A sound drifted from the distance.
Lidicia slept soundly, the distant noise causing only a flutter of her eyelashes. Her hand propped her head as she slept peacefully against the table, until a sudden turn sent her head sliding off her wrist. The girl's head thudded against the tabletop, jolting her awake as she sprang upright.
Blinking sleepily, she fumbled wildly for her lifesaving shortbow. The sting in her jaw reminded her of the frantic escape from the flock of strange birds, and her entire body tensed with anxiety. Lidiya found the shortbow on the table, clutched it to her chest, and gasped for breath as she scanned her surroundings.
The soft blue glow of the slime lamp illuminated the entire room. All was quiet, devoid of the strange birds' buzzing. The petite, frail bard sat in the chair opposite her, having witnessed her entire hysterical leap. The bard, named Jacqueline, remained expressionless throughout, showing no reaction even as the shortbow was pointed at her.
This was a bit awkward. Lithia lowered her bow and gave a sheepish smile. Jacqueline neither smiled nor nodded, merely holding a steaming cup of drink as she stared straight ahead. Those large eyes were unsettling to look at for too long—especially considering she'd been watching Lithia the entire time she'd been asleep. It was downright creepy.
Yet Lydicia owed her peaceful, dreamless sleep to this bard's performance. Her singing swept away the horrifying images that had haunted Lydicia's mind before bed, allowing her to drift into restful slumber instead of waking repeatedly from nightmares. Lydicia was grateful. The human girl rubbed her cheeks, flushed as she wiped away the drool that had formed at the corner of her mouth, offering the minstrel a much more natural smile.
"Is Aunt Mavis not here?" she attempted to start a conversation.
Jacqueline gave a slight nod.
"Probably in the kitchen?" Lydithia said. "The ward's nearly empty these days. That medicine is incredible! I never imagined a potion could heal wounds so quickly—it's practically magic."
Jacqueline remained silent.
"Your music is amazing too, thank you!" Lydicia added, looking at the girl across from her who appeared barely over ten. She thought to herself that if Aunt Mavis hadn't said it herself, she'd never believe the other girl was over ten years older.
Jacqueline took a small sip from her cup.
The conversation was progressing rather awkwardly. Truthfully, Lydithia longed to go inside and check on Aaron. The dwarf-made timer indicated it was still early, and she worried she might disturb the patient's rest. She could only continue making small talk: "What are you drinking?"
Jacqueline paused at the question. She glanced at Lydie, then back at her teacup, then back at Lydie, then back at the cup. The hot liquid inside the porcelain cup gave off a sweet aroma, wisps of steam rising steadily upward. Jacqueline's gaze lingered on the cup. She froze for a few seconds, then suddenly raised it to her lips and downed it in one lightning-fast gulp.
The air seemed to freeze.
"Um, I'll go check inside!" Lydie said dryly, pointing toward the ward and darting inside.
A figure flopped back onto the bed as she opened the door. Recognizing who it was, the figure scrambled back up.
"You scared me! Thought it was my sister!" Aaron exhaled. "Close call. If she'd seen me, who knows how long she'd lock me up again."
"Because you're not better yet," Lydicia pouted. "Don't get up like that and fall down again—watch out for your organs shifting out of place!"
"If they were going to shift, they would have already," Aaron waved dismissively, then grew serious. "By the way, do you know what's happening outside?"
"What's happening?" Lydith asked, puzzled. "I just woke up. Aunt Mavis isn't here. Seems like nothing's going on?"
"Dragon voices," the dragon knight from the next bed said.
In the current dungeon, priests couldn't cast healing spells, druids were mostly novices, elves were only quarter-blooded, and bards were self-taught. Still, with everyone pitching in, most of the wounded from the last great war and the recent sky battle had already left the infirmary. Only Aaron and two dragon riders remained here, their injuries too severe to be released from medical care anytime soon.
"Dragons..." Litiya murmured wistfully. "Are the dragon riders training?"
Aaron glanced questioningly at the riders, who both shook their heads.
"It doesn't sound quite right," one remarked.
"Not like when the captain takes the dragons out either," the other added. "Besides, aren't we underground?"
The dragons and wyverns slept in the basement chambers, but their active spaces lay above ground. Only when soaring through the skies could they raise their mighty voices in song. No structure could contain a dragon's wingbeat—the heavens were their true haven.
Yet the sound had emanated from the depths of the dungeon, sweeping through the underground labyrinth at dawn. Though not loud, its clarity was unmistakable—even those unfamiliar with dragon song would instinctively recognize it as such. The dragon riders, intimately acquainted with this sound, opened their eyes, their curiosity piqued by the occurrence. Medical orders confined them to their beds.
Don't underestimate the ever-smiling Mavis—her "Love Rolling Pin" could turn any stubborn patient into a model citizen.
Aaron fared worse, for he had a sister. This woman who raised her brother single-handedly possessed the eyes of a hawk and the heart of a mother hen. The unfortunate young Amazonian had already resigned himself to the worst possible hospital stay, pessimistically convinced he'd be confined to his bed until the end of time.
All three pairs of eyes turned expectantly to Lydicia.
