Marenna tried to lift the wyvern’s body using her vines, crafting a sort of rolling green conveyor belt.

  The idea was simple: slide the corpse forward while new vines regrew beneath it, slowing its fall and keeping the trajectory steady.

  And it worked.

  For a while.

  Until halfway down.

  Out of mana, Marenna couldn’t summon more vines.

  The last one twisted, snapped—

  And the massive carcass began tumbling down the slope.

  — “Oh no…” Garlan whispered.

  — “I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t see that,” Tharion muttered, not even turning around.

  The body picked up speed, scraped over boulders, bounced off a ledge—

  And finished its descent by exploding through two houses at the edge of the hamlet below.

  Silence.

  Then a long plume of dust.

  The three of them froze mid-step.

  — “Should we go down?” Garlan asked.

  — “Or pretend… we’ve never seen this dragon before?” Marenna suggested.

  — “It fell on its own,” Tharion murmured. “Definitely the slope. That slope’s suspicious.”

  The old man stared at the ruins… then at the still-smoking body… then at them. Very slowly.

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  As if trying to choose between gratitude or murder.

  Children ran up.

  Adults gathered.

  And the same old man from the day before stood there, eyes full of tears.

  — “You did it… By the ancients, you actually did it!”

  The village of Patus… wasn’t exactly celebrating.

  Two houses destroyed. A smoldering crater. Dozens of villagers frozen in utter disbelief.

  The old man trembled, an empty bucket in hand.

  — “You… was that… you…?”

  — “Gravity effect,” Tharion sighed. “Classic. Shouldn’t have built there.”

  Surprisingly, despite the improvised disaster, they were still given water, bread, and a night of hospitality.

  Probably because no one dared say no at that point.

  The next day, they headed back to the main town to claim their reward from the Adventurers’ Guild, take a long bath, and recover before moving on.

  At the guild entrance, Tharion stopped in front of the receptionist.

  — “So… where do I put it?”

  — “Put what?” she asked, already tired.

  — “That,” he said, nodding toward the giant wyvern head sitting on a makeshift cart.

  The receptionist turned pale, managed to stammer “By the sacred feathers…”

  And promptly fainted behind the desk.

  Children rushed over from the plaza, forming an excited crowd around the trophy.

  Villagers gathered too.

  Even decapitated, the wyvern’s head held a fierce majesty—part terrifying, part mesmerizing.

  The egg was still safely tucked inside a wool-padded satchel.

  They received their payment:

  500 crowns for the quest, plus a guild bonus for the rare materials salvaged from the wyvern’s head.

  Once the paperwork was done, Tharion stretched with a deep groan.

  — “Finally... to the inn. And more importantly—baths.”

  He pointed at Garlan and Marenna with exaggerated flair.

  — “You two need a wash too. Wyvern blood sticks… and stinks.”

  Tharion disappeared toward the giant baths reserved for large-bodied species like his.

  Left alone for a moment, Garlan and Marenna turned beet red in perfect sync.

  But we can’t bathe together… can we?

  That’s not… allowed… right?

  Both thought the exact same thing, word for word.

  Garlan clutched the egg close to his chest.

  Marenna clenched her jaw.

  There was a lot to wash off.

  And even more to process.