When Prince Marcellus got to the aftermath this time, an innocent woman had died by the dragons' claws. The prince knelt down, examining the body even as bugs had already started to infest her. His brow furrowed as his head hung low, not wanting yet to lift his eyes and face the men in his company.

Worst of all, the husband was the one who had run to town and reported the death of his wife. "The dragons were right there, asleep! I saw them with my own eyes!" he insisted.

Prince Marcellus kept staring at the insects crawling amid the woman's eye sockets. Another death…. Always more death. Before his people's liberation, countless humans were slaughtered like any other livestock if the tribute of cattle, sheep, and pigs were deemed insufficient. His campaign against the Dagonir Clan had freed the slaves in the north and gave them access to the precious iron mines needed to liberate more humans, but the conflict was everpresent. Prince Marcellus aspired to liberate all humanity from the dragons, but staring death in the face was particularly harsh when he knew that he could have prevented this one.

Dragon Slayer…. Some slayer of dragons I am. If only he had not played with the juvenile dragons for a political stunt, this woman would be alive right now.

The slit across her throat was the perfect size for Umbra Caligo's claw. The iron bear's flesh had been roasted in its metal shell, easily the work of Favilla. The two dragons had gorged themselves on its flesh so thoroughly that they had taken the liberty of a nap afterwards. To think, I haven't caught these overgrown, lazy lizards yet.

Prince Marcellus looked up, eyes steeling over his men and the distraught widower. He asked a basic question to confirm the veracity of the man's testimony. "What color were the dragons?"

"Black and pink." The man accurately described Favilla's color as pink—not red like the rumors. He was not merely trying to profit off an unrelated tragedy.

With a simple nod, Prince Marcellus began delivering orders. His authoritative voice sounded emptier than usual. "Trackers, follow their path directly. They are still traveling eastward. The rest of you…." He described the locations where he wanted to station the knights. "Stop them from ravaging any more civilized areas. Drive them out to the wasteland."

The knights grouped into pairs which synergized their elements the best and rode off. The last duo to lag behind had one man ask from atop his horse, "And what about you, Commander?"

"I will remain here to assist the family and will join the search as soon as I've finished my duties here." Prince Marcellus watched the last of his men ride off and remet the widower's eyes to give him a proper introduction. "I am Sir Antoninus the commander of the Dragon's Bane Order of Knights overseeing the report of dragons in this area." He used his middle name, much less recognizable than his first. "We assure you," he said formally, "the dragons shall not harm another citizen. My condolences for the loss of your wife…."

The man nodded grimly, still too shocked to respond otherwise.

Better than any words that he could say, Prince Marcellus began to help with the body. The prince accepted the unsightly task of brushing the bugs off the woman's corpse, so her husband did not have to. They loaded her onto the back of the horse, and the two men walked in silence for a while.

In a shaky voice, the widower piped up, "I don't understand how a thing like this could happen. We have beasts in the woods, and monsters from the badlands, but dragons here in Syene? My wife… I don't understand why she had to die like this."

Prince Marcellus sighed. He could not deny the dragons' involvement when the man had already seen them with his own eyes. All the more reason we must wage war against the dragons, he scoffed to himself.

The party arrived at the widower's cottage where they would prepare the body for a quick and simple, yet proper, burial. However, the children already dreaded the awful news and came running out to meet their returning father.

"Papa," a young boy asked, holding the hand of his younger sister next to him. Both their eyes fixated on the horse's limp cargo. "Is she really dead?"

"Citrio… I'm afraid so," the father admitted to his son.

The boy's face fell stony. The anger and resentment filling his eyes was the only emotional reaction from him.

The little girl slipped her hand away from her brother's clenched fist. As she burst into tears, she tugged on her braided pigtails—the hairstyle which her mother had probably done for her so neatly. Through her bleary tears, she looked up to Prince Marcellus. "Your armor's so shiny. Are you really a knight?"

Slowly, Prince Marcellus knelt down to the same level as the tearful girl. "Yes, indeed, I am a knight."

"Why didn't you save Mama?" The girl sobbed uncontrollably, and Prince Marcellus had no idea how to reply. When he looked up to the despondent father, the prince figured that he could also help by consoling the children.

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"Come closer," the prince offered gently. "Let me show you something."

The girl hobbled over to his outstretched arms. Once again, she tried to wipe her tears to no avail.

"Do you see this?" Prince Marcellus pointed to the sigil at his breastplate.

The little girl blinked her watery eyes until she could focus on it. "It's a wing. It looks funny."

"That's because it's a dragon wing—a broken one. I'm sorry I got there too late to save your mother, but I promise you, I'll find those dragons and kill them. That's what my order of knights does. We slay all kinds of monsters, dragons above all."

The little boy, Citrio, stepped forward and blurted out, "Do you know the Dragon Slayer?"