"I'll go check!" Lydicia declared immediately, heading outside.
As usual, Jacqueline showed no reaction to her departure. Mavis was nowhere to be seen. Not a single soul crossed her path—highly unusual. After days in the dungeon, Lydith had come to expect the short craftsmen dashing through corridors at any hour, earth moles scurrying alongside them, tools strapped to their backs. It wasn't that these folk were workaholics or anything; they simply never adhered to fixed schedules. Work hours and leisure time were a chaotic jumble. The workshops always echoed with hammering, and the passageways were perpetually filled with people heading to workshops, quarters, or the mess hall.
Yet now, after walking the entire length, she hadn't encountered a single dwarf artisan.
Lithia headed first to the kitchen. Mavis wasn't there; an Amazon warrior was brewing herself a drink. Among the seeds brought by the druids, a plant called "kalo" was regarded as a remedy for stomach ailments, but the apothecary had noticed the pleasant aroma of these reddish-brown beans. She experimented with dozens of cooking methods before discovering that grinding Carlo seeds into powder and boiling them with milk and sugar produced a delicious, mind-awakening beverage. This drink quickly gained popularity among early risers struggling to wake up and those who had stayed up late.
Artisan dwarves preferred to slowly simmer a pot of Carlo, pour it into cups, add milk, sprinkle spices, or top with cream, leisurely crafting a morning or evening treat. Amazonians, especially warriors, favored a more direct approach: steep Carlo powder in boiling water, add cold water to the desired temperature, and down it in one gulp—instantly refreshed, just as the Amazonian before her was doing.
Lithia greeted her, and the Amazon pushed her half-finished cup toward the girl. Curious, Lithia took a tiny sip, her face immediately scrunching up at the bitterness.
The Amazon laughed heartily and tossed two sugar cubes into Lithia's cup.
Despite her tongue numbing from the bitterness, Lydicia managed to ask about the others' whereabouts. "They're all at the training grounds," the Amazon warrior said with a mysterious smile. "You should go see for yourself. Maybe even try stepping into the arena."
A few minutes later, Lydicia arrived at the bustling training grounds.
Early-rising Amazons surrounded the fenced-off arena, while several artisan dwarves watched from the stands. The short folk often came to the training grounds for the spectacle—not to fight, but purely to observe. Sometimes they came to see how their crafted weapons performed; other times, they simply found the taller warriors' combat entertaining. Thus, these craftsmen quickly built viewing platforms within the training grounds. Lithia didn't need to push her way in; she only had to lift her head nearby to see the combatants.
Two women stood in the arena. One was an Amazon—Lithia recognized her formidable warrior, Dora. Her teacher had spoken of Dora's exceptional combat prowess with reverence. Now, Dora moved with the same legendary swiftness. Her long staff sliced through the air, creating a menacing whistling sound despite lacking a blade. The staff thrust heavily toward her opponent's chest. Having trained briefly with the Amazons, Lydicia could barely discern the technique—this powerful strike sealed off all escape routes. She couldn't imagine any way to evade it.
But the opponent dodged.
How could she jump that high? Litiya tilted her head back further, her mouth agape. Dora's opponent hadn't dodged forward, backward, left, or right. With every escape route blocked, she chose the sky above as her passage to freedom. No, no human could leap that high! Her feet left the ground in an instant, her chest, abdomen, and even her drawn-up legs escaping the staff's reach. Lydicia fought against the wind to keep her hair from flying wildly, craning her neck until it ached.
Humans truly couldn't jump that high. The human girl quickly realized the opponent hadn't merely jumped—it wasn't human at all.
A pair of enormous wings sprouted from the creature's shoulder blades. They flapped, stirring a fierce wind indoors and casting a vast shadow across Lydicia's face, blocking the light above. Ah, it was flying toward her!
People scattered around her, but their warning shouts didn't reach Lydicia's ears. The vibration of wings in the air resonated with the sound of flocks from her memories, triggering a flashback. The shadow of the wings transformed into the terrifying gloom of her past. The girl who had once narrowly escaped death was back on that battlefield. She couldn't move, she mustn't move. In her mind's eye, her blood-soaked comrades lay behind her. Lithia frantically drew her shortbow, her hands scrambling wildly beside her, unable to find the arrows.
The enormous bird descended.
Lithia's mind went blank. She wasn't killed, nor was she knocked down—only her feet left the ground. A pair of hands caught her at the last moment, carrying her weightlessly through the air, spinning, then landing her gently. "I'm sorry," the figure said softly.
Still shaken, Lydicia stared at the being. She was too beautiful to be human—ah, she wasn't human to begin with. Perhaps sensing her uncontrollable trembling, the figure bent down and embraced her, its enormous wings folding around them. They felt like another pair of giant hands, enveloping Lydicia in a protective embrace.
Like a protective barrier, the relentless replay of horrifying memories abruptly halted, fear kept at bay.
