After a long pause, Herbert could only squeeze out a single sentence:
“Actually... I think... those two dragon cubs of yours are probably doing fine. At least, a bit better than you think...”
“If you're really feeling that guilty, why don't you go and see them?”
Christine's weeping paused. Behind his covered face, his eyes were filled with a deep loneliness.
“Forget it.”
He wiped away his tears, took another couple of heavy swigs, and slammed the bottle back down on the stone table.
“I don't know how to face those two children. They probably wouldn't even accept me as their father...”
“After all, they're different from me. They were raised by Sylvely. They are true evil dragons.”
“I can't even begin to imagine how a black dragoness as brutal as Sylvely would raise two children.”
“They were probably subjected to inhumane torture and training since they were hatchlings...”
At the thought of the torture he had suffered back then, Christine couldn't help but shudder. His legs went soft, and he felt a sudden chill between his thighs.
“So, just like back then, you choose to run away and drown your sorrows here with me?” As Herbert spoke, he casually tossed out a few more chunks of mithril ore, heavily stacking his own bet.
As if a raw nerve had been touched, Christine didn't even bother using telepathy and roared out loud:
“I am not running away!!!”
But immediately realizing the sudden silence around him and the astonished stares of the dwarves, he shut his mouth and switched back to telepathy, whispering:
“I'm staying here to protect my children. Heaven knows if the humans of the Eastern Continent will try to lay a hand on them again.”
Lowering his eyes, Christine added, “Besides, I can also make up for my absence all these years and do my best to fulfill my duties as a father.”
“Haha! Buddy, if anyone else heard you say that, some bored bards would probably turn it into some scandalous ballad and spread it across the entire continent.”
Herbert shook his head with a chuckle. “You're clearly a chromatic dragon of the chaotic evil alignment, yet you care about bloodlines and family just like a lawful good metallic dragon.”
“This is a colder joke than anything those brainless devils in Baator could ever come up with.”
“I never said I belonged to the chaotic evil alignment,” Christine said, staring at Herbert with determination in his eyes. “I recall telling you that my mother was a great silver dragon.”
“Under her guidance, I long ago became a believer of Bahamut, the God of Good Dragons. Please don't compare me to those 'kin' of mine who worship Tiamat, the Mother of Evil Dragons, and have nothing but slaughter on their minds, alright?!”
“Alright, alright, buddy,” Herbert placated him with a sigh, clinking his bottle against Christine's. “This bottle is a toast to His Greatness Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon God. Consider it my apology for misspeaking.”
He then chugged the entire bottle.
Reaching for another bottle, he popped the cork and rubbed his red, bulbous nose.
“But buddy, your worries are entirely unnecessary. I received news earlier that the Eastern Kingdoms have already sent envoys to make peace with those two precious dragon cubs of yours.”
“By now, the delegation should be almost at the God-Forsaken Land.”
Ignoring Christine's wide-eyed shock, Herbert continued, “To be honest, it surprised me. Those tall folks actually gave in so easily.”
“But this is fine too. At least we won't have to worry about running out of this delicious red wine.”
“Are you telling the truth?” Christine suddenly stood up, slamming his hands onto the stone table with a heavy thud.
The solid stone table shook violently. Several wine bottles tipped over, rolled to the edge, and plunged to the floor, shattering into countless pieces.
Realizing he had overreacted, Christine quickly sat back down. Pretending nothing had happened, he asked via telepathy, “Where did you get this news?!”
“Of course it's true.” Herbert blinked and swirled the bottle in his hand. “As for where I got it...”
“Buddy, all I can say is that your information network is far too outdated.”
“Our dwarven brothers are spread across the entire plane. Naturally, quite a few have blended into human empires and duchies. Some lucky fellas have even been hired as royal blacksmiths.”
“So days ago, even before those old fogies of the various nations had chosen their envoys, I had already received the news.”
“Still, I didn't expect those tall folks to take so long just to pick an envoy. Their efficiency is absurdly low!”
“But you know how they are. Whenever something happens, those tall folks always play their games—weighing pros and cons, plotting and scheming. In the end, whichever nation can't hold out any longer is forced to volunteer some poor, decorative noble to act as the envoy.”
Then, as if recalling something, a highly suspect, devious grin crept onto Herbert's flushed face, as if he were up to no good. His eyes scanned Christine's face.
“By the way, old friend, did you bring any money this time? My hands have been itching lately; I want to forge a suit of full plate armor...”
Hearing this, the faint smile that had just appeared on Christine's face faded, replaced by an expression of pure annoyance. After a brief hesitation, he slid a storage ring off his finger and tossed it onto the stone table with a soft clink.
“Inside are the scales I've shed over the years. Consider it payment for the wine.”
“...And the extra can be your reward for supporting my kids' business...”
With that, he rose from his stone seat.
Seeing this, the surrounding dwarves assumed that Whitebeard had finally reached his limit and conceded. Their invincible Dwarven King had claimed victory once again, defending his supreme title as the Eastern Continent's ultimate drinking champion.
Instantly, the entire tavern erupted. The dwarves began howling and cheering as if celebrating the New Year.
One dwarf, having made a fortune, was so excited that he ripped off his tattered clothes on the spot, waving the rags around as he roared with wild laughter.
Then there were the unfortunate souls who, acting like reckless gamblers, had gone all-in on Christine, only to lose every last penny.
Now, clutching their rear ends, they were slinking away toward the Dwarven Empire's red-light district, preparing to carry out their tragic plan of selling their backsides to pay off their debts.
Other dwarves wanted to curse Christine for throwing the match, but as they raised their bottles and looked around, they realized the white-bearded figure had already vanished from his spot.
No matter who they asked or where they looked, no one had seen where he went.
It was as if he had vanished into air, disappearing abruptly from the spot.
And yet, not a single soul had noticed when he had slipped away.
This left the sore losers who wanted to beat Christine up muttering in disbelief, “By the Dwarven King! It's broad daylight, and we're seeing goddamn ghosts!”
Rate on N.U.
