My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 638

Capítulo 638: Fafnir, it’s quite different.

Vergil blinked once.

Then again.

He tilted his head slightly, assessing the golden-scaled colossus before him—a living legend, an entity that should only exist in old books and stories told around campfires.

“…Sapphire,” he murmured with the calm of someone trying to make sure he’s not delirious, “that’s Fafnir. Fafnir.”

Sapphire twirled her finger, as if to say “yes, yes, go ahead.”

Vergil took a deep breath.

And finally blurted out, completely perplexed:

“Shouldn’t he be dead? I mean… in the story, Siegfried kills him, doesn’t he?”

The effect was immediate.

The air vibrated.

The magma behind Fafnir rose in columns like explosions of indignation.

And the entire dragon rose, opening its gigantic wings that tore through the air of the cave. The sound of the friction was so deafening that Vergil almost thought he was under an avalanche of rocks.

His golden eyes narrowed, burning with rage.

“HUMAN…”

Fafnir’s voice filled the entire volcano, reverberating like red-hot metal being hammered.

“…IF YOU DARE REPEAT THAT PATHETIC LIE ONE MORE TIME—”

He lunged forward, drawing closer to Vergil with teeth the size of swords, spitting pure heat from his throat.

“—I WILL TURN YOU TO ASHES BEFORE YOUR SWORD EVEN TOUCHES THE GROUND!”

Vergil didn’t even flinch—he merely raised an eyebrow.

Sapphire rolled her eyes, as if witnessing this for the thousandth time.

“Fafnir, please… don’t scream. You’ll wake half the mountain.”

The dragon turned its snout toward her, irritated.

“HE’S REPEATING THOSE RIDICULOUS TALES OF FOOLISH HUMANS! STORIES WHERE PATHETIC CREATURES KILL—ME?!”

“Yes, indeed,” Sapphire said, crossing her arms, “stories you keep saying are nonsense inventions, but which clearly offend you.”

Fafnir retorted with a sharp roar, echoing iron and ancient hatred.

Vergil, still calm, commented:

“So… Siegfried didn’t kill you.”

“NO!”

The dragon thumped its tail, making the ground tremble.

“IF SOME RIDICULOUS MORTAL HAD TRIED SOMETHING LIKE THAT, THEY WOULD HAVE SUFFERED A DEATH SO SLOW THAT NOT EVEN THE FAITHS WOULD DARE TO TELL IT!”

Sapphire playfully patted Vergil’s arm.

“Congratulations. You annoyed him in five seconds. That must be a record.”

Vergil sighed.

“I only asked a logical question.”

Fafnir growled loudly.

A sound that clearly said: ask another question like that and I’ll swallow you whole.

Sapphire then turned to face the dragon again with a sharp smile:

“Now that you’ve finished squirming… let’s get down to business.”

Fafnir lowered his head, huffing, but still seething with irritation.

“…What do you want this time, Demon Queen?”

Sapphire smiled as if she already knew he was going to give in.

“Material. The kind only you can provide.”

And the dragon narrowed his eyes—not in fury this time, but in recognition.

And resignation. Deep, bitter, and inevitable. Fafnir knew exactly how much he owed Sapphire. And that there was no escaping it.

Fafnir narrowed his eyes, tilting his colossal head as if trying to make sure he heard correctly.

“What material do you want now, Demon Queen?”

His voice was low, deep, laden with ancient exasperation. “Last time you took my damned scales to forge a weapon.”

Sapphire rested one hand on her hip, swinging the other nonchalantly.

“Yes. I did.”

Vergil already sensed, from the change in tone, that provocation was coming.

“And I’ll never take something so weak again.”

The silence that followed was… dense.

Even the magma seemed to hold its breath.

A gigantic muscle trembled in Fafnir’s jaw.

“…Weak?” he repeated, growling like a scratchy thunderclap. “My scales are stronger than any metal that exists on this wretched plane, you—”

“Yes, yes,” Sapphire interrupted with musical disdain. “So strong that the spear I made from them didn’t last a year.”

Vergil let out a muffled sound of disbelief.

Fafnir, in turn, roared, the flame rising in his throat as a direct protest against the insult.

“THIS IS THE FAULT OF YOUR INCOMPETENT BLACKSMITH! My scales are practically indestructible! Not even the Norse gods could—”

“Of course,” she nodded with slight sarcasm, “that’s why I broke five weapons made from them. Five, Fafnir.”

The dragon froze for an instant.

Not out of fear—but out of a specific kind of indignation that only proud, ancient creatures can achieve.

He opened his mouth, clearly ready for a fiery retort and insults that would send acid snow falling on Asgard…

But Sapphire was already analyzing the cave, ignoring the draconic ego crisis like one ignores a furious dog behind bars.

“Finally…”

She clasped her hands behind her back, her eyes gleaming with dangerous naturalness.

“Give me a tooth.”

Fafnir blinked.

Vergil did too.

