A bitter wind swept past the entrance of Bedrock Fortress, and the chill blasting through the cracks made the goblin sentry sneeze.
"Damn, it's freezing..."
"Yeah," the goblin beside him agreed, rubbing his red nose—only to accidentally scratch a long gash across his face with a claw.
"Ow!" the goblin yelped.
Beads of blood welled up, then quickly clotted.
Over the past few months, many of Cinder Nest's minions had begun showing signs of draconic transformation. Though these changes were not as pronounced as those in their leaders, they still exhibited traits unique to red dragons.
Sparse patches of scales, sharpened claws and teeth, frilled ears, and an appetite for warm or even scorching weather...
The red dragon, slumbering so long in his cavern, was like a massive source of radiation, reshaping and altering every minion within Cinder Nest through his Bloodline Boon.
Cassius still lay on his side in the cavern, his massive body rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.
With the weather turning cold, as a red dragon naturally inclined toward heat, he was loath to venture outside. He preferred lingering in his cavern, doing nothing but eating and sleeping all day like any native red dragon of Elezerg.
Cassius stretched lazily and opened his eyes. "Still, some things must be done."
He called out softly in Draconic:
"Chimera—"
The three-headed beast immediately flew out from a cave in the rock wall, prostrating itself before Cassius like a faithful hound, awaiting its master's command.
Ever since receiving the Bloodline Boon, this once unruly beast had become remarkably obedient—so much so that even Cassius found it slightly jarring.
Cassius continued in Draconic, "Take me to those tieflings."
"What?"
The chimera tilted all three of its heads in unison, looking puzzled.
The red dragon was left speechless. He picked up an old, horned skull from a corner of the cavern and tossed it in front of the chimera.
"Take me to find these people."
The chimera's lion head leaned in and sniffed carefully, then spoke in crude, halting Draconic:
"Horns. Human. Tastes bad."
Cassius said impatiently, "That's them. Take me there."
Seeing his annoyance, the chimera hurriedly lowered itself to signal compliance.
"Yes, Master."
With a low growl, it beat its wings and took flight.
The chimera flew out of the warm cavern, left the sprawling Giant Valley behind, and climbed into the storm-swept skies.
Cassius followed close behind, soaring through the blizzard.
***
In a clearing shielded by layered peaks, rows of crude tents stood pitched on the snow. Not far away, a spacious cave was brightly lit, walled off by a rough barricade of stacked stones—this was the refuge the tieflings called the Ruined Home.
Here lived the red-skinned tieflings with long horns atop their heads.
The mountains shielded them from pursuers, but could not shelter them from the bitter cold and biting snow.
In the freezing cold, the tieflings still wore tattered clothes. Men braved the snow in the woods to chop firewood, women tended bonfires before the tents to roast what little game they had hunted, and children gathered dry twigs and dead grass nearby to fuel the flames, helping however they could.
Several wounded tieflings had been placed inside the warmer cave, wrapped in layers of animal pelts and dry straw. Yet even these measures could not prevent their breathing from growing fainter, their fluttering eyelids threatening to close forever.
"Mezrolash, we won't survive the winter like this."
"The wounded won't last much longer. We have to go to a nearby town."
A woman's voice came through, raspy and hoarse from the cold.
The tiefling called Mezrolash turned around.
Burn scars marked his rugged face. Blood-spattered armor covered his tall frame, battered and dented from countless blows.
His tone was heavy. "Rerysa, you still cling to illusions about those humans."
The tiefling woman shook her head in defense:
"No, I don't..."
Mezrolash cut her off harshly, his voice rising in intensity.
"The pitchforks, the pyres, the burning homes, the stripped corpses hanging from the city gates, the cheers and curses of the townsfolk—have none of those shown you their true nature?"
"That is what humans are, Rerysa."
"If we go to any town now, we won't be welcomed with wine. We will only be driven away without mercy—hunted down by the old vampire's lackeys."
Rerysa's voice trembled, a sob creeping into her words. "They just don't know the truth. But maybe, maybe we could clear up the misunderstanding, explain things to them..."
"You should know by now how humans see us: devil spawn."
His pitch-black eyes, cold as ice, seemed to pierce right into her heart, and the sudden solemnity in his voice stunned her into silence.
Mezrolash continued:
"One human looking at us sees a curiosity. Two see a conspiracy."
He paused.
"Three... see a curse."
"The moment they were whipped into a frenzy and raised their blades against us, there was no longer any misunderstanding."
Finished, Mezrolash paid no further mind to the weeping Rerysa. He quietly polished his silver sword, its surface etched with bloodstains.
The polished blade reflected his weather-beaten face.
Horns curling like a ram's, solid black eyes with no discernible irises, sharp canines, and crimson skin—in broad outline he still resembled a human, yet devil blood had left unmistakable marks upon his features.
*What a naive fool.*
Mezrolash could not help recalling his past life, memories tangled with pain upon pain.
Back in Northwind Keep, his younger self had constantly endured stares and whispers for being a 'devil spawn,' faced violence and insults in the streets, and seen only distrust and fear in the eyes of others.
Yet he had still found human friends he could trust.
It was a blessing.
It was also a cruel twist of fate.
The genuine warmth of his companions had kept kindness and trust alive in his heart back then.
And so he joined the city guard, becoming a paladin at a young age and swearing the Oath of Redemption.
Paladins of the Oath of Redemption confronted wicked beings in the hope of turning their foes from darkness to light, resorting to violence only as a last resort.
Unless doing so would clearly save other lives, they would never kill their enemies.
The young tiefling had believed that anyone could be redeemed, that all could walk the path of mercy and justice.
Mezrolash had believed he could dispel all the world's prejudice against his fiendish blood through acts of goodness—and for a time, he had seemed to be progressing toward that very goal.
Chapter 47