The Scarlet Lagoon Incident

“Looking good, Valen.”

Rod marched toward the middle of the city square, smiling wide and running his fingers through his hair like the handsome man he was. He did a little dance, the beat of his heart matched by the clack of his boots against the stone floor. Marion and Lucan were in charge of keeping the crowd away, but there was no mistake—right now, all eyes were on him.

Word traveled fast in Windermere. A rumor or two was all it took for the entire city to realize the Guild had issued an emergency S-rank quest, and that no one had accepted it except the Banner of Dawn. Though to be fair, a massive dragon was currently blotting out the sun.

“Of course, Rod. It’s me,” Valen hummed playfully. “Lucan should be back any minute. I told Marion that once they're done holding the civilians back, he needs to set up another layer of protection spells to keep your flames inside the square.”

Rod cracked his knuckles. “Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She was cute, especially when she smiled like that—a cheeky, confident grin that made time feel as though it were slowing down. Knowing Valen, she was probably using her magic for that exact purpose: to brighten the world, to highlight the way his luscious hair caught the wind, and to draw him right into her dark eyes. Fuck.

“You know it’s hard for me to answer that.”

“I know.”

Rod chuckled. “See what I mean? I try to start a conversation and you just shut me down.”

“I'm not.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“No, I’m not,” Valen said, nudging him toward the looming threat. “Go all out, Rod.”

“Wouldn't dream of doing anything less.”

Rod took a deep breath and drew upon his magic. The air began to boil. He glanced at Valen, noticing her lips chap slightly from the sudden heat—a minor inconvenience she healed in an instant.

“How’s our target?”

“No changes,” Valen replied. “It’s unusual for a Red Dragon to head north this time of year, but everything else is moving according to plan. It'll pass over the city square in a minute or two, bound straight for the citadel.”

Rod nodded.

“That’s it?” Valen chuckled, stepping closer with her porcelain staff at the ready. “No ‘thank you’? No ‘you're so smart, Valen’? No 'you're so cute and amazing, Valen'?”

“Nope,” Rod laughed. “You’d just say, ‘Of course, it’s me.’”

“Because it is.”

“See?”

Valen raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure about its path, though?” he asked.

“Of course—” Valen cut herself off, flashing a villainous smile. “I set out bait.”

“Evil.”

“Normal people might call it evil. I prefer efficient.” Valen waved her staff, weaving a glowing magic circle beneath their feet. “It guarantees the beast passes over us, giving you and Lucan the perfect angle to bring it down.”

“Brilliant as always, Valen.”

She glanced at Rod, then up at the monster in the sky. “Of c-course. It’s me.”

Rod took another step forward. The beast was almost in range. All he had to do was shoot it down, and the victory would belong to the storybooks. He could already taste the fame. The tavern crowds would go wild, begging him to recount the tale. And he would make sure to share the spotlight with Valen, Lucan, and Marion.

And as for how he performed his magic, it wasn’t all just talent. He had studied for this. It had taken a grueling effort to grow this strong, and just as much practice to make casting look effortless. If anyone asked what separated a decent adventurer from a true legend, his answer was simple: showmanship.

Rod pushed the ambient heat higher. The stone beneath them cracked and crumbled. Slowly, molten flames that seemed to scorch the air itself bled out from the fractures, crawling upward as if rising from the abyss.

Generating this much energy on a massive scale wasn't easy. In fact, Rod would rather fight hand-to-hand than do this in the middle of a battle. He had said showmanship was the mark of a great adventurer—a hero of legend—but this part of his act worked both ways. For one, it made him look cool and powerful. At the same time, it sped up the process and made his flame hotter, since he could borrow that heat and condense it into a single point.

He had once read in an ancient tome that magic was all about visualization. To cast the strongest spells, one had to be the perfect blend of stupid and brilliant. He was precisely that. Combined with the blessings of the gods, there was little he couldn't accomplish.

He pictured the swirling heat accelerating, generating exponential power as it condensed into a pinpoint glint of deep crimson at the tip of his index finger.

All that remained was for the arrogant dragon to spot a lonely pair—a foolish Human and an Engkanto—daring to challenge it with a mere flick of fire. And the creature took the bait. It paused in midair, flared its wings, and dove headfirst toward them, fire churning in its throat and spilling past its fangs.

“Do you need more time?” Valen asked calmly.

Rod shook his head. “What's the status on the barrier spells? Where’s Lucan?”

“On standby,” Valen replied. “Marion’s finished, too.”

“Thanks, Valen.”

Rod leveled his finger at the diving beast. The dragon opened its jaws to unleash a torrent of flame, turning the sky a blinding red as if forcing an early sunset. It was a contest of pure firepower. But who was he kidding? This wouldn’t even be a contest.

Rod’s tiny point of light shattered the air, detonating outward like lightning. The blast met the dragon’s fiery breath and disintegrated it, swallowing the flames like a tidal wave overwhelming a splash of water. The crimson beam consumed everything in its path, cleanly obliterating the dragon’s neck and left shoulder.

An instant later, the shockwave struck the earth. The ground beneath them caved in. Blood sprayed, but the heat was so extreme that the blood turned to glass in midair, as did the jagged stump of the dragon's neck.

“Scarlet Lagoon,” Rod murmured, grinning wide.

He could see it, taste it, feel it—the legend of the man who slew a fire-resistant dragon using a fire spell. Now, as the colossal, lifeless carcass plunged straight toward them like a falling meteor, there was only one thing left to do: leave it to Lucan.

The paladin bounded into the square, striking both the severed head and the massive body mid-fall, swatting them safely to the ground and keeping collateral damage to a minimum.

“You two all right?” Lucan asked.

The man didn’t even break a sweat. He stood before them with an effortless, kingly presence. He carried his shining blonde hair and golden eyes with pride, wearing heavy armor like it was made of leather. This was a man who could swing a warhammer like a stick. He was beloved by many—the epitome of a paladin. Lucan.

Rod looked at the slain dragon, then toward the protective barriers Marion had erected around the square, and finally back to his companions.

“Speaking of saving mana…” Rod winced slightly. “Someone’s going to have to help me apologize to Marion.”