The Dragon Lord's Aide Wants to Quit [BL] Chapter 4: The Bare Minimum

Truthfully, Riley's sole desire was to be permitted to resign. He wouldn’t even insist on severance pay, but alas, such a possibility seemed nonexistent after a demonic contract penned by his ancestor. Thus, his only recourse was to advocate for improved working conditions.

However, how could he possibly pursue this when even the Four Elemental Dragons lacked the authority to negotiate for greater concessions?

Riley glanced furtively at his boss, who was engrossed in reviewing numerous reports, expertly multitasking as he absorbed all the information simultaneously.

And then people wondered why there were constant complaints about inefficiency. What could they do when their superior set such an uncompromising standard?

Perhaps this was one of Kael Dravaryn's defining traits. Despite all the criticisms he leveled at his subordinates, none could retort, as he was fully capable of executing the very tasks he demanded of them.

It was simply that none of them were golden dragon lords, nor were they blessed with the kind of immortality that allows one to be considered a living historical record.

This was in stark contrast to him, a mere human, utterly lacking the fortitude to withstand the same pressures as the other employees.

Which was rather ironic, considering the specific clause he was now relying upon.

That would be Article V: Hazard Pay.

While this section primarily benefited his family, it also contained a small stipulation about being granted the necessary abilities to perform his designated duties.

It might not seem like much, but when juxtaposed with his status as a frail human—a fact constantly highlighted by nearly everyone—shouldn't he be afforded appropriate consideration and flexibility?

He decided this was the approach to take.

Riley fixed his gaze upon his parchment.

It didn't appear particularly promising at this moment, but if nothing else, this was a point he could argue.

A human's physiological needs.

That was essentially his entire argument, a simple yet broad foundation.

And since no magical enhancements had been bestowed upon him—as, predictably, they had not—he resolved to document these requirements. Clearly. Boldly. In ink so profound it bled through the very page.

Breathing. Sustenance. Hydration. Shelter. Attire. Rest.

The absolute essentials.

Breathing... was manageable.

For the time being.

Apart from that singular incident where the sirens attempted to drown him, his ability to inhale had remained unchallenged. Typically, their threats were less specific, aiming directly for his life.

Which, upon reflection, should absolutely factor into the calculation of his hazard pay!

Because even if it wasn't Kael's direct fault, he wouldn't face such perils if he hadn't become his unfortunate aide!

This was a critical point that demanded attention, so he meticulously recorded it.

Next item: food.

He shot a pointed look at Kael, who sat across the vast chamber, poring over five reports concurrently as if his brain were a high-capacity processing unit.

His superior, who habitually ordered platters of sweets he seldom consumed, typically worked without cessation. Frankly, this was acceptable, even commendable. If only he didn't consistently demand his presence in the immediate vicinity!

Because, unlike the Dragon Lord, Riley, maintaining a semblance of professionalism, could not indulge in snacks while working, especially when every sound he made risked irritating the magnificently attired lizard with divine hearing!

Consequently, it resulted in another typical day, one where he felt his own stomach might consume itself just to stave off the hunger.

And this was the perpetual state of affairs: skipped breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. Then, on the rare fortunate occasion, he might manage to cram a pastry or wrap between hurried trips to the restroom.

With determined strokes, he scribbled: Mandatory lunch breaks. For humans. Additionally, a plan for gastritis prevention.

Water? Acceptable. He supposed. Perhaps they could refrain from boiling the water when agitated, as humans found it difficult to consume immediately.

He mused, finally granting himself the opportunity to articulate all the pent-up grievances he typically suppressed to cope with his circumstances.

Shelter.

He paused. Then continued writing at a slower pace.

Technically, yes. He possessed a luxurious apartment. Human Resources referred to it as "premium accommodation."

This became his residence when he adamantly refused to live within the Lord's estate, citing convenience. How could he endure his constant presence twenty-four-seven? And how would he accomplish anything if he resided in such proximity?

That was the rationale of the 20-year-old Riley, whose naive self believed he would have ample time to appreciate anything beyond his boss's purview.

Yet, on the other hand, at least he could tell himself that he owned such a fine apartment. And that, in the worst-case scenario, he might even be able to rent it out because—

Riley cried out, his grip tightening unnaturally on his pen.

When was the last time he had actually been awake in his own dwelling? Long enough to savor the view?

He couldn’t even recall the appearance of his kitchen for ages.

He scribbled down: Request to view the apartment, perhaps before I perish from sheer exhaustion.

Actually, it might be prudent to omit the final three words; doing so could prevent my actual demise. Or perhaps I could combine it with the most significant desire currently occupying his thoughts:

Sleep.

Riley leaned back against his chair, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling. He might have even shed a few tears, a fact he would adamantly deny if questioned.

This particular enterprise seemed to be populated by individuals who appeared entirely unfamiliar with the fundamental concept of sleep.

They operated ceaselessly, conducting meetings in the dead of night and demanding reports at the break of dawn.

It was, by all accounts, a barbaric existence. Yet, it seemed to be an innate characteristic of their being; they simply possessed no need for slumber.

However, Riley Hale remained undeniably human.

He required sleep.

With a decisive thump, he placed his quill down, writing with renewed determination: Sleep. Just… sleep. A minimum of six hours, please.

A typical adult male requires approximately seven to nine hours of sleep. But acknowledging the potential for it to be an ambitious request, six hours would suffice. At the very least, six uninterrupted hours where he wasn't compelled to resolve a trafficking crisis the moment his eyelids began to droop.

The rapid scratching of his pen intensified, his emotions flowing unreservedly onto the page.

Yet, as he surveyed his rather pathetic list, it hardly felt like he was negotiating for employee benefits.

After all, humans were inherently fragile beings. They fractured under pressure. They required upkeep, much like delicate glassware or fine china.

He wasn't requesting extravagance. He wasn't even seeking equitable treatment. Merely the most basic necessities to sustain himself without succumbing to collapse in a stairwell, as had unfortunately occurred previously.

By the time he concluded, the parchment was a disheveled testament to his desperation, marked with numerous underlines, emphatic exclamation points, and what suspiciously resembled a tearstain.

He set the pen down, his fingers trembling with residual emotion.

Suddenly, shattering the profound silence behind him, Kael’s voice cut through the air.

"...Hale."

Riley froze mid-movement.

The Dragon Lord's tone conveyed a sharpness that was unusual, neither indicative of anger nor amusement, but rather pure, unadulterated surprise.

Riley swallowed with difficulty and slowly turned around.

His employer's gaze was fixed upon him, then shifted to the document in his hands, and finally returned to Riley.

His golden irises narrowed perceptibly.

"...Are you attempting to convey," Kael began, his voice measured, "that you have not been endowed with any special abilities?"

Riley blinked in confusion. "Endowed...?"

The Dragon Lord rose to his full imposing height, the papers momentarily forgotten in his grasp.

"You mean to tell me," Kael continued, his voice deepening to a low, menacing rumble, laced with a hint of disbelief, "that throughout this entire period, you have managed the operations of my office, successfully navigated the demands of this position, entirely devoid of any enhancements? No protective wards? Not even a rudimentary stamina spell?"

Riley stared back, his mouth agape.

"...You're implying those were even possibilities?"

Kael's fingers twitched, as if contemplating a difficult decision between laughter, strangulation, or arson.

Then, with stark finality, he stated:

"Human Resources is officially deceased to me."

Riley blinked once more, processing the statement.

"Um, Sir... Does this perhaps signify that I am now permitted a lunch break?"

Kael regarded him with an unreadable expression, and the beleaguered aide prudently decided it was best to remain silent while he still held a semblance of advantage.