Chapter 1150

A handshake.

Two people reaching out and clasping hands—the most common greeting in the world.

Yet the moment their hands met, Vladimir Furin felt as though every handshake he’d exchanged in his life, tens of thousands of them, had vanished from his mind.

“…!”

Cold. Hard.

Steel?

No.

The man—no, Morgoth’s hand closed around his as if it were made of a substance that had never existed in this world. Then it began to move slowly up and down.

Carefully, as though handling an ant in his palm.

When the brief handshake ended, a satisfied smile touched the monster’s lips.

“Just as I thought. The humans of this world are fascinating.”

A short remark, but there was a great deal in it.

Furin wondered if he’d heard correctly, then opened his mouth.

“What… do you mean?”

“Do I really need to explain?”

Morgoth settled into the seat across from him and looked over the objects on the table with curious eyes.

“An astonishing civilization, no matter how many times I see it. The humans in the world where I once stayed could never have dreamed of anything like this.”

“…!”

“I didn’t expect that reaction. Surely you already suspected there might be another world out there, like the Demon Realm.”

Morgoth was right.

Since the Great Cataclysm, countries around the world had quietly conducted countless studies into whether other worlds existed apart from the Demon Realm. The research was still ongoing.

But suspicion was one thing. Certainty was another.

Morgoth had just confirmed the existence of another world—something that had been no more than a hypothesis.

And he’d told Furin where he came from.

Could it be?

Furin wondered if the monster before him might be more than a creature mad with bloodlust.

If that were true, there was a very real chance they might still be able to contain the nightmare that had been unfolding for the past ten days, even at this late hour.

“Then you—no, sir. Did you come from the other world you mentioned?”

Morgoth answered readily.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“What does that mean?”

“I told you. I said I once stayed there.”

“Then…”

“The humans of that world had their interesting qualities, of course. But with time, everything grew dull. I needed a change. Something powerful and decisive.”

Furin’s eyes widened as he grasped what Morgoth meant. Morgoth smiled gently at him.

“So I left. For the Demon Realm.”

“…!”

“Entering someone else’s service wasn’t especially pleasant, but in the end, it was an excellent choice. I’ve had the chance to experience such an interesting game, after all. Don’t you agree?”

At that moment, the hope burning in Furin like a tiny campfire went out without a trace.

“…A game?”

“Yes. A game.”

“Then everything you’ve done up to now was this grand game of yours?”

Morgoth sighed softly at the unmistakable tremor in Furin’s voice.

“Humans really are human.”

“What?”

“Good heavens, a game? Don’t judge me by such a base way of thinking. That was merely punishment.”

“Punishment? What are you—”

“Ignorance is a sin, too. If they had bowed down and obeyed from the start, none of it would have happened. But they rejected my generous offer, and I had no choice but to give them a fitting punishment. That’s all.”

At last, Furin understood how much darkness—how much madness—the being before him held inside.

A game? Punishment?

Neither was right.

What Morgoth had done was a catastrophe. A massacre on a scale unseen since the Great Cataclysm ended.

There had been several major incidents since the Arch Lich appeared about a year ago, but they were nothing compared with the past ten days.

The estimated number of dead and injured had already reached fifty million.

The Middle East—more precisely, North Africa and West Asia—had already become a land of death with the Black Dragon’s arrival.

Those who resisted were slowly rotting or had become undead. Those who survived had sworn absolute obedience and become slaves.

Not Hunters chosen by God. Not even heavily armed armies.

None of them could break the Black Dragon’s massive wings.

This world already belonged to him.

“You’re insane. Completely insane,” Vladimir Furin muttered weakly.

Then Morgoth’s smile deepened.

“Insane? Me?”

“Are you going to deny it? After killing so many people?”

“Of course not. I’m simply disappointed beyond words.”

The Black Dragon’s abyssal eyes fixed on the dictator as though they could pierce straight through him.

“How can someone like you dare to say that?”

“…!”

“Of course, I understand to some extent. I know from experience how shallow humans can be—and how wealth and power corrupt you. But…”

Ting.

A long, pale finger tapped the teapot. Inside, the black tea once regarded as practically synonymous with Furin rippled.

