Reborn as the Failed Lord with my Resource Gathering System.-Chapter 252: Story of Yaho- [The appearance of the dragon monarChapter ]

Meanwhile, inside the dark barrier.

Dorian scanned his surroundings, realizing Yahoshi had launched an attack without his knowledge.

It wasn't just that; he also noticed that he could not sense anything from the outside.

Not his dragon.

Not his people.

Not even his wives, whom he was usually connected to.

With a serious look on his face, he turned to look at Yahoshi.

"What did you do? I thought we agreed on just talking."

"We did." Yahoshi crossed her legs, her eyes filled with near-zero emotion. "I do not want people listening in on this, baby. You are safe. Welcome to my world, The X."

'The X?'

[Notice: The X appears to be an alternate space created within the fabric of your current reality. A total separation.]

Dorian remained calm, his gaze solely fixed on Yahoshi.

"Do no harm—"

"I am not going to harm anyone. You worry too much, my love, and that is your problem. These humans, they don't care about you. Don't you see?" Yahoshi leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"All they see is a man in his perfection, able to help and give them things they could never have imagined in their lives. They only see perfection and nothing else. They don't see you."

'Now she's trying to get into my head.'

He pushed forward, ignoring her psychological games.

"Tell me what I need to know, Yahoshi."

"Very well. I will do just that."

…

[Memory Playback: A few thousand years ago.]

The village was drowning in sorrow.

The daughter of the Village Head, Yaho, had been chosen by the Light Messenger. In the ensuing chaos, the Village Head himself, Yapa, had lost his arm.

He had tried to question the Messenger—a sin punishable by blood.

Night fell, and Yapa slowly woke from his slumber. His severed arm had been bandaged to staunch the blood flow, treated by his wife, Jani, whose healing abilities were capable of mending a thousand dead animals if need be.

As he sat up, he stared at the stump of his arm for a while.

But the physical pain didn't last long.

Because in the following moment, the memory crashed down on him: with his own remaining hand, he had been forced to offer his daughter to the whims of the gods to save the rest of the village. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Arrgh!"

He punched the wall of the small building, the vibration causing the lantern to flicker.

"My little girl…"

He muttered, his hand covering his eyes as though trying to hide the pain.

Then, he suddenly sensed people looking at him.

At first, he assumed his door had been opened and villagers were peeping through, but then he realized it wasn't strangers.

It was his family at the side of the room, watching him from the shadows.

Including his first son, Raki, who seemed angered, a fair reflection of his father.

"Where are the villagers?" Yapa asked, slowly getting down from the bed, his feet touching the cold ground.

Silence took over for a good while. It seemed no one was willing to answer.

Yaho was silent in the corner, and her mother, Jani, held her tight in her arms. Raki remained standing, the only one brave enough to reply.

"The villagers are all worried about you. Many of them have refused to leave their homes until they hear your announcement, like always. You always give your prayers to the Dragon Ragor anytime we face issues; this is the first time you haven't."

Raki looked at his father, his gaze hardening.

"How long do we need to endure this, Father? These damn gods have claimed my sister, my friends. What next? Huh? Mom? Or maybe me, until you have no one else left?"

Yapa looked to the ground, the anger slowly trying to push itself forward.

"When the Dragon Gods decide to help us. Ragor knows best."

Raki frowned, about to say something else, when his mother suddenly grabbed his hand, shook her head, and urged him to silence.

After all, just like them, her husband was grieving.

"You should get some more rest, husband. I'll inform the villagers about your health so they can be at peace." Jani stood up, grabbed her daughter and son, and exited the room.

As they walked out, with the two children right in front, Jani suddenly stopped. In that moment, she could hear it, the slow, muffled whimpers of her husband crying inside.

She held back her tears. The massive urge to break down after hearing how vulnerable her husband was caused her to lose her footing for a second.

But just as quickly as it came, the weakness vanished, replaced with a new conviction written on her face.

As the backbone of the family, it was her duty to make sure everything was alright.

…

The following day.

Yaho carried a water container, heading toward the river where she would proceed to fetch water for her family.

Unlike the rest of the villagers who walked with heads bowed in fear, Yaho seemed rather expressionless. Numb to everything that was happening.

It was actually something well-known in the village.

"Chief, why does your daughter never smile?"

"Is she mad at me?"

"Come on, Yaho, these are our guests, you should smile more."

