The Villainous Son Loves His Mother - Chapter 56

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The Maristella Continent—a desolate land swept by relentless winds—had long grown accustomed to the dark clouds that perpetually shrouded its skies.
But on this day, the wind was unusually fierce, tearing the clouds apart.
The soldiers of Darkheim Fortress would normally have joked about the clear weather, saying, “Makes the watch easier, but who’d even bother coming here anyway?”
However, a palpable tension had gripped the fortress in recent days. The guards on duty scanned the horizon with grim determination.

Just days ago, the fortress had been attacked by unknown assailants.
The assault had claimed numerous lives, and even Division Commander Faris had been gravely wounded.
Though Faris had managed to inflict significant casualties on the attackers, the Demon pride had suffered a crushing blow.
Division Commander Yggdra seethed with rage, but the perpetrators remained unidentified.
The Former Demon King’s Army, already plagued by misfortune, was about to face yet another tragedy.

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Beyond the Nezathian Sea – far beyond the horizon, they saw something.

“…Could that be…?”

Someone murmured.
A sentry pointed a trembling finger toward the distant sky.
They looked and saw a pitch-black shadow swaying near the horizon. The outline was vague – it looked a bit like a dragon, but they already knew that it was not a dragon.

“No way… again?”

The moment he spoke, they simultaneously began shouting orders to prepare for battle.

“All troops, prepare for combat! Summon the Flying Dragon Squad!”

A barrage of angry shouts echoed through the fortress.
Darkheim Fortress was the stronghold of the Former Demon Lord’s Army’s Western Division Army. Multiple layers of stone walls and magical barriers surrounded it as outer defenses, and numerous watchtowers stood ready to repel aerial assaults.
Last time, they had been caught completely off guard by a surprise attack, but with proper vigilance, they had countless countermeasures prepared.
The Flying Dragon Squad was their primary defense.

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“Captain! It’s appeared—the Black Dragon! The distance is approximately three thousand!”

“Understood.”

Aldomila, captain of the interceptor unit, clicked her tongue and glanced at her subordinates, who were arranged in a semicircle.
A Dalphen beauty with short-cropped hair, a striking face with a straight nose, and dark skin, though not a Division Commander, she was a seasoned veteran.
Demons were a general term for beings hostile to humanity, not a specific race.
Thus, humans could become Demons, and members of races like the Elphen or Dalfen, who interacted with humans, would be considered Demons if they individually opposed humanity.

“…That’s no dragon,”

Aldomila muttered, leaning back in her Flying Dragon’s saddle and glaring into the distance.
A massive silhouette loomed there.
Its jet-black body and outstretched wings resembled a dragon, yet something felt twisted about it, as if it were dragging the surrounding darkness along with its movements.
Could it be an Undead Dragon? Aldomila wondered.
Undead Dragons were the ultimate fate of the All-Dragon Species—what humans called the Undead.
Even among Demons, the Undead were a reviled species.

“…Could it be… from the Southern Division Army?”

She considered, briefly, that it might be a traitor from within..
No, that’s wrong. The presence radiating from that thing was far more wicked than any undead..
Just then, one of her subordinates called out.

“Captain, what are your orders? Should we send a scout to investigate?”

“No, we shouldn’t approach. We’ll harass it with Flame Bullets from here. If we can shoot it down, all the better. Disperse!”

With a sharp command, Aldomila’s wyvern took the lead, banking into a turn.
At this signal, over a dozen wyverns split the sky, forming several diagonal columns as they moved.
These wyverns weren’t true dragons—just low-tier variants.
Still, their light frames made them ideal mounts, and their basic breath attacks made them valuable on the battlefield.
Whenever firepower and mobility were needed, the Flying Dragon Knights were always the first to engage on the front lines.
Aldmira gave a nod, issuing instructions with a glance.

“Don’t fire all at once. Three riders forward on my command! Liar, Voltega, Banish, go!”

“Understood!”

The three riders surged forward, gradually closing the distance to the Black Dragon while maintaining their altitude.
Liar, Voltega, and Banish were three brothers of the Great Oni kin, elite warriors renowned for their fluid, coordinated attacks.

“Captain Aldomila, permission to engage!”

“Granted! Unleash the Flame Bullets!”

A muffled roar echoed as scorching fireballs erupted from the throats of the Flying Dragons.
The Dragon Knights skillfully manipulated their reins, instantly adjusting their altitude and trajectory.
The Flame Bullet tore through the air, hurtling straight toward the pitch-black shadow.
With a violent whoosh, the intensely burning projectile contained a special flammable viscous substance, capable of incinerating anything it touched down to the bone.
While it couldn’t compare to the devastating torrent of energy that was the breath of the Full-Dragon Species, it still possessed terrifying power for most living creatures.
Yet—

“W-what…? It vanished…? How is that possible?”

Aldmira’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.
At the precise moment the Flame Bullet should have struck, the raging fireball inexplicably shrank to nothingness just before touching the dragon’s, disappearing without a trace.

“A magic barrier?”

