. Normally we don’t speak of those things openly. But fine — I’ll make an exception."

He paused.

— "My blessing is the Soldier. Simple, but powerful. I am the embodiment of the perfect soldier."

Miyu gave a short, dry smile.

— "So your power must be insanely high."

He nodded.

— "Exactly."

But she didn’t stop — her tone sharpened.

— "Then why didn’t you fight that damned angel? The one who killed so many brave soldiers? Who destroyed everything?"

The tension spiked. Even I wanted to hear his answer.

Reinardht met her stare, his own hardening.

— "Unfortunately... in this world, blessings aren’t everything."

— "But—" she began.

He raised a firm hand.

— "Let me finish. Listen, Miyu. When we talk about the Primordials... those beings have lived far longer than any of us. They hold time itself, experience, war. Even without blessings, they’re beyond dangerous. You’ve seen Sarhael... but you’ve seen nothing. His blessing is both strength and curse. He seals himself — phase after phase. If he ever reached the phase of acceptance... despite me, my elites, all of you... we wouldn’t be here talking. We were lucky he withdrew."

Miyu fell silent, fists trembling.

I looked at her.

So that was it — our enemies weren’t meant to be fought. They were meant to be feared. Monsters that made us prey, not rivals.

My goal sharpened.

I didn’t have time. I had to get stronger. Strong enough to kill that Primordial. Sarhael.

Reinardht straightened.

— "If that’s all... I’ll be on my way."

— "Wait." My voice came out sharper than intended.

He turned his eyes to me.

— "I’m listening."

I took a breath.

— "From what I’ve seen — Sarhael, everyone — there’s a link between the mind and the blessing. Does the blessing shape the bearer’s mind, or does the mind shape the blessing?"

He smiled faintly, almost admiringly.

— "You’re observant. Nothing’s proven. I can only tell you what I’ve learned. I believe blessings are granted based on a person’s mind, nature, and the path ahead of them. But I also believe that over time, they reshape their bearer. Like Sarhael. His blessing, as strong as it was, became his chain — mentally and physically."

Silence fell.

Ayame, Reina, Hikari, and Miyu stood still, absorbing every word.

Ayame nodded slowly.

— "Thank you. For your honesty."

We all thanked him. He wished us courage, and we wished it back.

He gave one last weary but sincere smile, then prepared to leave.

Before I could say anything, he vanished. No step, no portal — just... a silhouette dissolving. Too fast for the eye to follow.

I froze, mouth half-open.

Fuck.

Even exhausted, Reinardht was still Reinardht. And I had a world to catch up with.