The whispers from the god shook his mind, even the brightest sun couldn’t calm the storm raging within. Ryuu sat atop his horse, guarding a traveling merchant caravan, his body moving as if on autopilot. His hands gripped the reins tightly, but his thoughts wandered.

“If Hiro is truly the snake,” he muttered to himself, “why go to such lengths to save me? Why give me purpose?”

The doubts lingered, festering like a wound. “But then… Loki,” he continued, wrestling with his thoughts. “What if this is his mischief? He is a god I’ve never known. A god from a foreign land. Could he simply be toying with me for amusement?”

Yet no matter how much Ryuu tried to dismiss the whispers as a god’s passing fancy, the seeds of suspicion remained. The storm in his mind churned relentlessly, threatening to consume him.

After a week on the road, Ryuu finally returned to the sect. The gates opened, and Hiro stood waiting, his expression calm yet commanding.

“Ryuu, welcome back. Did the road treat you kindly?” Hiro’s voice was steady, but Ryuu hesitated, his mind clouded.

“The road was fine,” he replied curtly, dismounting. As he moved closer, Loki’s voice slithered into his thoughts once more.

“Oh, dragon, look at that ugly snake standing there. Who does he think he is? Fooling a dragon like you? Oh wait, he already has... Never mind!”

The mocking tone grated against Ryuu’s resolve. He clenched his fists, trying to drown out the god’s voice. The audacity of the whisper angered him, but what angered him more was the faint ring of truth it carried.

“Ryuu?” Hiro’s voice pulled him back. “You seem distracted. Has something troubled you?”

Snapping out of his trance, Ryuu quickly bowed his head. “Forgive me, Master Hiro. The journey was long, and I am merely tired.”

Hiro placed a firm hand on Ryuu’s shoulder, his touch grounding. “Come. Rest your weary soul. A troubled mind is a dangerous companion.”

The days that followed brought the usual routine. Ryuu and Hiro often sat together by the lotus pond, speaking of honor, humility, and redemption. Hiro’s words were measured, carrying the weight of a man who had seen the world and its darkness.

“Pride,” Hiro said one evening, his gaze fixed on the water, “is the greatest challenge a warrior must face. It is both armor and chains. Do not mistake your worth for invulnerability, Ryuu. A dragon that cannot bend will break.”

Ryuu hesitated before speaking. “Master Hiro… I must tell you something.”

Hiro turned to him, his expression patient. “Speak, my son.”

“There are whispers,” Ryuu admitted, his voice low. “Whispers claiming you are not what you seem. They come from a god… one who calls himself Loki.”

Hiro’s brows furrowed, but his composure remained unshaken. “A god, you say? Gods meddle for their own amusement, Ryuu. Do you not see? These whispers are your doubts given form, nothing more.”

Ryuu nodded slowly, though the turmoil in his heart remained.

“What a stupid dragon,” Loki’s voice sneered in his mind. “I wonder if there’s even a brain inside that thick skull of yours.”

Hiro placed a hand on Ryuu’s shoulder once more, his grip firm. “Let go of these doubts. Doubt is a poison, and faith is the cure. Trust in what you have seen, not in the words of an unknown God.”

“I will try,” Ryuu replied, though his conviction faltered.

Over time, Ryuu found his duties oddly shifting. He was no longer sent on missions requiring a master swordsman. Instead, he scrubbed the compound floors, fed and bathed the horses, and delivered letters to the city’s political elite. At first, his pride bristled at the menial tasks.

But Hiro’s words lingered. “Humility tempers strength, Ryuu. A blade polished by arrogance will dull. One honed by service will shine.”

Ryuu embraced his new role, finding a strange peace in the simplicity of his labor. Yet, in the quiet moments, as he scrubbed the stables or trekked through the city with scrolls, Loki’s voice would return.

“Oh, dragon,” Loki chuckled, his tone dripping with mockery. “What a sight you’ve become. The great Azure Dragon of the East, reduced to feeding pigs and fetching scrolls. Tell me, does the snake hiss orders at you now, or does he save that for later?”

Ryuu clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “This is the path of redemption,” he whispered to himself. “I owe Hiro my life.”

But the whispers persisted, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. One evening, as Ryuu returned from delivering a message, he paused at the gate of the compound. The setting sun bathed the sect in golden light, yet the sight felt cold.

He stared at the pavilion where he and Hiro often spoke, the lotus pond reflecting the fading hues of dusk. His heart felt heavy.

