Karoth, still starry-eyed over Anna, finally turned back to the group.
"So! Will you join us in this glorious hunt?"
Bob immediately shook his head. "Yeah, no. We just got back from the Sword Graveyard."
Jim stretched. "And we are exhausted."
Marcus nodded. "We barely survived that mess, and now you want us to go fight a raging black dragon? Hard pass."
Karoth raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes, the famed Sword Graveyard. I wanted to go but you know...dragon business. I heard only five warriors managed to claim a sword."
Bob grinned, slapping Derek on the back. "That's right! And guess what? Derek's one of them!"
Karoth's eyes widened. "Truly?"
Derek sighed. "It's not that—"
But before he could finish, Karoth's eyes landed on the sword at Derek's belt.
The broken sword.
Silence.
Karoth nodded approvingly. "Ah. A warrior of true conviction."
Derek blinked. "…What?"
Karoth placed a hand over his heart, eyes filled with admiration.
"You, Sir Derek, are a knight of pure spirit. While others chase vain glory, you chose to wield a broken blade—a symbol that strength is not in the weapon, but in the man who wields it."
The group stared in disbelief.
Bob grinned. "Oh, this is amazing."
Jim had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing.
Marcus whispered, "Is… is he serious?"
Karoth continued, his expression serene. "A warrior who carries a shattered blade walks a path of discipline and honor. He could have chosen other swords. But didn't. To wield nothing but a fragment of steel, yet still fight with all one's might… truly inspiring."
Derek rubbed his temples. "That works too."
Karoth ignored him. "And so, Sir Derek, I shall take my leave, knowing that warriors such as yourself uphold the virtues of chivalry. Rest well."
Then, before departing, he turned to Anna, his expression softening.
"My lady…" He pulled out a small scroll. "A poem. For you."
Anna blinked. "…What?"
Jim muttered, "Does he carry it all the time?"
Karoth gently placed it in her hands, bowed dramatically, then marched off with his army.
The moment they were out of sight—
The group exploded with laughter.
Jim fell to his knees, wheezing. "Oh gods, I can't—!"
Bob wiped away tears. "Derek, you're a symbol of discipline and honor!"
Marcus grinned. "A true knight! A man of pure spirit!"
Derek sighed heavily. "I hate all of you."
Anna stared at the poem in her hands, before tossing it into the fireplace.
Jim smirked. "Not even gonna read it?"
Anna shrugged. "Not my taste."
Once the laughter finally died down, Jim turned to Anna.
"Alright, Dragon Lady. You probably know something about this black dragon problem, right?"
Anna leaned against the table. "Of course."
Bob crossed his arms. "So? What's the deal with black dragons?"
Anna's expression darkened slightly.
"Even dragons have their own stories."
The group listened intently as she continued.
"Black dragons are usually… outcasts. They are violent, cruel, and unlike most dragons, they do not care for reason or peace."
Derek frowned. "So… you're saying we can't talk to them?"
Anna shook her head. "There is no use talking to a black dragon. They only destroy."
Jim exhaled. "Great. A mindless murder machine. That's exactly what the world needs."
Bob scratched his head. "So, what, are they born evil?"
Anna's crimson eyes flickered. "Not born. But raised. Their kind has been cast out for so long, they only know one thing—destruction and hatred."
Marcus nodded slowly. "So… Karoth might actually be onto something."
Jim groaned. "I hate when Karoth is right."
Bob sighed. "Well, not our problem."
Anna watched the flames crackle in the fireplace, her expression unreadable.
Something about this felt off.
Something about Derek's broken sword, about this timing, about everything.
But she couldn't place why.
So for now, she said nothing.
That night, as Derek slept, the dream came again.
He was standing in the vast, endless field of swords, the sky glowing a soft golden light.
And in front of him—
The crowned man stood once more.
Smiling.
Watching him.
Saying nothing.
Derek took a step forward.
The man's smile widened.
Then—
Derek woke up.