The dragon wouldn’t let Fran go. Not to visit his wounded friends, not for any reason. He hadn’t spoken to a fellow Terran in years now, ever since he’d started living in Mela full-time. Despite Fran’s repeated questions about that, Azgal had no desire to explore the subject. Sure, he understood how unusual it was that he would stay in Mela permanently. No one had ever mentioned that possibility to him either. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in exploring that oddity just like he didn’t spare a thought about the destiny of Earth, his family or the six billion people he’d left behind.
“Mela is Mela. And it’s a hundred times better than Earth, if you ask me. Why should I side with Earth if there’s a conflict? Because that’s where I was born? There are no dragons on Earth, and that’s all I am now, a dragon.”
And endless conversation followed. About Mela, about the Alliance, but also about the upcoming challenges Azgadal would be facing and the generous rewards that Fran would receive for his help.
Two days later, Fran closed his eyes for a nap, exhausted by the mountain’s cold thin air and the dragon’s restless chatter. He woke up to the four walls of his room. A desk, a computer, a shelf with books, used clothes all over the place. This room had always been his shelter. Now, it felt constraining in its smallness.
He checked his phone. As expected, one of the missing adventurers, the guy in glasses who’d said he hated secrets, requested a Sunday meeting at the Botanic Garden again. Fran requested they move the meeting to the afternoon. He had places to be Sunday morning. He’d promised Azgal.
Fran left his room. The kitchen table had breakfast ready for all: bread with crushed tomato, olive oil and salt for breakfast. Unusual, but his father just felt like it.
“You didn’t go out last night,” he said. “You didn’t go out.” He looked at Fran like his son had been replaced by a doppelganger from dimension X.
Rafa and Alberto wanted to meet around 5 to buy some manga downtown. It was an unusual outing for the group, something they only did about once per month. Fran enjoyed manga the most out of the group, and even he agreed that nothing compared to video games.
When they entered one of the stores downtown, Fran deep pang of revulsion. The new titles shelf had been replaced by a ‘Top 10 Isekai’ display. Isekai was so popular they could have created a top 100 instead. Most titles followed the standard adventurer in another world scenario, but many tried to explore new angles and ended up scratching the bottom of the isekai barrel. DJ in another world, crypto bro in another world, podcaster in another world.
But that wasn't the worst. What really bothered him was the clumsy, even offensive choices for the Top 10 isekais. First of all, his favorite isekai was completely absent. Gate: Thus the Japanese Self-Defense Force Fought in Their Land. Fran enjoyed Gate because it felt real. The characters felt like they could die at any moment, but also like real people had real-world concerns and aspirations. No one was in it to collect Experience Points, but everyone knew that the portal linking Japan to the fantasy world altered Eath's geopolitics permanently and made Japan the number one target for the global games of China and the US. The destiny of the main character's nation was at stake.
Sword Art Online was missing too, perhaps because many would argue it's not a real isekai. After all, the characters in those novels remained on Earth psychically while their minds adventured away. But that was exactly Fran's situation and he'd punch anybody that argued he wasn't living an isekai adventure. Punching. He was surprised at his own reaction. He didn't know he had such strong feelings about it.
He scanned the top 10 quickly and his blood froze when he saw number 5: A grey-faced bitter man with cruel eyes looked away. Behind him, a cute angel looked down sadly and a flying big-breasted demon twisted in agony mid-flight. Dante's Divine Comedy, adapted by Go Nagai.
Fran closed his fists in rage.
"This is a travesty!" he screamed.
The whole store turned to look at him. Rafa looked at the display and then at Fran.
"Er, yeah, that's kind of wild, I guess."
"It's not an isekai. They think they’re being clever? This really pisses me off. Imagine how you’d feel if you, if you… I’d better shut my mouth, but I'll make sure I share some real feedback with the store staff on our way out, oh yes. Shameful, just no respect."
"Okay, okay."
"No respect for the real... anyway."
