Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 48: A Question of Humanity

Garrik's grip on his weapon was tight. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling with the weight of a poison more deadly than the snake's: fear.

"What the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice rough. He took a step forward, blade raised, eyes sharp. "You're no human... You're a damn monster!"

The healer, still catching her breath, widened her eyes in disbelief.

"Garrik, what are you doing?! He just saved us!"

The archer hesitated, shifting his weight uneasily. His gaze flickered between Garrik and Bel, uncertainty clouding his expression.

"Hey, calm down... now's really not the time for this."

But Garrik didn't lower his sword. He didn't even look at them.

His gaze was locked on Bel, unwavering. The oppressive aura had vanished, but the image was still burned into his mind, that monstrous pressure, that inhuman transformation.

That presence.

The way Bel stood now, his reptilian features exposed, his sharp fangs visible.

The way his slitted crimson eyes glowed through the darkness, watching, silent.

No different from a predator.

"You all feel it too!" Garrik barked. "This isn't normal! His presence, his power... it ain't human! This whole time, we thought he was just strong, but look at him! LOOK AT HIM!"

His hands trembled slightly before he tightened his hold on the hilt of his blade. "He's... he's not like us!"

The tension in the cavern was suffocating.

The dwarves exchanged glances, the healer bit her lip, unsure.

The archer ran a hand through his hair, his stance uncomfortable.

No one openly agreed with Garrik, but no one denied it, either.

Then, a quiet voice cut through the air.

"So what?"

The elf.

She stepped forward, placing herself between Bel and Garrik, her silver eyes locked onto the man with a chilling intensity.

"So what if he's not human?" she said, her tone carrying weight. "Since when has being human been mandatory for forming a party?"

Garrik flinched as if struck.

His mouth opened, then closed. The words caught in his throat.

Because she was right.

They had elves and dwarves in their group. No one ever questioned it. No one ever hesitated. So why now?

Why only with Bel?

He tried to rationalize it, to explain himself, but the words that left his mouth only dug the hole deeper.

"This is different! He's... he's not just another race! He's something else entirely! His strength, his aura, his body, it's not just unnatural, it's... it's dangerous!"

The elf scoffed, her expression hardening.

"Dangerous?" Her voice dropped slightly, but the intensity only grew. "He fought for us. He bled for us. He killed that monster while you were getting tossed around like a rag doll." She took a step closer, her presence pressing against him. "And yet, now that the battle is over, suddenly he's the problem?"

Garrik's jaw clenched.

"I didn't say that..."

"You have a terrible memory, in addition to a terrible efficiency." Her tone sharpened. "You called him a monster. You raised your blade against him. The moment you didn't understand him, you turned against him." She exhaled sharply, her frustration evident now. "How human of you."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garrik froze. The others shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond. The dwarves, normally gruff and vocal, said nothing.

Even Bel, who had been focused inwardly, lost in the weight of his transformation, found himself watching the elf instead.

Her voice, her anger directed toward humans, it reminded him of Ilya, back in the goblin incident.

A sharp, cutting resentment.

Not just for Garrik, but for something bigger.

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The elf wasn't just angry at Garrik. She was angry at humanity itself.

She continued, her voice laced with an emotion that surfaced.

"Do you know why elves don't trust humans? Do you even remember why our kind has drifted apart since the Demon War?" Her gaze was piercing. "An elf stood beside the hero, alongside other species. One of our own fought just as hard as he did. And when the war was over, who got the recognition? Who took the glory? Who reaped the rewards?"

No one answered.

Because everyone knew.

The humans had taken everything. The fame, the prosperity, the resources, even the right to decide the new structure of the world.

The hero was immortalized as a savior, but his companions? The ones who fought beside him? Forgotten. Neglected. Treated as mere footnotes in history.

"And now," she continued, gesturing at Bel, "you want to do the same thing again. Use him when it's convenient. Let him fight for you, bleed for you, but the moment he no longer looks like you, you cast him aside?"

Garrik said nothing. His grip on his weapon loosened slightly.

The elf's sharp gaze remained locked onto him.

"If you can't accept him after everything he's done, then maybe you should never ask for a party anymore. Go fight by yourself, like your people always call their wins."

More silence.

Garrik's breath was uneven. He looked at Bel, truly looked at him, beyond the fear, beyond the instinctive rejection.

Bel wasn't moving. He wasn't growling, wasn't baring his fangs. He stood there, quietly, watching.

Not as a monster. Not as a predator.

Just... waiting.

Finally, Garrik exhaled sharply, lowering his blade. He clicked his tongue, frustrated, but not arguing anymore.

"Tch. Damn elf..." He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "Fine. I get it."

He turned away, his expression unreadable.

"I was just surprised, ok? No need to go that far. Doesn't mean I trust him, though."

The tension in the room lingered, but something had shifted.

Bel, for the first time since his transformation, let out a slow breath.

The elf, still standing protectively in front of him, glanced over her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice quieter than before.

Bel exhaled sharply, running a clawed hand through his hair.

"I'm breathing."

His gaze flicked down to his own hands, the sharp claws glinting faintly in the dim light. He flexed his fingers, then looked back up at her.

