“Gami! How is Father?!”
“He appears in good health. He awoke moments ago and resumed reading.”
“That man is hopeless! Ever since losing to the humans, he’s holed himself up in his study—utterly useless now!”
Galard shook his head in dismay.
“But do not worry. I, Galard, shall take the field in the next battle! I will crush the humans besieging Gangaruga Fortress and lead the Demon King’s army—no, the entire demonkin—in Father’s stead!”
Galard declared himself the next Demon King.
“That’s rather underhanded, brother. We won’t let you hog all the glory!”
“Indeed. We too shall join the campaign. On the battlefield, victory goes to the swift, not to brothers!”
At Galard’s words, the second son, Galeon, and the third, Gaon, boasted spiritedly.
“Hah! Fine then. We’ll settle this on the battlefield!”
Galard laughed, brimming with confidence.
Until now, Garios’ sons had earned victories worthy of their size, yet none had been seriously considered as candidates for the next Demon King. Their father’s overwhelming presence had eclipsed them entirely.
But now, with Garios locked away in his study, his reputation had plummeted. This was Galard’s chance—claiming the title of Demon King was no longer impossible.
“Ah, right—Gami! I’ve got something to show you. Come to the back garden!”
Without waiting for a response, Galard strode down the hallway.
Though Gami needed to plan the Gangaruga relief immediately, refusing would only waste more time. Reluctantly, he followed.
The towering brothers quickly outpaced the smaller Gami, leaving him behind—all except Izaak, the youngest, who matched his pace.
“I apologize. Even though you’ve just been released from prison today, I’ve dragged you around like this.”
“No, it’s quite alright.”
Gami shook her head at Izaak, who was bowing deeply.
As the seventh son, Izaak was the shortest among Garios’s sons. By demon standards, his height was average, but his brothers all boasted builds rivaling Garios himself, making him appear even smaller in comparison.
His looks didn’t help either. While his brothers had sharp, refined features, Izaak had a flat, squashed nose and a stocky frame that made him seem even more stunted. His personality was meek and reserved—neither his appearance nor his temperament resembled Garios in the slightest.
As they walked, Izaak kept glancing at Gami.
“Is there something you wish to discuss, Lord Izaak?”
Noticing he had something on his mind, Gami gently prompted him.
“Ah, well… I’ve been granted permission to join my brothers on the battlefield. It will be my first campaign.”
“Congratulations.”
Gami offered him a perfunctory congratulation.
Among demons, a first campaign was synonymous with coming of age—this meant Izaak was now officially a man.
“But Lord Izaak, was that what you wanted to tell me?”
Gami could sense his concern lay elsewhere.
“No, it’s not that… Lord Gami, what really happened to Father? My brothers say he’s locked himself away in defeat, but I don’t believe that’s the case.”
Gami nodded.
The seventh son’s intuition wasn’t far off.
Galard had claimed Garios was “broken after losing,” but Garios was not the kind of man to wallow in self-pity. He was neither invincible nor undefeated—he had tasted defeat many times before. He was simply a man who couldn’t resist testing his limits.
The others didn’t know this because his last true defeat had been over a decade ago.
“Lord Gami… when will Father finally leave his chambers?”
Izaak’s question was one Gami couldn’t answer.
He had a rough idea of what Garios was thinking, but when—and how—he would make his decision was something no one could predict.
“Lord Izaak, Garios-sama is the reincarnation of a dragon. A dragon’s troubles can only be understood by another dragon. He will emerge when he is ready. For now, let him be.”
Gami shook his head slightly.
When Garios finally stepped out of his chambers, the world would shift. All they could do now was wait.
Having finished their conversation, Gami and Izaak continued walking, exiting the mansion and stepping into the rear courtyard.
Though called a courtyard, it was more of a training ground enclosed by castle walls, with a massive rear gate visible in the distance.
“Gami, Izaak. You’re late.”
Galard barked at the two as they arrived.
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“Don’t be so hard on him, Brother. The runt’s legs are short.”
“Gami is one thing, but Izaak never seems to grow. Are you really our brother?”