The entire cave seemed to blink along.

“…A…what?”

Fafnir’s voice came out a little thinner than he would have liked.

“A tooth,” she repeated casually. “I want to make a decent weapon.”

Fafnir took a step back, his claws flashing on the ground.

“YOU’RE ASKING FOR ONE OF MY TEETH?!”

Sapphire smiled with false sweetness—the kind of smile that made gods rethink decisions.

“It’s not asking, Fafnir. It’s demanding.”

Vergil crossed his arms, watching the dragon slowly combust emotionally.

Fafnir breathed heavily—each exhalation a puff of golden smoke that shook the cave walls, as if the volcano itself were trying to keep pace with the draconic rage. Its colossal wings trembled with contained anger, but also… with something Vergil could only identify as shame.

The Golden Dragon, a creature that had inspired legends for millennia, looked like a wet, humiliated cat before Sapphire.

Vergil tilted his head, genuinely curious—and with the provocative calm only he possessed in the face of a being capable of destroying mountains with a grumpy sneeze.

“I have a question,” he said, crossing his arms.

Fafnir slowly turned its golden, flaming gaze to him, as if already prepared to threaten the half-demon’s life once more.

“WHAT?” Roar. Tremor. Cracks in the ceiling. Normal things.

Vergil ignored everything and asked with absolute simplicity:

“Why do you owe my wife so much? After all… I’ve known Sapphire for almost two years, and I’ve never heard any stories of her past involving you.”

Sapphire gave a slight smile.

Fafnir, on the other hand, seemed to choke on his own indignation.

His tail thumped the ground, sending sparks and molten stones flying into the air.

“I… owe NOTHING to—!”

Sapphire raised a finger, cutting the dragon’s surge like a blade.

“Fafnir.”

Her voice wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t threatening.

But it was enough for the gigantic wyrm to close its mouth—and swallow the roar that had been rising.

With almost childlike reluctance, he looked away, pressing his claws against the ground.

Vergil arched an eyebrow.

“…Then you do.”

Sapphire took two steps forward, rotating her wrist with a slight gesture, and explained with the tranquility of someone describing a trip to the market:

“I saved that big fool from dying at Siegfried’s hands.”

Silence.

A deep, absolute, surreal silence.

Vergil blinked once.

Then again.

Then he looked at Sapphire…

Then at Fafnir.

The dragon closed its wings, trying to shrink its colossal body as if it could disappear into its own shadow—a vision too absurd to be real. Fafnir, the Golden Terror, the Scourge of the Gods, shrunk like a boy caught doing something wrong.

And then Vergil let out a sound.

First a restrained sigh.

Then a burst of laughter.

And finally…

An explosion of guffaws.

A laugh so intense, deep, vibrant, that it echoed throughout the cave as if the volcano itself were laughing along.

The ground trembled.

The stalactites vibrated.

The magma bubbled as if it had been poked by a divine force.

Vergil clutched his stomach, almost losing his balance as the laughter overwhelmed him—a genuine, clean, disarming laugh.

Sapphire crossed her arms and smiled, pleased to see him laugh like that. It was rare. Very rare.

As for Fafnir…

Fafnir was on the verge of collapse.

“STOP LAUGHING AT ME, YOU BASTARD—!!”

“Sorry—!” Vergil tried to say between laughs, but failed completely. “It’s just that— Fafnir… the great Fafnir… almost became barbecue for a mortal in history…”

Another wave of laughter.

Fafnir roared with painful indignation.

“THIS HUMAN WAS NO NORTHERN HUMAN! HE WAS CURSED! A SWORD MADE OF—!”

Sapphire stamped her foot lightly.

“And even so, he would have died if I hadn’t intervened.”

Fafnir froze.

Vergil choked between laughs.

The entire cave seemed to sigh.

Sapphire finished:

“This dragon here kept saying he didn’t need help. Until he realized Siegfried was going to impale him.”

“THE MORTAL BETRAYED THE RULES OF BATTLE!” Fafnir roared. “HE USED A TRAP! AN ENCHANTED SHIELD! THAT DAMNED BOY—!”

“Yes, Fafnir,” Sapphire said, already bored with the story. “And I saved you. Just as I saved your treasure, your honor, and your life.”

Fafnir closed his eyes in deep frustration, as if each word were a fingernail digging into his own ego.

Vergil finally controlled his laughter—but still had a huge grin on his face.

“So… you owe your existence to my wife.”

The dragon let out a sound so ugly it resembled a cauldron boiling with grumbles.

“…I… acknowledge… that I owe… something…”

Vergil raised a finger.

“A tooth, for example.”

“SHUT UP!” Fafnir exploded.

Sapphire clapped once, drawing the attention of the two.

“Great. Now that the truth and humiliation have been laid on the table…” She pointed at Fafnir.

“Give me the tooth.”

The dragon sighed—a sigh so defeated it pulverized stones.

And Vergil… Vergil just smiled.