The elf studied him for a long moment, her silver eyes unreadable. Then, she nodded slightly, seeming to relax. Turning back to the others, she straightened her posture and addressed them.

"We should move on and recover the materials quickly."

Now that the boss was defeated, the next step was recovery.

In most cases, after a successful raid, a specialized recovery team would arrive to process the remains of the slain monsters.

The materials, scales, fangs, venom, blood, bones, and magical cores, were highly valuable, used for forging weapons, crafting armor, alchemy, and other trades.

Typically, the entire haul would be collected and sold, with a huge part of the profits distributed to the adventurers.

However, by tradition, the party that cleared the dungeon had the right to claim some of the spoils for themselves before the recovery team proceeded.

It was an unwritten rule, one that rewarded those who had put in the effort.

Garrik clapped his hands together, shaking off the remaining tension from the fight.

"Alright, let's divide this up before the guild takes their share. Standard split, we all get a pick. Battlemage, since you did the dirty job, you get first choice."

The rest of the party nodded in agreement, some still glancing at him warily but not questioning the decision. They owed him that much.

Bel blinked, a bit surprised at the offer. Then, slowly, a warm smile spread across his lips.

This was all he wanted, all he needed.

The first choice.

"I appreciate it."

He stepped toward the massive corpse of the snake, scanning it. Fangs, scales, venom sacs, everything had value.

But there was only one thing he wanted, and he wouldn't have to fight to have it.

"The core."

A brief silence settled over the group. Monster cores, especially those from a dungeon boss, were among the most valuable materials an adventurer could obtain.

They were essential for high-tier enchantments, energy sources for magical constructs, and even alchemical advancements.

Boss cores were particularly lucrative, often fetching enormous sums when sold to the guild.

Most parties would sell the core without question, ensuring a large payout for everyone. It was another unwritten rule, but Bel had chosen otherwise.

The archer groaned dramatically.

"Oh, come on! The core? That's the best part! You know how much gold that thing is worth?"

The swordsman sighed, crossing his arms.

"Man, you sure? That's the biggest cut we had to sell. If you take it, we're all getting less in the payout."

The dwarves exchanged glances, then shrugged.

"Can't say we expected that, but fair's fair. The lad earned it."

The elf, unlike the others, simply nodded.

"Fine by me. It belongs to you now."

The rest of the party groaned in annoyance but relented.

"Fine, fine. It's yours. Just don't expect us to be happy about it," the healer muttered, shaking her head.

With Bel's decision made, the others chose their rewards. The dwarves took large chunks of the snake's hardened scales, excited about their potential for crafting armor.

The swordsman claimed one of the massive fangs, already envisioning it reforged into a weapon.

The healer took a small vial of venom, useful for rare medicines and poisons alike.

The archer, still grumbling about the core, took some of the snake's bones, sturdy enough to reinforce a bow.

Only the elf remained empty-handed.

Instead of taking from the boss, she moved among the corpses of the lesser reptilian monsters they had fought earlier.

Silently, she collected magic cores from their remains, storing them in her pouch without a word.

With their selections made, the party stepped aside as the recovery team moved in to finish the job.

They worked efficiently, for hours, cutting apart the massive snake and extracting whatever was salvageable.

Once the core was removed, the dungeon would collapse, sealing itself permanently, so Bel had to wait the whole time until they had finished.

Not wanting to risk revealing his full appearance to the guild workers, he moved to a quieter part of the dungeon, waiting for the process to finish.

The little dungeon light cast long shadows as he was sitting on a fallen stone, arms resting on his knees, exhaling deeply.

His exhaustion was creeping in, pressing down on him like a weight. Despite his stats having reached their maximum, his body felt drained, and the battle had left him feeling hollow.

"You should head back. The recovery team is nearly done."

Bel turned his head slightly. The elf stood at the entrance of the room, her silver eyes studying him.

She stepped closer.

"If you want your reward, now's the time to claim it."

Bel exhaled, fingers curling around the dwarven ring. It was still working, suppressing his presence. That should be enough.

"Alright."

He stood up, ready to walk, but then, he hesitated. His grip on the ring tightened, his thoughts turning.

Even with his aura concealed, his appearance would still cause a problem. His scales, his eyes, his claws... he was anything but normal.

The elf must have noticed his hesitation. She studied him for a moment before speaking.

"Ignore them."

Bel looked at her.

"Humans love to judge based on appearance," she continued. "It's meaningless. You should just take your true form and stop worrying about what they think."

Bel chuckled, though it was laced with tiredness.

"I'm not even sure what my true form is anymore."

Then, something shifted. A strange sensation passed through him, like a deep pulse from within. His body flickered, just for an instant, a dark aura, like wisps of smoke, curling around him before vanishing.

And just like that, his scales disappeared.

His claws retracted, his sharp teeth dulled. His body was now smooth. His hair remained long and white, cascading down his back, but his features had softened.

His skin was pale, almost luminous white, his frame delicate yet still carrying a muscular shape. Even his hands were slender and human once more.

Both of them were frozen, staring at him in disbelief.

Then, a new message appeared before his eyes.

[Warning: Stamina too low to maintain Draconic Form. Returning to Base Form.]