Next to the isekai titles stood an array of fantasy mangas. A hundred titles about adventuring parties sworn to uphold justice and defeat the Evil Lord. If only life were that easy, even life in a fantasy world. Who was Mela’s evil lord? He’d given the matter some thought and pondered whether the emergence of chaos forces in Mela in recent decades was connected to the danger Earth was facing. There was a lot to consider, but meeting Azgal and listening to his theories had left him somewhat demoralized. According to the dragon, an epic battle of good versus evil wasn’t in the cards. All Melans, good or bad, would want their world to win when war broke out. And if Terrans such as Juan Antonio could be swayed over to the Melan side by the brightness and joy de vivre of the fantasy world, what hope did Earth have?
“That’s the one you like,” said Alberto. He was pointing at Delicious in Dungeon. The final volume was out.
“No, I don’t,” replied Fran tersely.
“I just don’t know what to do,” said Rafa. He must have been talking for a while. Fran reminded himself to pay more attention. “The officers of the guild want to promote me. I feel obligated to accept, but I know I wouldn’t enjoy it. It’s gaming itself that I enjoy, not the community stuff. I’m under such pressure I couldn’t sleep the last two nights. It’s a problem.”
Fran shot his friend a hostile look.
“You couldn’t sleep the last two nights? Over that? Maybe you should have some real problems to worry about. Like, a terminal disease that will kill you in a year's time. Get a grip.”
His friends looked at him horrified.
“And these isekais, they all suck. You want to know why? There are no stakes! The fresh-faced simpleton on the cover is untouchable and we know it. He’s going to get the powers, he’s going to meet the elf girl with the long ears and the huge tits, and he’s going to level up.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Rafa.
Fran pointed an accusing index finger at the line of mangas.
“This is what’s wrong, all of this. Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m responding to the events as normally as possible. Do you think I don’t want to level up? Look, I can’t talk. I just can’t talk. Let’s get out of here, all these power fantasies are making me sick.”
Apologizing to his friends as soon as they left the store was the best thing he did all day. He went home right after that. Mela has invaded his thoughts leaving no crevice untouched. It was no excuse. If he couldn’t stop himself from being a jerk to his friends, best to be alone for a bit.
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The morning after, he woke up early and walked to the Moncloa subterranean bus station. He hated the smell of bus refuse and bad traveler food. Soon he was in a bus heading through dark subterranean tunnels until it emerged into the joyful light of a summer Sunday morning. Half an hour later, the four million inhabitants of Madrid were behind him and the ochre fields and brown mountains of the Madrid Sierra opened up before him. He could count the number of times he’d visited this region with one hand. Back in high school, he’d been to the palace of El Escorial, once the center of Spain’s imperial power and now a subterranean mausoleum for the kings of Spain of the last 500 years. He’d enjoyed that visit. The rest of the Sierra felt like alien territory. An environment populated by posh kids where everyone moved around by car and families had three children.
Fran exited the bus and walked into a large nondescript building, ready for the first lie of many he expected to say this Sunday morning: “I’m here to see a relative, Juan Antonio Cidoncha.”
The black dragon’s Terran body lay peacefully in a bed with crisp white sheets, surrounded by medical machines that kept him alive. Juan Antonio was short, like most men of his generation. His body looked emaciated.
Five years without opening his eyes. Without returning to Earth. The man looked every day of his 75 years of age and then some.
Fran heard steps by the door and turned. A middle-aged woman with fake blonde hair, a beige dress and a pearl necklace observed him unable to make up her mind.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Are you here to see my father?”
Fran nodded. He wondered if this woman’s presence was a mere coincidence or if Mela, the things you brought back from Mela, increased the likelihood of coincidences like this.
“I’m a Social Work studies intern. May I have a minute for some questions? Juan Antonio Cidoncha is your father, right?”
“Yes, he is.”
“I’m told he’s been in his current state for five years. Was it a stroke?”
“Not at all. His health was outstanding for his age. My father was always so active. He went on hikes and met his friends for walks every day. He loved shopping for us too, just to get out of the house. He never joined us on our trips, though. Flying scared him.”
Fran bit his lip and nodded gravely.
“We all went on a trip to Paris. I mean my husband and the kids. And well, that’s when it happened. It just had to happen the moment the plane took off. I felt so guilty afterwards.”
“What happened?”
“Dad was on his way to buy some bread like he did every morning and a huge bike ran over him like he was invisible. Witnesses said the driver didn’t even slow down. Just ran over him and kept going. Disgusting. The bastard even glanced back briefly, as if to make sure he’d actually run over a poor old man. Some people deserve the death penalty.”