"Why yes, matter of fact, I do," Prince Marcellus said, ears flushed beneath his helm. Though he had become a popular hero throughout Syene, the prince felt ashamed that he had gone undercover as a knight and had the audacity to stand before this particular family.

"Well, why didn't he kill them?" Citiro shouted. "Why did he let my ma die?" The boy had big tears beading at the corners of his eyes. When he blinked, they cascaded down his cheeks much like his sister. However, this boy also possessed in him an aptitude for magic. The natural surroundings reacted to his emotional outburst. Vines coiled up from the grass to swing around his ankles where he stood defiantly.

The words of the child rang through the prince's head. Why did he let my ma die? Prince Marcellus had failed these innocent kids. At the same time, he saw much potential in this young boy; he had both power and the motivation to use it. And the military always needed more nature mages. With a slight smile on his lips, he asked, "Is that how you feel? Then stand up," he barked.

Shaken by the sudden order, Citrio hesitated before he obeyed.

The sudden shift in the atmosphere snapped the father back to the present. "Please forgive my son's rudeness!" he started begging. "He's just a poor trapper's son, distraught over the loss of his mother. He means no insult against the royal family."

"Quiet." The father fell silent, trembling as he watched Prince Marcellus, clad in armor and sword on his hip, loom over the helpless boy. "I agree with you," the prince said sternly. "The Dragon Slayer did fail you. But what are you going to do about it?"

Citrio had his hands balled into fists. His stare never wavered from Prince Marcellus's eyes even as hot tears kept streaming down his face. "I-I'm…. When I grow up, I'm going to slay dragons better than him!"

Prince Marcellus reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Gazing into those tearful, enraged eyes of a child, he said, "I hope you do just that." After giving him a final pat, Prince Marcellus said, "You should take your sister back to the house. Let the adults finish up here."

Citrio, slightly shaking, took his sister's hand once more and led her back inside.

When Prince Marcellus turned back to the father, he offered a quick apology. "Sorry about that. I'll wait outside while you prepare your wife for the afterlife."

The act of preparing the body for a funeral was an intimate, family affair, so the prince stayed to dig the grave where the widower had specified. Once finished, he walked back to his horse tied at the fence.

"Thank you for your assistance, sir," the man said as he accompanied him to see the knight commander off.

Prince Marcellus withdrew a hefty sack of gold coins from the satchel and passed it to the widower. "No amount of money could replace your wife or the children's mother, but please allow this to assist your family after the dragons' defilement. Furthermore, take this pin." The metal trinket had the same sigil of a broken dragon wing which Prince Marcellus used, and anyone who bore this mark had his favor. "Send your son to the capital, and it shall guarantee his acceptance to the Royal Academy."

"Thank you." The man bowed deeply, both hands extended for the hefty coin purse and the pin. When he straightened himself up, he clarified, "You said that your name is Sir Antoninus?"

"Yes."

"As in the Dragon Slayer, Prince Marcellus Antoninus? I'm so sorry for what my son said earlier. He really didn't mean anything by it—"

The common folk were uneducated, but seldom ignorant. Prince Marcellus smiled tightly as he cut him off and replied, "Children often speak the truth." Since he had no reason to further this conversation with a peasant, Prince Marcellus mounted his horse and rode off. He had dragons to hunt, and many miles to cover in order to catch up.

***

Throughout the night, Prince Marcellus rode to the east. A gravity orb hovered a few feet ahead of his horse's chest, drawing its center of mass closer to that point. Like this, the horse could maintain an unnaturally fast canter without tiring, more than worth the small amount of magic that it used.

The hastened, midnight ride carried on like this until rapid lightning strikes caught his attention. The flashes of electricity were too massive and frequent to be natural, so at once, Prince Marcellus kicked his horse into a gallop and raced towards the fiery aftermath.

Old flames roared across the base of hill. A path of soggy embers had been cut down the middle, so Prince Marcellus guided his horse through the gap in the flames. The heat made sweat drip down his brow, but moreover he was itching to fight the dragons.

However, when he arrived to the top of the hill, he found two of his knights calmly keeping watch over the badlands below. "Report," he said simply to get up to speed.

"The dragons flew somewhere into the badlands," a knight said, eyes never moving from the darkness beyond. "We are keeping watch to ensure that they do not come back, according to your orders, Your Highness."

Prince Marcellus nodded in assent to that plan. "Good."

"Should we pursue them?" the second knight asked. The electricity mage still seemed jittery from his previous spellcasting and eager to attack the dragons head-on.

"No. Let them go," Prince Marcellus replied. "As long as they do not come back to drink our water, let their bones be picked by monsters. Set up camp to keep watch. I’ll stay with you here tonight. Send out the lightning flares to rally the knights here.” Prince Marcellus turned to the lightning mage. “Now that our people are safe from these dragons, I must focus on the invasion of Carlinoa. Sir Hadrian, I’m leaving you in charge to ensure the dragons don’t return."

Tomorrow, he would focus on organizing the troops and ships that would go to the homeland of the little, pink dragoness.