No, Aldomila instinctively rejected the idea.
It wasn’t a matter of being negated or defended against; the reason seemed far more fundamental.
But there was no time to ponder it.

“Launch more Flame Bullets! We have no choice but to overwhelm it with numbers! Go!”

Once again, the Flying Dragons unleashed a barrage of Flame Bullets.
This time, seven wyverns—not just three—focused their flames simultaneously.
The overlapping fire coalesced into a single massive fireball, scorching the sky as it hurtled toward the Black Dragon.
The soldiers watching from the fortress walls eagerly awaited the moment the dragon would be engulfed in flames.
But then…

“N-no way…”

The fiery mass, slightly dimmer and less radiant than before, vanished without a trace, just like the previous ones.
No matter how many times they attacked, the result remained the same.
The Black Dragon was like the very abyss of night itself.
It devoured every Flame Bullet hurled at it, leaving not even a faint residue behind.

“This is getting us nowhere! We have no choice but to engage directly!”

Aldomila made her decision in an instant.
The battle was always fluid.
If ranged attacks were ineffective, a direct assault was the only option.

“Two teams, flank and encircle! One from below at an angle, the other from above!”

Aldomila’s fierce voice rallied the Wyvern Knights, and the Flying Dragons swiftly reorganized their formation.

“Go!”

At her command, the Flying Dragons scattered across the sky, then converged again on the Black Dragon.
Each knight gripped their preferred weapon—lances, magic swords, or other familiar arms.
The Black Dragon had barely moved since their last encounter, drifting effortlessly toward Darkheim Fortress with the wind at its back.
Yet its nonchalant demeanor was what made it truly unsettling.

“It’s underestimating us,”

Aldomila gritted her teeth.

“We’ll end this now! We’ll take its head!”

A dozen Wyvern Knights charged forward in unison.
The roar of their wings churned the air into a swirling vortex as blades and spear tips thrust forward, as if trying to pierce the void.
At that moment…

“Captain…! I can’t… breathe…”

A comrade below cried out, his voice a desperate scream.
Then another soldier, who had been waiting in the air above, choked out a strangled groan: “Guh… kuh… ah…”
Aldomila couldn’t understand what was happening.
But at the edge of her vision, she saw two Flying Dragons suddenly stall.
They lost altitude with a slippery, waterlogged motion, as if being swallowed by the sea.
Aldomila frantically tried to grasp the situation, but it made no sense.

“Damn it… This is bad. All units, retreat immediately!”

She immediately issued orders, but an unsettling pressure had begun to build in her chest.
Her lungs refused to expand properly.
She desperately gasped for air, but none came.
Even her Flying Dragon was groaning in distress.

(We need to put some distance between us…)

The thought had barely formed when her vision tilted violently.
A searing pain coursed through her body, and Aldomira felt her consciousness slipping away.

“I… I can’t… be defeated…”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dark waters of the Nezasia Sea stretching out below.
The black, stagnant ocean surged closer.
Looking down from the great height, the Nezasia Sea churned with an unnatural eeriness. For the first time, she realized she didn’t want to die.

(If I must die in battle, so be it. But not like this—not in some incomprehensible way.)

Whether one has regrets or not, death is inevitable in battle.
As she plummeted, Aldomila caught a glimpse of the Black Dragon floating in the darkness.
Jet-black wings—and a figure standing atop them.

(…Such a child…?)

Yes, it was a boy riding the Black Dragon’s back.
He stood proudly with his arms crossed, glaring down at Aldomila and her companions.
Though the distance obscured his features, his eyes burned into her memory with unnatural intensity.
They were like an infinitely vast void of darkness, capable of swallowing both light and shadow whole.
A chill ran down her spine.
Even as her breath failed and consciousness faded, those eyes remained seared into her mind.

(Ah, we are not dying. We are returning to that darkness.)

With that final thought, tinged with a strange sense of relief, Aldomila plummeted through the cold wind of the Nezasia Sea.

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I couldn’t go out yesterday because of the tea party.
Today’s my last day off.
If I missed this chance, it would be pushed to the next time.
And when that next time came, I’d likely succumb to the lazy thought of “I can always do it later.”
There’s a saying: “Procrastination is for fools.” How true.

Gramman told me that, by the way.

So I need to get this over with quickly.
Still, being inferior must be tough. Do they just die if they can’t breathe?
For a moment, I considered taking the black-skinned female’s head back, but if she died from such childish games, even the vixens of the Imperial Capital wouldn’t be satisfied.
I need someone a bit more impressive.
Isn’t there a big dragon or something around here?
The lower classes are overly grateful for dragons.
If there weren’t any dragons, Oma’s head might do—it looks sinister enough and would certainly make an impression.
Just as I was thinking this, Oma trembled and protested,

“No, I was just joking!”

Did he read my mind?
Oma’s position in Duke Aster’s household is that of a pet.
A convenient pet that tends the garden and even serves as a mount.
Moreover, he handles pest control and recycles “waste products”.
Given all that, I couldn’t possibly have him beheaded based on my casual suggestion.
At best, I’d want him to work for Duke Aster’s household until he dies.