Author: "Guilliestordiestes! Your name is way too long!"
Guilliestordiestes: "!?"
Author: "So from now on in the narration, you're Guillie!"
Guillie: "!?"
Author: "Actually, wouldn't it be even better to shorten it further to just G!? You're black, after all!"
G: "!!?"
Guillie—had begun observing
The dragon race was supreme, and all other species were equally inferior creatures.
That was what he had been taught, and he had never once doubted it.
However, Sariel overturned that common sense with a single encounter.
Power that overwhelmingly surpassed any dragon on this planet.
Having seen even a glimpse of it, Guillie began to harbor doubts about the words he had always believed—that the dragon race was supreme.
Perhaps if Guillie had encountered a higher dragon species equal to or greater than Sariel, his thinking might not have changed.
But Guillie had been born and raised on this planet and had never gone beyond it, into space.
Nor had he ever encountered the higher dragons dwelling in that cosmos.
Therefore, the upper limit of what Guillie recognized as dragon-kind was the dragons on the same planet, and Sariel easily surpassed them all.
That was precisely why he had begun to wonder.
Were the dragon race truly supreme beings?
Normally, a dragon would almost never entertain such doubts.
Was it because Guillie was young and possessed flexible thinking, or was it because he was somewhat peculiar?
Either way, he harbored the doubt.
However, that didn't mean he could easily overturn what he had always believed.
That was exactly why Guillie decided to observe Sariel—the one who had given rise to his doubt.
With a mixture of anxiety and hope that if he observed Sariel, he might discover whether it was truly the case that dragons were not supreme.
By this point, the doubt had already transformed into conviction within Guillie's heart, but he refused to acknowledge it. He desperately wanted to find some flaw in Sariel so he could reassure himself with, "See, dragons really are supreme after all."
All while turning a blind eye to the fact that, in terms of combat ability, no dragon on this planet could match Sariel.
And so he began his observation of Sariel.
Fortunately, Guillie had plenty of time to spare.
Dragons were beings whose very existence diverged from ordinary creatures.
They had no concept of lifespan, and their needs for food and sleep were minimal compared to normal organisms.
As a result, a dragon's life was remarkably tranquil.
Days passing with nothing to do were not uncommon.
All he had to do was devote that idle, do-nothing time to observing Sariel.
He could watch her all day long if he wanted.
When he first began his observation, what filled Guillie's heart was nothing but pure bewilderment.
The scale of what Sariel was doing was simply too small.
For instance, she would travel to regions suffering from epidemics, bringing doctors along.
Her devoted care for the patients—from a human perspective, she would indeed appear like a holy mother.
However, as a goddess, it would have been trivial for her to eradicate the viruses causing the epidemics using magic.
Sariel did not do that.
She left it to the doctors' hands, allowing humans to solve the problem with their own power.
As he continued observing, he was shown this pattern of not doing what she clearly could do, over and over again.
Gradually, what Guillie began to feel was irritation.
Why did she insist on such roundabout methods?
If efficiency was the goal, there were countless better approaches.
There were mountains of problems that could be resolved simply by wielding divine power, yet she refused to do so.
In Guillie's eyes, Sariel's inefficient behavior looked like hypocrisy.
If she truly wanted to save people, she should cast aside all pretense and use her divine power.
And yet, Sariel stubbornly refused to use her divine power.
Because of that, there were lives she could not save.
The child Sariel had nursed.
"Thank you, big sister."
"There is no need for thanks. This is my duty."
"See you again."
"Yes, see you again."
An offhand exchange as they parted ways at the hospital.
That became the last conversation between Sariel and that child.
When Sariel visited the ward the next day, the child had already passed away.
She could have saved them.
So why didn't she?
And yet, despite not saving them, why did she wear such a sorrowful expression?
What was that faint smile that appeared on her face when the child said thank you?
When Guillie first began observing, he had thought Sariel was a being entirely devoid of humanity—an automaton.
That was what he had been taught angels were.
But as he watched, he realized that was wrong.
Sariel certainly carried out her charitable works in a mechanical fashion.
However, in fleeting moments, glimpses of something resembling emotion would appear and disappear.
Hadn't she been happy?
When the child thanked her.
Hadn't she been sad?
When the child drew their last breath.
And yet, she behaved as though those emotions didn't exist, mechanically moving on to the next activity.
From a human perspective, Sariel's activities would appear to be devotion taken to extremes.
In fact, she was worshipped as a goddess and thanked for it.
And her response was always the same.
"There is no need for thanks. This is my duty."
To human eyes, it might look like humility.
But in Guillie's eyes, it looked like something else.
Like a hypocrite drowning in guilt.
She could do it, but she didn't.
Despite not doing it, she fell into despair over being unable to save them.
If she was going to despair like that, shouldn't she have just saved them in the first place? His irritation grew.
And then, as if to mask those feelings of despair, she mechanically moved on to the next activity.
Did she realize it?
That despite calling it her duty, she was being driven by her own emotions?
That despite claiming the protection of indigenous creatures was her mission, her efforts were disproportionately focused on humans?
Every time Guillie saw Sariel apparently unaware of any of this, his irritation grew.
At this point, Guillie had already forgotten about his original purpose—but he was oblivious to that as well.