It wasn't like she did it on purpose.

Nothing in this world truly excited her. Not the people, not the food, nothing.

All her life, she had constantly felt there was something missing. Like she was forgetting to do something crucial—something that would complete her and only her.

It didn't help that she would often get dreams of a man. A man with long black hair and beautiful grey pupils.

Before this man, in her dreams, she would smile, laugh, and sometimes cry in his arms.

To her, he was the only one who could understand her. And since it was a dream, she could do as many things as she wanted and not feel the least bit embarrassed by it.

In this world, her dreams far outweighed her reality.

After she was done filling the container with water, she stood up, reaching for the vessel to place it on her head.

But just when she was about to take it, a huge wave of water washed over the bank.

It was so strong that it sent her and the container flying back.

Luckily for her, her injuries were minor, but it still left her wincing in pain.

When she raised her head to check if her container was still there, her eyes widened in surprise.

Standing at the edge of the river, where she had been just moments prior, was a man.

He had long, flowing black hair that rested on his back. His grey eyes, though dim, were mesmerizing to stare at.

Even more than that, this man was naked.

The more Yaho stared, the more it seemed like she recognized him.

However, just when she was about to have a closer look, the man suddenly fell forward. He collapsed chest-first onto the ground, his body limp.

The moment he hit the dirt, Yaho panicked and immediately ran toward his location.

"Oi! Are you alright?"

She turned him onto his back once she was close. This only allowed her to see his face more clearly.

It was him.

The man she saw in her dream.

Before she knew it, she had begun caressing his cheeks, her face moving closer. She didn't know what came over her.

The sight of him, the man from her most cherished dreams, lying unconscious and vulnerable before her stirred a depth of emotion she had never known. The numbness that had defined her existence fractured, replaced by a frantic, protective warmth.

His skin was pale, cool to the touch, and still slick with river water. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was the only evidence that he lived.

As her fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, a genuine, soft smile finally touched her lips—a movement so foreign to her face that it felt almost painful.

This was the completion she had always sought. This was her reality now.

She leaned in, her long, dark hair brushing against his bare shoulder. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to simply breathe in the scent of him—river musk and something indefinably beautiful, like ozone after a storm. It was a silent, perfect scene: the indifferent river, the bright sun filtering through the leaves, and her, completely consumed by the presence of this dream made flesh.

But the moment snapped when a twig cracked nearby.

Panic, sharp and cold, replaced the warmth. He was naked, exposed, and not from the village. ,

If anyone found him, they would immediately assume the gods had sent him, or worse, that he was a dangerous trespasser.

Her father was already reeling from the Messenger's visit; she couldn't risk this stranger's life or her family's reputation.

She quickly glanced around. The riverbank was isolated, but not impossible to stumble upon.

Acting on pure instinct, she slipped her arms beneath his shoulders and knees. He was heavier than he looked, solid muscle and bone, but the surge of adrenaline gave her the strength.

Grunting with effort, Yaho began to drag him back up the bank, away from the water. His long black hair trailed through the mud and grass, and she worried about the scrapes he must be getting. She pulled him slowly, agonizingly, toward the winding path that led back to the village.

Every few steps, she had to stop, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but the thought of leaving him was unthinkable.

When she reached the village outskirts, she moved with frantic stealth. Luckily, most people were either tending to their small farms or staying indoors, still reeling from the events of the previous day.

She bypassed her own home and instead headed for the abandoned storage hut near the edge of the woods—a place usually reserved for old tools and spoiled grain, which the villagers rarely checked.

With one final, desperate heave, she managed to pull his large, limp body across the threshold of the dark, dusty hut.

She gently closed the wooden door, her hands shaking as she slid the rusted bolt home.

Inside, the light was minimal, filtering in through gaps in the thatched roof. She collapsed beside him, running a hand over her sweaty forehead.

He was safe. Hidden.

Yaho looked at the man lying on the dirty floor. She quickly tore a long strip from the hem of her simple tunic—a sacrifice she barely registered—and used it to wipe the mud from his face and chest.

The severity of the situation settled upon her: she had brought a naked, unconscious stranger into the village and was hiding him.

But as she gazed upon his calm, beautiful face, the anxiety faded. The sense of completeness returned, stronger than before.

She sat down, crossing her legs, and began to wait for the man of her dreams to wake up.

...

[A/N]

This flashback might take three chapters, as it would cover most of the reveals.