In the stillness, Loki’s voice returned, softer this time, almost sorrowful.

“You’re a dragon, Ryuu,” the god whispered. “A dragon serves no mortal. Remember that.”

Ryuu closed his eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He took a deep breath, willing himself to dismiss the words. For now, he would stay.

Over time, Ryuu had grown accustomed to his new life. His katana, once an extension of his very soul, now lay forgotten in his room, gathering dust. The days of intense training and battle felt like a distant memory. His once-sharp instincts dulled with disuse, replaced by a routine of menial chores—cleaning, fetching, delivering messages. Conversations with Hiro, once profound and enlightening, had dwindled to rare encounters. Months would pass without Hiro so much as acknowledging his existence, but Ryuu didn’t mind.

The whispers, too, had faded, their absence a relief to his weary mind.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

One day, while cleaning the courtyard, Loki’s voice returned, its tone mocking yet tinged with finality.

“Oh, Ryuu, look at you. A dragon no more—reduced to an ant, scurrying about, doing the same tasks over and over. Not a shred of courage left to question your master. Pathetic. Oh well, I’m done with you. I’ll find another swordmaster to be my herald. Farewell… ant.”

The god’s laughter echoed in Ryuu’s mind before fading into silence. This time, Ryuu felt no anger, no resentment. Only relief.

“Good riddance,” he murmured under his breath. “Finally, peace.”

The days stretched into months, then years. Five years passed. Ryuu’s skill as a swordsman had withered, his once-fluid movements now clumsy and uncertain. But his mastery of chores was unparalleled. He became a fixture of the sect, not as a warrior but as a ‘servant’. Hiro’s attention had long since faded, his wisdom no longer shared, his presence distant. Yet Ryuu felt content, convinced that he had found a kind of tranquility.

Then, one morning, Hiro summoned him unexpectedly. Ryuu, surprised, hurried to the elder’s chambers, his heart racing with a strange mix of anticipation and unease.

“Ryuu,” Hiro said, his voice as calm and commanding as ever, “I have a task for you.”

Ryuu bowed deeply. “Of course, Master Hiro. What do you need?”

“There is a merchant caravan departing for Central Runesia. I want you to accompany them, not as a guard but as a messenger. You will deliver this letter to the ruler of Runesia himself.”

Ryuu’s eyes widened. It had been years since he’d left the sect. The idea of venturing beyond its walls filled him with a strange excitement. “I will not fail you,” he said, taking the sealed letter with reverence.

The journey began uneventfully. Ryuu rode alongside the caravan, his mind wandering as the familiar rhythm of travel returned to him. For the first time in years, he felt more alive, even if his sword remained sheathed and his duties were simple.

But as they traversed a dense forest, calamity struck. A group of armed men ambushed the caravan, their faces hidden behind masks, their movements precise and merciless. The rival sect had arrived.

“Stop them!” the merchant screamed, panic in his voice.

Ryuu instinctively reached for his sword, but his grip was weak, his movements slow. He fought, but each swing of his blade lacked the power and precision of his prime. The soldiers overwhelmed him with ease, disarming him and pinning him to the ground.

“A blade is no weapon for a servant!,” one of them sneered, kicking his weapon aside.

Ryuu’s heart sank as he was bound and dragged away. The caravan was pillaged, the other travelers captured alongside him. They were thrown into a cold, damp dungeon, the air thick with despair.

Days turned into weeks. Ryuu sat in the darkness, his body battered, his spirit waning. He clung to the hope that Hiro would send help. ‘He won’t abandon me now, right?’ But as time passed, that hope dimmed.

One day, the iron door to the dungeon creaked open. A man entered, his presence commanding and cold. He scanned the prisoners, his gaze settling on Ryuu.

“You,” the man said, his voice sharp as a blade.

Ryuu stood, his legs weak. “Are you here to free us?”

The man chuckled darkly. “Free you? No. My daughter has taken a liking to you. She finds your… rustic charm intriguing. You’ll make a fine gift for her.”

Ryuu’s blood ran cold. “I am no gift,” he said, his voice defiant.

The man smirked. “You don’t have a choice, servant. You belong to me now.”

That day, Ryuu was shackled, a coarse bag placed over his head, blinding him to his destination. He could hear the sound of wheels creaking over uneven ground, the murmurs of guards, and the distant howling wind. His wrists ached against the biting steel, and his heart pounded with an unyielding mix of anger and despair.

