The Swordmaster's Nemesis

The guest presumed to be a dragon ate very quietly all the way through the final dessert.

Aside from the embers occasionally spitting from the corner of his mouth, he was a surprisingly well-behaved guest.

His voice was low, he handled the tableware carefully, and he even tasted the sauce on his plate quite diligently.

The problem was that he was a dragon.

No, it wasn't confirmed yet.

Vertically slit pupils, old gold coins, archaic speech, a strange distance when looking at humans, and embers mixed into his breath.

With that much evidence, it was practically confirmed, but I kept telling myself otherwise until the very end.

Until the guest said he was a dragon himself, he was simply a very strange and very dangerous noble guest.

I had to think that way to keep my hands from shaking as much.

‘Please just let him be a noble who's gone insane over role-playing...’...