The fourth son, Galdard, and the fifth son, Gaston, smirked mockingly. Izaak lowered his head in response.
“So, Lord Galard. What was it you wanted to show us?”
Uninterested in the brothers’ squabbles, Gami turned to Galard.
“They should be returning from drills soon. Look—here they come.”
Galard jerked his chin toward the rear gate as soldiers began marching in, their footsteps rumbling like distant thunder. About six thousand of them—all tall, imposing demons—filed into the courtyard.
“Impressive, isn’t it? A force to rival Father’s Giant Brigade.”
“It certainly is remarkable.”
Gami nodded politely as Galard proudly watched the soldiers assemble.
“For the next battle, we’ve decided to divide them equally—each of us six will lead a thousand.”
Galard’s gaze swept over his five brothers, pointedly excluding Izaak. The sons of Garios grinned, battle lust burning in their eyes.
“And look—there’s more!”
Galard pointed toward the gate.
Though the soldiers had finished marching, the ground continued to shake. Squinting, Gami saw ten soldiers dragging thick chains behind them—and beyond the gate, the massive head of a reptilian beast emerged.
Its rough, rocky hide, beady eyes, and gaping maw lined with jagged teeth—this was no ordinary creature.
A dragon. And not just any dragon—a massive one, the size of a house.
Chains coiled around its neck as the soldiers hauled it into the courtyard.
Its thunderous steps reverberated through the ground, its long tail lashing like a whip. A deafening roar sent tremors through Gami’s body even from a distance.
“A Tyrant Dragon—Tyrano. It’s been a while.”
Gami let out an impressed murmur.
In their homeland of Gordia, dragons were common, but the human-inhabited Axis Continent was only supposed to have small and medium-sized species.
“Did you go out of your way to transport this?”
“We brought over eggs and hatched them here. They’ve grown well.”
Galard nodded smugly as Gami stared in disbelief.
The rumbling footsteps continued. Next came a three-horned Tricera, followed by a Stego with twin rows of blade-like spines along its back. Then a Deino with massive arms and jaws, a Spino with a sail-like fin, and finally—a Brachio, its long neck and tail swaying as its pillar-like legs shook the earth.
Six giant dragons, lined up in all their glory—a truly magnificent sight.
“Amazing, isn’t it? And we can ride them.”
“…Truly?”
Gami couldn’t believe it.
Dragons were inherently wild creatures. Gami himself had managed to tame a flock of Pteras, but only after extensive breeding and training. Yet, looking closely, he noticed saddles strapped to the dragons’ backs. The Brachio even carried a large basket-like structure, capable of holding multiple soldiers.
“Father trained them. To us, dragons are little more than guard dogs. Watch this.”
Galard and his five brothers strode confidently toward the dragons. True enough, the beasts remained docile even as they approached—likely broken by Garios’s sheer force.
The brothers then grabbed the chains and leaped onto the dragons’ backs.
Galard mounted the Tyrant Dragon, while the second son, Galeon, climbed onto the Brachio. The third son, Gaon, leaped onto the Deino, Galdard took the reins of the Tricera, Gaston settled onto the Stego, and the sixth son, Garis, rode the Spino.
Each brother had a dragon assigned to him—but with only six dragons, Izaak was left out.
“Hey, Izaak. Go get yours.”
Garis shouted. Apparently, Izaak had a dragon of his own—though he seemed reluctant to bring it out.
“Hurry up!”
Prodded by Gaston, Izaak trudged off toward what appeared to be a stable repurposed as a dragon pen. Moments later, he returned with his dragon in tow.
“Oh? An Armored Dragon—Ankylo.”
Gami nodded approvingly at the creature by Izaak’s side.
True to its name, the Ankylo was covered in hard scales, with numerous spikes protruding from its back. Its long, whip-like tail ended in a massive, club-like mass of bone—earning it the nickname “Fist Dragon.”
Though its tail could shatter trees with ease, the Ankylo was only medium-sized, about as large as a carriage. Its flat build made it appear even smaller.
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