The Azure Dragon’s Devotion: An Offering of Three Centuries to You, page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
The Azure Dragon’s Devotion: An Offering of Three Centuries to You
Afterword
Color Illustration
About J-Novel Club
Copyright
A child lay unmoving in a puddle of blood.
“Kohaku!”
A sobbing boy ran toward this child, his wretched cries echoing in the air.
“No, no! Don’t leave me behind!”
The boy helped Kohaku sit up and cradled his bloody body in his arms. “Don’t leave me alone!” he begged.
“Stop...crying...” Kohaku murmured.
“Why, Kohaku? How did things come to this?!”
“Stop crying,” Kohaku rasped once more, his voice halting. “I liked your face better...when you smiled.” He gave the tearful boy a small smile of his own.
“Kohaku?! Kohaku! No, wait! Please, stop! How could this...? Kohaku!”
Warmth seeped away from Kohaku’s body, and the boy could do nothing to stop it. He was utterly powerless. All he could do was bear witness to the life fading before his very eyes.
“Someone...! Someone help Kohaku, please! I’ll do anything! Don’t take Kohaku from me!”
His desperate pleas reverberated in the empty silence, but no one heard them. The time the two boys could have spent together was lost forever.
At least, that was what should have happened.
***
The glamorous banquet for the chieftains of the beastfolk tribes was held once every few years. Though many looked forward to this event, Kohaku was not one of them. He didn’t understand what was so fun about gathering and making merry like this.
The surrounding conversations from the various tribe leaders were also an utter bore. If they weren’t discussing how that youth from such and such tribe had kidnapped a human, they were gossiping about how a chieftain’s mate had dumped them and left. None of the lowbrow topics they raised were worth convening to chat about in person. Yet Kohaku’s sharp ears picked up every useless word out of their mouths, which put him in an even fouler mood.
His hair, which he’d tied in a high ponytail, fell over his shoulder, and he pushed it back. All the surrounding chieftains’ heads were adorned with intricate crowns, but only a braided rope decorated Kohaku’s hair. This was hardly a surprise, though—under normal circumstances, he should never have been at this party. Kohaku gazed down at his reflection in his cup and narrowed his eyes. His tight ponytail was tugging the corners of his eyes upward, which gave him a rather stern expression.
The White Tiger Clan was a courageous tribe, and many of its members boasted muscular physiques. People even considered that to be a hereditary trait of theirs. But Kohaku didn’t have that sort of frame. His appearance was more feminine, something he’d inherited from his late mother. White hair was also a distinguishing feature of those in the White Tiger Clan, but Kohaku had black hair—and was the only one with that color. His golden eyes were the sole physical characteristic he shared with his kinsmen.
As a child, he’d suffered through teasing and bullying thanks to his unique looks, and it wasn’t rare for others to suspect that he wasn’t a real member of the White Tiger Clan. No matter how much he trained and exercised, his slender body refused to build any muscle. Lately, he’d given up on improving his appearance. And besides, even if he did change his looks to resemble the other members of the White Tiger Clan, that wouldn’t change how they treated him.
His neglected hair fell beside his face in unruly waves and curls. He wrapped a strand around his finger. It’s as hideous as always, he thought as he averted his gaze from his reflection. He must have damaged his hair while exterminating the demon the other day, since during the fight, his curls had caught on fire. He wished he could cut his annoying long hair, but because hair housed magic, he couldn’t, lest he weaken himself.
Bored out of his mind, Kohaku glanced around. Members of the White Tiger Clan wore white clothing embroidered with golden thread, but Kohaku didn’t have permission to wear that garb. Instead, he was dressed down in dirty black-red robes. He stood out in a bad way among the bright colors worn by the surrounding partygoers. Kohaku wasn’t so meek that he would hunch his shoulders and hide, but he didn’t deny that the contrast made him uncomfortable.
“When is the guest of honor arriving?” he muttered.
