The wyvern killer

Orion lay submerged in the warm bath, the flickering candlelight casting golden reflections across the water's surface. His body ached, marred with burns and bruises, the aftermath of his harrowing battle against the wyvern. As the heat seeped into his muscles, he exhaled slowly, allowing himself a brief moment of solace. Yet, his mind was restless.

"How can such a thing be possible with mana?" he mused, staring at the ceiling. "Or was it something entirely different?"

The battle had defied logic. It had demanded power beyond what he had known, beyond conventional magic. There had been something else at play, something unseen that had woven itself into the very fabric of the encounter. He did not understand it yet, but he was determined to unravel its mysteries. Ignorance was a weakness he could not afford.

Determined, he vowed to seek the truth. Not just for himself—but perhaps for many others as well.

After his bath, Orion focused on his injuries. Though light magic was not his forte, he meticulously employed it to mend the severe burns. The soothing warmth spread across his skin, easing the pain, though it lacked the full restorative power of a trained healer. Nevertheless, it was enough. The fatigue weighing on him was relentless, and soon, he surrendered to sleep, his mind drifting into the abyss of slumber.

---

While Orion rested, the Empire trembled with whispers of his name. His battle with the wyvern had set the land ablaze with speculation and awe. From the bustling streets of merchant districts to the shadowed halls of noble estates, rumors flourished.

"The Wyvern Killer," they called him.

Guilds, mercenary bands, and even royal factions hungered for the bounty placed upon his head. A million gold coins—an unfathomable sum. The Empire's most formidable warriors and cunning bounty hunters now hunted for the nameless, faceless mage who had defied one of the era's greatest terrors. And among them stood the Twelve Thrones themselves, the ruling elite of the Empire.

One of them, Teress Silver, renowned for her unparalleled prowess, had already set her sights on him. But even she was not the most formidable force in pursuit.

Deep within the Empire, in a grand chamber of celestial design, a woman of divine grace sat upon an opulent throne. Her dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, a river of silk framing her statuesque form. Light gray eyes, imbued with an ancient wisdom, observed the unfolding spectacle with an eerie serenity.

Clad in a resplendent white gown, she exuded an ethereal presence. This woman—a goddess in slumber, a being who had foreseen Orion's arrival—watched as fate unfurled before her.

Unlike the darkness of her prior dwelling, this chamber was bathed in sunlight, streaming through grand arched windows. The unsettling gray fog that once clung to her presence had dissipated, leaving behind an atmosphere of divine tranquility. She reclined regally, her fingers trailing across the edges of an enchanted scroll.

The parchment before her depicted Orion's battle in intricate, shifting strokes—each movement of magic and fury preserved in exquisite detail. The fiery wyvern's wrath, the clash of frost and flame, the death cry that shattered the night sky. And then, the climactic moment—the wyvern, frozen in time, its form dissolving into glistening shards as a lone figure stood victorious.

A slow, chilling smile curled her lips. Her piercing gaze lingered on the masked figure, the same visage she had glimpsed in her vision. A quiet whisper, laced with anticipation, escaped her lips.

"Found you."

---

Orion woke with a sharp breath, his body stiff but functional. He lay still for a moment, allowing the remnants of exhaustion to fade as his mind adjusted to consciousness.

The pain had dulled, but it remained—a constant reminder of his limits. Light magic had accelerated his recovery, but he was far from whole. Seeking aid from a healer was out of the question; all reputable healing facilities fell under the dominion of the Sun Temple's priests. Any inquiry into his injuries would invite suspicion.

He had no choice but to endure.

The day passed in quiet recuperation. Orion remained confined to his quarters, ordering his meals to be delivered to his room and keeping movement to a minimum. He consumed potent medicinal herbs taken from the crypt, their bitter essence lingering on his tongue. By nightfall, he felt significantly better—though still not at his peak.

When dawn arrived, he took another long bath, letting the scalding water strip away the fatigue clinging to his body. Finally feeling refreshed, he dressed and descended the stairs to the inn's main hall.

The moment he stepped into view, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations quieted, heads turned. A subtle but undeniable tension filled the space. The innkeeper himself rushed forward, bowing with exaggerated respect.

"Please, my lord, allow me to lead you to your table."

Orion followed without a word, his expression unreadable. As he settled into his seat, he took in the hushed conversations around him. The chatter was unusually intense, voices overlapping with excitement and speculation.

"…The wyvern killer… I heard he vanished into the night."

"They say he wields forbidden magic. Something not of this world."

"The reward alone is enough to make even a noble risk it all."

Orion remained impassive, listening intently. The details were as expected, but what caught his attention was the mention of his supposed crime.

He beckoned a nearby waitress. The young woman, her nerves evident, approached hesitantly.

"Your Excellency does not know?" she asked, eyes wide with surprise.

Orion's gaze was cold, unwavering. "Speak."

She swallowed and hurriedly relayed the events. "The wyvern attacked the central district of Ellsmere, laying waste to the entire zone before it was slain. No one knows who did it, but the rumors say a masked mage was seen in the aftermath."

"The Royal Knights arrived six hours later, only to find the wyvern already dead. The Brown Throne himself came to oversee the investigation."

"Today morning, an official declaration was made. They named the masked mage as the conspirator behind the attack, claiming he led the wyvern into the city before disposing of it to gain fame."

"A bounty of one million gold was placed on his head."

Orion's expression darkened, though he betrayed no outward reaction.

"But… not everyone believes the royal decree." The waitress lowered her voice. "Some say the knights needed someone to blame for their failure. There are even some hunters claiming that the masked mage saved them in the forest."

She hesitated, suddenly aware of whom she was speaking to. How she was complaining about royal gurds to the very ally of them. Realizing her mistake, she immediately bowed. "Mercy, my lord! I did not mean—"

Orion raised a hand, silencing her. Without a word, he tossed a gold coin onto the table. She snatched it up and scurried away, relieved.

He sat still, digesting the implications.

"A wanted criminal on my first day in the human region…" A wry smirk ghosted across his lips. "What a mess."

It was an inconvenience, certainly. But perhaps, in its own way, it was an opportunity.

One way or another, he would turn the tide in his favor.