"Who the hell is it? What kind of idiot abducted a dragon's child?"
"An investigation is currently underway, sir."
In an emergency meeting, the president of the Dazdordia nation held his head in his hands and groaned.
"Any casualties?"
"Thus far, it's been limited to threats alone. However, if the investigation doesn't make progress from here, there's no telling what—"
"Is the investigation even making progress?"
"It doesn't sound like they have any leads on the perpetrator."
"So in the end, it all depends on whether the dragon is in a good mood."
The president let out a heavy sigh.
A thick, oppressive atmosphere filled the conference room.
The incident had begun with an urgent request for aid from an allied nation on a separate continent across the sea. The request read: "A dragon may go on a rampage — please dispatch reinforcements."
Dragons.
They were creatures that reigned at the apex of this planet's ecosystem.
Possessing intellect superior to humanity, physical might that surpassed it, lifespans that dwarfed it, and above all, wielding magic — a mystical art beyond human capability — they were superior to people in every respect.
Yet despite all of that, they almost never interfered with human affairs.
That almost never had now occurred.
The abnormality of the situation was self-evident.
When pressed for details by the allied nation that had requested emergency aid, they revealed that a demand had been delivered by the dragon itself.
"A dragon's child has been abducted by human hands.
Hand over the perpetrator immediately, and return the captured dragon's child unharmed."
That was the dragon's proclamation.
The allied nation that received it had initially been thrown into utter panic.
It came completely out of the blue, and above all, the other party was about the worst one imaginable.
Dragons were inviolable creatures — beings you never, under any circumstances, provoked.
This was common sense shared by all of humanity, and no one had ever conceived that there might be a fool willing to break it.
And yet, in reality, a demand had come from a dragon.
A most implausible proclamation — that someone had committed the abhorrent act of seizing a dragon's child.
"So then, Mr. President. Will you be dispatching reinforcements?"
The one who broke the heavy silence was the Minister of Defense.
If the president affirmed the dispatch of reinforcements here, it would fall to him, as the head of military affairs, to act.
"Not a chance!"
But the president swatted aside the minister's concern with a single bark.
"They're dragons, for God's sake! Have you forgotten the Tragedy of Tetmea? If a dragon truly goes on a rampage, it won't matter how many reinforcements we send. The damage will only expand."
The Tragedy of Tetmea.
It was a rare past incident in which dragons had been provoked to wrath.
A nation called Tetmea had succeeded in developing a new type of bomb and, in an act of utter madness, dropped it on a dragon's territory.
The power of that new bomb was flawless. It was enough to redraw the map entirely.
But the reason it came to be known as a tragedy — and the reason it served as a reminder of just how terrifying dragons truly were — was the devastation the dragon wrought in response, damage that made the bomb look like nothing.
No one knew the truth of why Tetmea had committed such an atrocity.
On the very day the bomb was dropped, Tetmea had vanished from the map entirely.
A creature that could shrug off a bomb powerful enough to redraw geography, and then display the might to erase an entire nation from existence.
That was what dragons were.
"Still, dispatching the military is out of the question, but we can't just do nothing either. Send an appropriate contingent from the Investigation Bureau. Have them link up with the local personnel and assist in the search for the perpetrator."
"Will they accept that, sir?"
"Pride of investigators? Feed it to a dragon for all I care. Tell them we'll operate independently if they have no intention of cooperating. This may not stay contained within their borders alone. We don't have the luxury of standing on ceremony."
The Investigation Bureau chief acknowledged the president's directive.
"Leaving the response to them aside, we need to bolster our own defenses. Strengthen surveillance at every airport and port. Under no circumstances is anyone to bring an abducted dragon's child into this country. I don't care if inspections become a bit rough. Detain anything suspicious. Oh, and keep an eye on illegal entries too."
The officials receiving these rapid-fire directives looked visibly exasperated.
Dazdordia was a superpower — a single nation that encompassed an entire continent. Naturally, the number of airports and seaports was enormous, and monitoring all of them, including private facilities and illegal ones, was no simple task.
But if they failed, the abducted dragon's child could be brought into their country, and in the worst case, their nation would become the dragon's target.
They couldn't afford not to do it.
It was precisely because the president understood this that he had to issue directives no matter how difficult the task.
"...Also, leak this to the Sariela Society."
The president gave the order haltingly, yet with unmistakable clarity.
"You'd be passing classified information to a private charitable organization. Are you certain about that?"
"I don't care."
To the confirmation asked out of caution, the president responded immediately.
The one asking already knew the answer.
If a dragon truly went on a rampage, the only entity capable of stopping it was the Sariela Society.
More precisely, only the chairman of the Sariela Society.
The Sariela Society was a charitable organization belonging to no nation. Its activities spanned a vast range.
Protection of flora and fauna.
Support for hospitals.
Relief for impoverished populations.
It even went so far as mediating wars.
It was said to carry out virtually every activity one could imagine when thinking of charity.
That was the Sariela Society.
And there was a persistent rumor surrounding it.
That the chairman of the Sariela Society was not human.
Whether that rumor was true, no one in this conference room knew.
But it was a known fact that the chairman of the Sariela Society could stop a dragon.
During the Tragedy of Tetmea, it had been that very person who subdued the rampaging dragon.
"I don't know what the Sariela Society will do. But there's no harm in letting them know."
The Sariela Society's activities were charitable in nature — and conducted more purely than any other organization's.
They worked each day with a selflessness that made you question whether they were truly human, as if the sole purpose of their existence was salvation.
Countless lives had been saved through their work, and countless wealthy patrons had been moved to support them in turn.
In fact, the Sariela Society itself had been founded by people who were so moved by the chairman's work that they created the organization for the sole purpose of supporting them.
Not the Sariela Society of the chairman, but a Sariela Society built to support the chairman.
As long as the chairman committed no wrongdoing, the Sariela Society would never stoop to any.
And as far as the president knew, even if the chairman learned of this matter, there was no possibility they would misuse the information.
After all, the streets practically called them a goddess — their integrity was beyond reproach.
"Trying to read a dragon's mood and clinging to a goddess's mercy. Truly, nothing ever goes the way you want."
No one said a word in response to the president's lament, and the meeting adjourned.