They had been waiting and waiting, and yet the chieftain of the tribe that the beastfolk worshipped was still absent. Even though the time on the invitation had come and gone, the party couldn’t start without him. Kohaku wished this dull farce would end soon so he could beat a hasty exit.
In a seat tucked in the corner of the room, Kohaku leaned against the railing and sipped from his cup. Loud voices echoed in the hall where he stood, and he heard a similar din coming from the outside corridor across from the central courtyard. All of it only amplified his desire to leave. If his father, the leader of the White Tiger Clan, hadn’t ordered him to stay, he would have bid this place farewell a long time ago.
“Come on, Lord Kohaku. Turn that frown upside down.” Mashiro, whom Kohaku had brought as his plus-one, smiled and pinched Kohaku’s cheek.
Mashiro was a human child whom Kohaku had taken in as a baby. He was now twelve years old. Kohaku was a beastfolk, and members of his race could live for thousands of years provided they had a high level of magical energy, so a human’s life was so short it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. It felt like just the other day, Mashiro had been an infant who couldn’t even speak, and now he was a mischievous little rascal. However, he was still adorable, with his animated expressions and cheeks still round with baby fat. He’d begun growing his hair out and tying it up in his ponytail to imitate Kohaku, and Kohaku couldn’t help but find this charming.
“If you don’t clean up your act, the chieftain will yell at you again for not acting like a proper member of the White Tiger Clan!” Mashiro continued.
Kohaku sighed. “Like I care.” He held out his cup, prompting Mashiro to pour him more alcohol. Despite the obvious exasperation on Mashiro’s face, he obeyed the wordless command. Leg propped on his seat—propriety be damned—Kohaku drained the cup once again and licked the remnants of liquor from his lips.
Kohaku, who had not been accepted as a “proper member of the White Tiger Clan” for a very long time now, couldn’t care less about his chieftain’s disapproval. In beastfolk culture, one was only considered mature when they could transform. All the chieftains present were showing off the ears and tails specific to their respective tribes. However, throughout his entire life, Kohaku had never once managed to transform.
Because it was unprecedented for a beastfolk to reach the age of maturity and still remain unable to transform, the others shunned Kohaku and treated him as the tribe nuisance. Yet despite his inability to change his appearance, Kohaku possessed the most magical energy out of anyone in his clan.
The White Tiger Clan commanded respect among the other beastfolk since they were one of the Four Gods—tribes said to be closest to deities. In recent years, none of the White Tigers had been born with powerful magic, which was why Kohaku could never convince his tribe to exile him. Instead, they just kept him around like a neglected pet.
Kohaku thought back to how his father had glared at him that morning. The root of his fury had been his displeasure at allowing Kohaku to appear in the public eye while no one else in their tribe could attend the party. Kohaku was used to his father’s furious expressions, as that was how his father had always looked at him since childhood. But every time he saw them, it was a forceful reminder of how disliked he was.
Kohaku then brushed his fingers against the accursed collar around his neck. He had worn it since he was a boy, and as long as it remained on him, he could never escape the tribe. The collar merely looked like a simple accessory at first glance. However, it was actually an instrument of torture designed to punish its wearer. Infuriatingly, if Kohaku ever dared to rebel against his tribe, the collar would reflect his own magical power back at him, so the stronger he was, the more violent the pushback would be. That was why Kohaku couldn’t remove his ridiculous collar, even now.
But if he died, he could be free of both the collar and his tribe. Such a thought had crossed his mind many times, but he couldn’t act on it now.
He glanced over at Mashiro, who was peering around with open curiosity in his eyes. “Calm down a little,” Kohaku said with a wry smile. Now that he had taken in Mashiro, Kohaku had a responsibility to take care of him until the end. So at the very least, while Mashiro lived, Kohaku also had a reason to carry on.
“Whoa, look over there, Lord Kohaku! It’s so pretty!”
Flutters rippled through the air as a swarm of butterflies took flight and converged on a single point. As Kohaku traced their path with his eyes, he couldn’t suppress a scoff. “He’s finally here.”
