I Shall Pervert the Heavens

The road wound through dense forest, the canopy blotting out most of the sunlight. What little light pierced through scattered across the earth, where deep grooves marked the constant passing of heavy wheels. The air was damp, heavy with moss and leaf rot, filled with the low drone of insects.

At the center of the trail, a massive carriage like bus rumbled forward. Its frame was carved from thick blackwood reinforced with bands of runed iron. Chains and mana gears turned within the axle, keeping the monstrous wagon moving as if half-driven by sorcery. Each exhale of the beasts released pale mist that curled into the air like smoke.

Inside, the benches creaked beneath weight and armor. On one side, a cluster of youths barely seventeen winters old crowded together, whispering and laughing, a game of cards spread across their knees. Their weapons gleamed too brightly, their armor too polished. The eagerness in their voices betrayed their inexperience.

On the opposite benches sat older adventurers—scarred men hardened by years of dungeon runs. They said little. Their eyes stayed half-shut, bodies still as stone, minds already bracing for what awaited in Ratking Dungeon. They knew well enough the fate of brash recruits. No amount of laughter or boasting could shield a throat from a monster's fangs.

So they didn't bother berating those kids, instead they looked at them with pity as they knew already that most of them will definitely die and that alone will be a huge trauma to the rest of them.

In full words: this might be the last real genuine smile and laughter they will experience before having a dance with death.

They once were like those kids after all.

The mere thought of it left them feeling nostalgic.

And apart from both groups sat Zach at the very back of the seat.

He slouched against the wooden wall, golden eyes half-lidded, wings pressed awkwardly against the cramped space. His talons tapped idly against the bench, his scaled frame giving him the aura of a coiled predator. The other passengers gave him wide berth.

After all the barbaric attitude of Dragons were well known.

Wendy, one of the younger adventurers, glanced at him again and again, curiosity tugging at her chest. He was unlike anyone she had ever seen, scaled skin faintly glinting under the dim lanternlight, horns curling sharply, his face both striking and fearsome.

According to the history book she has read, only Dragons with royal bloodlines have golden eyes which immediately let her knew he will he stronger. And with how dangerous the dungeon will be and as a healer with no attack power, wouldn't it be good for her to get this strong backer inside the dungeon?

She thought inwardly as happiness filled her.

But as she shifted to rise, Amy's hand gripped her arm hard firmly.

"Don't," Amy hissed.

Wendy blinked, caught off guard. "What? Why not?"

Amy's eyes narrowed, voice low but firm. "You weren't actually going to walk up to that thing, were you?"

Wendy frowned. "He's not a thing. He looks… different, but—"

"That's the problem. You've never been told, have you? Creatures with demon's blood aren't like us. They're vicious. Unstable. They pretend to be tame, but the moment you lower your guard, they turn. There have been history of them stabbing themselves, betraying teammates, fighting instead of diplomatic wirds." Amy's tone was sharp but low as if fearing he will hear her, edged with fear.

Wendy hesitated, gaze sliding back to Zach. "You mean… he's dangerous? How did you know? Everyone has different personalities, you don't have to say so when you don't know anything about him."

"Hmph! What do you know? You're too naive!He is... More dangerous than you can imagine. People whisper that his kind lose themselves in battle, that they taste blood once and can't stop. Look at his claws, how will you defend yourself if he rip your stomach apart. His eyes look too cunning. Do you really think someone like that belongs beside us?"

Wendy's brow furrowed, but doubt gnawed at her. She lowered herself back onto the bench.

"Still," she murmured, "if he's that dangerous, why let him ride with us?"

Amy scoffed. "Because no one dares stop him. And because the guild values corpses less than they value results. If something like him helps a party clear the dungeon quicker, they'll risk it." Her voice dipped, carrying a faint shiver. "But don't be fooled. He's not with us. He's just waiting until he needs to feed."

The words left Wendy uneasy, her earlier spark of interest cooling to ash. She folded her arms and turned away, but not without one last glance.

Zach, however, had paid no attention to their whispers. His gaze stayed locked ahead, molten and distant. His wounds still ached beneath his scales from the hyena battle, his body stiff, but he showed nothing of it. To the others, he looked carved from stone.

Yet inside, his thoughts churned. The fight had nearly killed him. The world outside the dungeon was no safer than within. And now he was crammed into a rolling coffin with children boasting of kills they had never earned and veterans who watched him as if waiting for him to bare fangs.

The carriage creaked as the forest pressed in, and whispers spread.

"Monster."

"Demon's spawn."

"Dragon-blooded… cursed."

The words dripped through the air like venom, never said to his face but always loud enough for him to hear.

But if only they knew what was going on inside Zach's head at this moment, they would be speechless.

"…Gods, my balls itch. Should I scratch? No… too many eyes. Cold and mysterious, Zach, cold and mysterious. …Damn, I'm good at this."

"Damn… these benches are hard as hell. Is this carriage made for humans or for torture victims? My butt's going numb and I keep mistakenly sitting on my tail, it hurts! …Oh wait, that girl has nice legs. Hah, if she trips, I'd definitely catch her. With my claws. On her ass. Focus, Zach, focus—no, wait, don't focus. Focus is boring. Gods, why are their boobs bouncing when we hit bumps? My butt hurt like hell and still horny. Is that normal? Probably."

"..."