When the bag was finally removed, Ryuu blinked against the sunlight, his eyes adjusting to his surroundings. A grand, yet modest palace stood before him, its walls adorned with banners that spoke of a warlord’s power and ambition. Around him, servants and soldiers gathered, whispering and pointing as he was dragged from the caravan.

“Look at him,” someone muttered. “The new toy for the lady.”

Ryuu’s stomach turned. He knelt before a man with a commanding presence—a warlord with scars etched into his face like a map of violence. The warlord’s daughter came running out of the palace, her laughter grating against Ryuu’s ears.

“Father!” she called, her tone spoiled and childlike. “Is that him?”

The warlord nodded, stepping aside as the daughter approached Ryuu. She wasn’t beautiful, nor was she grotesque. Her face carried a cruel arrogance, her eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. She knelt before him, poking his cheek with her finger as if inspecting a prize.

“Oh, he’s perfect,” she purred. “Just as I asked. Handsome and obedient.”

Ryuu clenched his jaw, his muscles trembling with restrained fury.

“You’ll do everything I want,” she said, her voice dripping with glee. “Won’t you?”

He didn’t answer, his silence earning a sharp slap across his face.

“Won’t you?” she repeated, her tone venomous.

“Yes,” Ryuu growled through gritted teeth, his pride crumbling under the weight of the guards’ blades hovering near his throat.

From that day forward, Ryuu’s life descended into a grotesque nightmare. He became her possession, existing only to satisfy her twisted desires. She paraded him around the palace, boasting of her gift to her friends, who giggled and sneered at him like he was an exotic animal. At night, he was forced to indulge her whims, her cruel laughter echoing in his ears as she drained him of his dignity.

He soon learned the truth: she had been married once to a weaker warlord, a man her father executed for breaking a treaty. In her bitterness, she demanded compensation—something she could control, something that could never leave her. Her father, ever eager to appease her, had gifted her Ryuu.

His days were spent under constant surveillance, the guards ensuring he could not escape. At night, he endured her twisted fantasies, her cruelty disguised as affection. She kept him bound to her in more ways than one, feeding him a vitality drug to amplify his lust and weaken his resolve. The drug left him in a haze of desire, his body betraying him even as his mind screamed in resistance.

Yet, deep within, Ryuu’s spirit refused to die. In secret, he began to train again, using whatever moments of solitude he could steal. He practiced with improvised weapons, his once-masterful movements clumsy but slowly regaining their precision. He knew escape was nearly impossible, but he clung to hope like a drowning man to a lifeline.

One night, after yet another harrowing encounter, Ryuu lay in bed, his body trembling with exhaustion. The daughter lounged beside him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest, while her friends laughed and drank nearby. He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing, when a voice—familiar and piercing—cut through the haze.

Laughter. A voice he hadn’t heard in months.

He bolted upright, grabbing a robe and hastily covering himself. Ignoring the daughter’s protests, he followed the sound, his heart pounding in disbelief. He stumbled through the palace, his feet carrying him to the source.

In the grand hall, surrounded by soldiers and servants, there he was, Hiro Yuro. The elder sat comfortably, a goblet of wine in hand, his laughter echoing through the room. He looked healthier than ever, his face smug and satisfied.

Ryuu froze, his breath catching in his throat. Hiro turned his head, his eyes locking onto Ryuu’s. A wicked smile spread across his face.

“Well, well,” Hiro said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Look at you, Ryuu. The great dragon… reduced to a concubine.”

The room erupted in laughter, the sound stabbing into Ryuu’s chest like a blade. Hiro raised his goblet in a mock toast.

“Tell me, Ryuu,” he said, his tone venomous. “Does she treat you well? Well don’t answer it, it doesn't matter, but hey, look! your ‘other sword’ seems to be ready for another round of…’stabbings’”

Ryuu’s hands trembled at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. Anger, humiliation, and betrayal swirled within him, threatening to consume him.

“Hiro,” Ryuu said, his voice low and trembling. “Why?”

Hiro took a long sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving Ryuu. “Because it’s fun and you’re nothing but entertainment. The look on your face when you wiped horse shit from the floor was so satisfying. I really do hope your wife and child were alive to see it… too bad they were too weak to survive my ‘visit’”

Ryuu’s vision blurred with rage. The spark of the dragon within him reignited, burning hotter than ever before.