No matter when Kohaku laid eyes on him, he always looked the same. The man’s beauty enchanted all who gazed upon him. It seemed more accurate to think of him as a demon rather than what he really was: the chieftain of the Dragon Clan.
Continuing to hurl insults in his mind, Kohaku observed the butterflies until he saw a man—the exact man he’d expected—approaching from the hall. A crowd of both people and butterflies mirrored his every step.
The
No matter how many times Kohaku saw this dragon, his beauty was radiant to the point of inciting hatred. His silver hair rippled behind him, long and glossy. He could even sway the long sleeves of his pale-green shenyi with grace.
The man’s name was Seiryu. He was the chieftain of the Dragon Clan, which held the highest position among the Four Gods—the quartet of tribes that commanded authority over all the other beastfolk. Everyone looked up to him for his beauty, magic, and vast abundance of knowledge. Two long horns adorned his head, and a hefty tail dragged behind him. His green eyes, reminiscent of jade, also served as evidence of his draconic heritage.
Every time Kohaku saw Seiryu, a deep sense of inferiority would strike. He felt pathetic since he couldn’t even transform. But even if he could, Kohaku would never be able to compare himself to a man as brilliant or respected as Seiryu.
The Four Gods, who stood above the other beastfolk tribes, were the Dragon Clan, the White Tiger Clan, the Genbu Clan, and the Suzaku Clan. Each clan descended from a vassal of the gods. While many born into these clans boasted powerful magic, members of the Dragon Clan were said to be the closest to living deities. The Dragon Clan’s influence grew by the day, especially since the chieftains of the Genbu and Suzaku Clans avoided social functions. This was true of today’s celebration as well—of the Four Gods, the only ones who had deigned to make an appearance were from the White Tiger and Dragon Clans. And since Kohaku was the representative of the White Tiger Clan, it stood to reason that everyone’s attention would be on Seiryu.
“Why are so many butterflies fluttering above his head?” Mashiro asked. “Are they drawn to his beauty?”
Kohaku huffed in response. “Think of it as sending a letter to someone you fancy.”
The number of butterflies hovering above Seiryu’s head was equal to the number of admirers he had at the party. This was an ancient method of flirting, born from a frivolous superstition proclaiming that if you sent a paper butterfly to the object of your affection, they would reciprocate your love.
It’d been a while since the last time Kohaku had appeared at one of these events, so he had no idea when people had started indulging in this game during chieftains’ meetings. Everyone present seemed to have far too much time on their hands. Meanwhile, the White Tiger Clan never gave Kohaku any respite. He always had to rush here to exorcise some demons or hurry there to solve some trouble that had occurred. If the other tribes had time to mess around with jinxes, they could certainly take some work off his hands. Besides, Kohaku wasn’t supposed to have been at the meeting today either. As the embarrassment of the White Tiger Clan, he only appeared as the tribe’s representative during emergencies, and it was due to one such emergency that he was here at all.
To think that everyone would fall ill at once! The rest of the tribe must have gotten together and feasted on something delicious without bothering to tell Kohaku or save him any. While this had saved him from food poisoning, it also meant that he had to act as the tribe’s representative at the meeting, so it was hard to feel any sense of relief or satisfaction.
Mashiro, who had left at some point while Kohaku was staring at Seiryu, hurried back with a bright smile on his face. “Lord Kohaku, look!”
“Not you too...”
Mashiro had handed him a paper butterfly. Don’t tell me that even you fell for that dragon! Kohaku’s eyes narrowed, but Mashiro laughed and handed the butterfly to him instead.
“That’s not it at all!” Mashiro exclaimed. “They’re just so cute that I’d love to see one taking flight from up close, so I went and grabbed a few.”
Ridiculous. That was Kohaku’s honest opinion after hearing the boy’s reasoning. However, Mashiro was staring at him with expectation sparkling in his eyes. So, after heaving a sigh, Kohaku blew on the paper and imbued it with his magic. The paper butterfly floated from Kohaku’s hand and fluttered around Mashiro.
“Wow! This is so cool, Lord Kohaku!”