“Spare me the half-baked hypocrisy. It’s an insult to my intelligence.”

“You—you…”

“Yes, I already know a great deal. Though it would be more accurate to say I learned it through you.”

Morgoth had lived for an immensely long time. Longer than anyone could imagine.

Yet even to him, the modern world of the twenty-first century was fascinating.

Human history. The fusion of Magic and technology. The structures and ideologies of governments.

And the countless conflicts, large and small, that had taken root all over the world as a result.

This civilization was unlike anything he had seen before, and it stirred his thirst for knowledge. His mind, which knew neither forgetfulness nor limits, absorbed everything he saw and heard in an instant.

That included information about a certain dictator who ruled the largest territory in the world.

“I found you impressive. In more ways than one.”

Vladimir Furin felt himself grow strangely calm.

The monster before him—a living calamity, a Dragon—already knew everything about him.

No, perhaps even more than Furin could imagine.

Whether Morgoth had learned it while laying waste to the Middle East and other parts of the world, or from the contents of a palm-sized smartphone, no longer mattered.

All that remained were fate and choice.

And so the old dictator of the Russian Federation finally took off the mask of hypocrisy he’d worn to the very end.

“So? Did you come here for my autograph?”

“Oh, you’ve grown rather composed.”

“I have no reason to feel ashamed.”

“Good. Now I feel my visit was worthwhile.”

Morgoth regarded Furin with amusement.

“Then I’ll get straight to the point. Surrender.”

“Become a slave?”

“Well, this world has a fine word for it: citizen.”

“But they’re slaves in all but name. Everyone knows what happened to those who surrendered to you.”

“Then this should be easy. You must also know that countless humans survived thanks to their peaceful, wise decision to surrender.”

“You still don’t understand humans very well. We don’t call scraping by from one day to the next like ants living. And we certainly don’t want to be raised like livestock behind a fence, only to be slaughtered.”

It was a shameful thing for a dictator to say after spending more than fifty years in power devoted to control and oppression. Furin didn’t care in the slightest.

His shrewd eyes gleamed as he continued.

“I trust that’s answer enough. So let me ask again. Why did you really come here?”

“What?”

“I’ve wondered about it all along. Why would someone like you go to this much trouble? And before you answer, spare me any nonsense about it being a game.”

Furin picked up a cigar laid neatly on the table and lit it. He stared straight at Morgoth through the slowly rising smoke.

“Talking to you has only made it harder to understand. You regard humans as livestock or ants, yet you’re trying your hand at diplomacy and negotiation? Whatever your true intentions, I don’t believe it.”

Different species could still follow the same path.

In that respect, Vladimir Furin thought he and Morgoth were rather alike.

They were rulers.

The gulf between them might be as wide as heaven and earth, but Morgoth, too, must have used his overwhelming power to rule over countless others as a tyrant.

And as far as Furin knew, someone with overwhelming power had no need for conversation.

Shamelessness became a natural virtue, while shame turned into something as old and musty as a grandfather’s letter forgotten in a drawer.

If that was true of a mere human like him, how much more so of a Dragon whose very understanding of the world was different?

Besides, Morgoth wasn’t the first Dragon to set foot in this world.

“One of your kind reduced Paris to ashes during the Great Cataclysm. It was more vicious and merciless than any other monster.”

Morgoth replied calmly.

“I think I know the one. A few of them are like that.”

“A million people were killed or injured in the battle against it. A thousand Hunters led by no fewer than four S-ranks died alongside them.”

Another monster, Michael Silbert, had been born where that Dragon fell—but that had only come to light recently.

With the cigar’s tip evenly lit, Furin put it between his lips and added.

“So why would you, with power far greater than that young Dragon had, go to such lengths?”

Silence settled over them, but not for long.

The man he’d questioned might not answer. Furin already knew the answer anyway.

“You’ve realized it, too. You can’t fight every human. No, more precisely…”

Furin exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke and smiled. The old dictator was ready to lose everything.

“You’re afraid of someone you haven’t found yet.”

At that moment—

Click. Rrrrrumble.

As the small button that had been concealed in Furin’s wrinkled hand was pressed, a tremendous rumble rose from deep beneath the Kremlin.