After the discussion with the guild head, Roy did not return to his room.

  Instead, he left the village and entered the forest before night fully settled.

  Hunting came naturally to him—but this time, it was different. He spent the night adjusting his aura again and again, folding it inward until even the animals no longer sensed him as a threat. Earlier, they had avoided him too deliberately, scattering before he could act. That alone had been a problem.

  Now, they stayed.

  By dawn, the forest had changed.

  Roy moved through it methodically, eliminating ferocious beasts, mutated predators, and scattered bandit remnants. He did not overhunt. He did not rush. Each kill was precise, necessary.

  By sunrise, most major and minor threats surrounding the village were gone.

  A promise kept.

  He returned quietly, entering the village without drawing attention. The materials he carried—hides, cores, and usable remains—were brought in without guards or villagers noticing.

  Ragnar noticed.

  Roy placed the materials down in the guild office and spoke calmly.

  “As promised, I cleared most of the forest. Bandits included. There shouldn’t be danger to this village—or nearby ones—for some time.”

  Ragnar raised an eyebrow.

  “Why say it like that?” he asked. “Are you going somewhere? Or did something happen?”

  Roy hesitated.

  He glanced around the room—not cautiously, but thoughtfully—before answering.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “After killing several mutated beasts, I felt… suffocated. Not physically. It didn’t last long, so I didn’t have time to observe it properly.”

  Ragnar frowned slightly.

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  “And leaving?” he asked.

  Roy nodded.

  “You already know how we grow,” he said. “We sleep. If that sounds amusing, ignore it. But lately… I’ve been feeling an urge. A dangerous one.”

  Ragnar said nothing.

  “So excuse my absence for a while,” Roy continued. “And be careful. Things are changing. Those ‘bugs’ I mentioned earlier may appear again.”

  He turned toward the door.

  “Stay sharp.”

  Before Ragnar could reply, Roy stepped outside.

  The air cracked.

  A sonic boom tore through the morning as Roy transformed mid-motion and vanished into the sky.

  Ragnar watched the empty doorway for a moment.

  Then he exhaled, shook his head once, and returned to work.

  Far from the village, near land fractured by ancient heat, the dragon descended.

  It did not circle for long.

  The air here felt correct—dense, heavy with heat and dormant power. Magma flowed beneath cracked stone, slow and patient, as if waiting. Roy followed that pull instinctively, landing hard against blackened rock before folding his wings inward.

  He shifted form only after confirming the surroundings.

  No eyes.

  No disturbances.

  No immediate resistance.

  A network of caves stretched ahead, veins of molten fire cutting through stone like arteries. Roy moved deeper, ignoring chambers that felt unstable or thin. When he finally stopped, it was beside a magma river that flowed steadily, neither violent nor weak.

  Good.

  He reshaped the stone around him—nothing excessive, just enough to anchor heat and seal presence. When the chamber settled, Roy lowered himself and coiled inward.

  This was not true dragon hibernation.

  But it would be enough.

  Growth required stillness.

  And stillness, now, required distance.

  Days passed.

  In the village, life continued—almost normally.

  Hunters noticed fewer threats on the roads. Caravans arrived without losses. The forest grew quieter, not safer, but emptier.

  Ragnar noticed the pattern.

  He did not announce it.

  He adjusted patrols instead.

  Elsewhere, reports began to shift.

  A mutated beast appeared earlier than expected—and was dealt with quickly. Another appeared days later and left behind unfamiliar residue. Scholars debated classification. No conclusion was reached.

  Merchants complained of animals behaving strangely. Not more aggressive—just faster.

  At the castle, the heroes did not yet move openly.

  Blaze reviewed reports more frequently than before. Some were dismissed. Others were reread.

  Alister diverted resources quietly, reforging equipment that had no clear target yet.

  Marcella requested older records—cases of accelerated corruption, incomplete purges, and “acceptable loss.” The request alone unsettled the librarians.

  None of them spoke of Roy directly.

  Not yet.

  Weeks passed.

  One village was evacuated in time.

  Another was not.

  The reasons sounded reasonable when explained.

  They always did.

  Only then did kings begin to speak of cooperation.

  Only then did messengers ride between borders.

  Only then did urgency replace caution.

  By the time formal alliances were discussed, the pattern had already formed.

  Some lives were saved.

  Others were weighed.

  And beneath all of it—quiet, patient, unseen—pressure continued to build.