Mashiro’s parents had abandoned him as a baby. By the time Kohaku had found him and taken him in, he’d been on death’s doorstep. Since then, Mashiro had been attached to Kohaku, and the feeling was mutual. To Kohaku, who had raised the boy since he was an infant, Mashiro was practically his own flesh and blood. He often kept Mashiro around and spoiled him.
A human’s body was fragile, though, so Kohaku usually had Mashiro stay at the manor as a retainer. This marked the first time Mashiro had accompanied him outside of the village. The chieftains of the beastfolk tribes had a lot of time on their hands, and some of them viewed humans as their playthings, which was why Kohaku hadn’t wanted to bring Mashiro at first. But Mashiro had complained, refusing to stay behind.
Kohaku was very lenient toward the boy—something he was well aware of himself. A human’s life was so short, after all. If Mashiro wanted something, Kohaku would do his utter best to grant his wish.
“Lord Kohaku! Make another one fly!”
At Mashiro’s urging, Kohaku had no choice but to breathe life into yet another paper butterfly. Mashiro watched it frolic through the air, his expression soft with joy.
“Can you fly them out farther?” he asked.
“As long as there’s enough magic in the paper,” Kohaku replied. He directed the butterfly flying above Mashiro to flutter a short distance away.
“Wow!” Mashiro clapped his hands in delight. “You’re amazing, Lord Kohaku!”
From Mashiro’s human perspective, even such simple magic seemed entertaining. Finding his reactions adorable, Kohaku sat with Mashiro and followed the path of the butterfly with his eyes.
Suddenly, someone gently snagged the butterfly from the air.
“Ah!”
Mashiro cried out in surprise, and at nearly the same moment, a scream rose from within the manor. The sound was so piercing that Kohaku instinctively raised his hands and covered his ears. He looked toward the ruckus and found himself meeting Seiryu’s eyes. The Dragon Clan’s chieftain was sitting slightly apart from Kohaku, with a butterfly resting on his finger.
You again? Kohaku furrowed his brow. Whenever some trouble came up, this man was usually at the heart of it. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. He looked away.
Mashiro grabbed his arm and shook it. “Lord Kohaku, there’s still one more butterfly.” He pointed at the paper flitting around above him, and Kohaku tilted his head to the side.
“What about it?”
“Send this one farther away too! I’d love to try to catch it!”
Good grief. Kohaku shrugged and did as Mashiro asked.
The boy jumped to his feet and began following the butterfly around, looking like he was having the time of his life. He grunted and called out, “Just a bit more!” as he leaped for the butterfly, and Kohaku mischievously commanded it to fly even higher. Mashiro’s fingers whiffed. He was trying so hard to catch the butterfly that the more Kohaku watched him, the funnier the situation became, and Kohaku couldn’t suppress a snicker.
However, that was where their game stopped—a hand reached out yet again to capture the butterfly. Mashiro cried out at the theft.
Fed up, Kohaku couldn’t suppress a click of his tongue, and he made sure it was loud enough to reach the ears of the man with two butterflies on his finger. Kohaku wasn’t hiding his foul mood. Any normal person would have avoided him, but the other man wasn’t normal at all. With no regard for Kohaku’s thunderous scowl, the other man elegantly made his way over, all the while sending Kohaku a bright smile.
“Long time no see,” he said.
His face softened when he looked at Kohaku. He could ensnare thousands with that beautiful smile alone. How many had fallen victim to the illusion that they were special in his eyes, all because he had gazed upon them with this very expression? It was frightening to imagine.
Kohaku huffed and replied curtly, “I believe our last meeting was a scant three years ago.”
There was a reason he remembered this detail so clearly. Back then, the ambassador who was supposed to visit the Dragon Clan had fallen ill, so the last-minute mission of sending them a package had fallen onto Kohaku’s shoulders. But Kohaku had spent so much time defeating a demon on the way there that he’d had no choice but to stay the night at the Dragon Clan’s village, which had caused Mashiro undue worry.