“That’s awful. Is he in prison now?”
“They never found him! The police did nothing. I could tell they were done after just a couple of weeks. They were lost. After the initial inquiries, they only followed up once, months later. A new detective visited to show us some pictures: Two black men and a Japanese woman. He mentioned the black guys had never left Nigeria in their whole lives. Then why are you showing me their pictures? That was the last time we met the police. I still dream about that day. I dream that I know something tragic will happen. I try to resist and not get on the plane, but I can’t. ’m screaming inside inside, but I still enter the plane and it takes off. We can’t change the past, and we can’t even control our dreams either. It’s horrible. It’s worse than that dreamwave thing.”
Fran spoke in a lower, more formal tone.
“Excuse the next question, but I need to ask it for my report. Are you planning on disconnecting your father’s life support in the next 12 months?”
The woman laughed briefly, then shook her head.
“Did you talk to the doctors?” she asked.
“I didn’t.”
“They can’t make heads or tails of what’s happening in my father’s brain. They conducted three MRI scans because of how unusual the results were. His brain’s thalamus is active most of the time like he’s in constant REM sleep. It’s unheard of. The doctors claim that my father’s been dreaming ever since the accident years ago. What kind of savage would kill a dreaming man?”
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Everyone showed up at the botanic garden, but Fran only had eyes for Sancho and Bertrán. They both looked haggard, but their eyes lit up at the sight of their friend. They both stood up without a word and ran toward Fran. The emotions of the fight against the city guards and the minotaur swelled up in Fran, making him feel vulnerable and frail. Fighting the tears in his eyes, Fran embraced his fellow adventurers for what seemed a lifetime. When they broke the embrace, Sancho was the only one crying.
“Let’s see you fight back emotions when you get older,” he said, half crying, half smiling.
The others observed perplexed.
They returned to the group and Sancho updated everyone. He also explained what had happened after Fran was captured. More and more guards showed up, dozens, they must have sent every guard in the city after them, and the tide was just too intense to resist. A dozen spears wounded Seros before the guard’s minotaur dealt the final blow with his double axe.
“As for myself,” Sancho continued, “there was nothing I could do. Without my zombies I’m nothing.”
Blood was everywhere, a dozen guards were dying on the floor, and then came the real surprise, according to Sancho. The Archbishop had been watching in the shadows, and he demanded that Fran and his friends be moved to the Unholy Cathedral with the utmost urgency. The guards protested. His Holiness must mean we transport them after we take care of our people, right? The Archbishop raised his voice and addressed them like a bunch of worthless serfs, always a bad idea with armed men. These men had just seen their colleagues die before their eyes. The sound of swords and spears filled the streets. For a second, the unthinkable was about to happen, but then arrived the guard’s captain, a dwarf called Hugül. He ordered everyone to be sent away at the same time. “There’s more than enough people to help, come on!” The guards obeyed, but they took their time. Sancho and Seros barroy made it to the cathedral of the blood monks.
Everyone in the group looked horrified by the story.
“They’re healing us, okay?” continued Sancho. “That was the biggest surprise. I almost wet my pants when I woke up at some sort of operating table, surrounded by those sinister monks. They said they’d help us until Azgal’s done with you, Fran. Is the dragon done with you?”
Fran shook his head.
“He wants something from me. And I need your help to make it happen.”
“Our help?” asked the redhead woman. She sounded ready to assault the unholy Cathedral to liberate these guys she hardly knew and she sounded like she'd have fun doing it. Just two words and everyone’s mood improved. She must be great at motivating people.
“Just these two. They’re the only ones in Azgadal anyway. How close are the rest of you?”
“We’re all near Kliogos,” said the man. “We could make it to Azgadal in three or four Melan days.”
“Stay at Kliogos and eat some moussaka for me,” said Fran. “Azgadal’s become risky. Dangerous. Someone’s been possessed and will pay for it with their life.”
“Possessed by a demon?” asked Bertrán.
“By greed. Remember the orc I killed? His horde wasn’t there to attack Kliogos or the Empire. It’s Azgadal they’re after. Someone’s decided that Azgal the dragon isn’t that scary. That his city is a treasure waiting to be plundered. Sancho, Bertrán and I are going to save Azgadal. And we’re going to be richly rewarded for it.”