Those weren't bird wings, Lydian realized. They were featherless, dragon-like wings. The dragon wings radiated warmth, reminiscent of that dawn when dragon riders swept overhead. The colossal wings of the dragon had obscured the sky, scattering the flock of birds into disarray. The final arrow had missed its mark. At that moment, Lydicia had collapsed to the ground, unable to raise her shortbow again. But it didn't matter. They were safe. They were saved.
"Are you a dragon?" she whispered.
"No," came the soft reply. "I am... the guardian of this place."
Douglas entered the training grounds hours later.
The dragon rider had slept late that morning, waking from a nightmare where he'd been placed in a pot to boil, discovering he was indeed nearly cooked through. Douglas had never run such a high fever before. His bones felt soft and weak, his skin burning painfully from the scalding blood coursing through him. He dragged himself weakly out of bed, intending to visit the doctor to soothe both his wounded body and spirit.
Mavis was a kind and lovely lady, one of the more gentle and down-to-earth druid girls. Sometimes he'd even encounter Amazon warriors on the road, as captivating as tales of adventure. Mr. Star, who thrived wherever he went, walked cheerfully forward, only to find three bored-to-death patients near the infirmary. A kind nurse explained the reason for the nearby absence of people, and Douglas immediately perked up. His curiosity momentarily made him forget his pain.
In the training grounds, Douglas spotted a dwarf artisan shuffling awkwardly toward the crowd. He looked up at the arena and couldn't help but whistle. "I get you," he teased.
In the arena, one woman possessed breathtaking beauty. Though Douglas believed every woman held unique charm, he had to admit this one stood head and shoulders above the rest—worthy of starring in any knightly tale, inspiring poets to pen tearful, wine-soaked odes of adoration. But surely it wasn't that exaggerated? Douglas, who had seen it all, glanced at the dazed artisan dwarf and offered a good-natured smirk.
Come to think of it, did artisan dwarves get this moved by beauty? He'd always assumed they only wore that expression for machinery. Perhaps the woman was carrying one of their creations on her back...
Wait a minute.
The object on the woman's back unfolded in midair. Witnessing this, Douglas instantly understood. It couldn't be machinery—it looked far too familiar.
Good heavens! Those were dragon wings!
Look at that perfect curve! The bones were sharp as blades, like the spires of a magnificent castle. Beautiful as exquisitely carved art, yet brimming with raw, primal power—a masterpiece of nature's own handiwork. Look at those exquisite wing membranes! Blood pulsed through the dark crimson tissue, glowing warmly like amber, like rubies, like the most splendid flame in the fiercest fire—how beautiful! How could they attach to a human body? How did the bones and tendons function within them?
Douglas pushed forward, his soul adrift, neck craned like an eight-year-old girl spotting a unicorn. Dreamy-eyed, he jostled toward the viewing platform, oblivious to the snickers around him or the sharp glare from the beast-eared girl gouging his face (on any other day, he'd already be plotting his escape route). His eyes were glued to the dragon wings, following their every movement, oblivious to the fact that the sparring had stopped. Oh, they're blocked!
"Seems you're fine," a voice remarked amusedly, a finger poking his feverish forehead.
The voice itself wasn't unpleasant, nor frightening, but the things it evoked—the wolf-headed lady's playful smile, interrogation, the contract, miracles—sent a shiver down Douglas's spine. It was like stumbling upon his homeroom teacher during a wild game, snapping him instantly from his dazed reverie.
Beauty was beauty, dragon wings were dragon wings, but on this woman... Douglas couldn't shake the feeling that finger might pierce his skull any second.
"Ah, it's you, ma'am," the dragon rider chuckled dryly, shifting his head back slightly.
"You have a high fever," the woman stated. "But since you're so alert, treatment probably isn't necessary."
"There must be some misunderstanding," Douglas raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing away to escape the reach of that finger and the murderous glare (which he'd finally noticed). "I meant no disrespect. Your wings just reminded me of my dragon... Ah! Sweetheart, what brings you here!"
The dragon rider, who had been about to leave the training grounds, spotted his dragon outside the door. He immediately ran over, throwing himself around the dragon's neck like a child rushing to a parent. He declared with deep emotion, "Ladies, believe me when I say my devotion to my dragon is unshakable. With her, my heart and gaze can no longer be shared with any other girl!"
The dragon's blood ran hot, yet its scales felt cool and soothing. Douglas's charge toward the dragon carried a hint of theatricality, but upon actual contact, he let out an involuntary groan and melted into limp submission.
An intangible energy flowed between the dragon rider and the dragon through their touch.
Thump, thump, thump. The ordinary sound of a heartbeat echoed louder than all the world's noise. Did it come from his own chest, or the dragon's ribcage on the other side of the scales? An intangible force enveloped Douglas, as if the searing heat within him found an outlet—or perhaps gained a new entrance. The surrounding world abruptly receded, leaving only the dragon and rider frozen in place. It was hard to tell whether it was pain or pleasure; within Douglas, every cell was being reshaped.
"Did you tell him you're male?" Tasha asked in dragon-speak.
The red dragon chuckled, snapping up the dragon rider in its jaws and striding away with leisurely steps.
The dragon soul had long slumbered within the knight's bloodline. Awakened by the contract, it now scrutinized the chosen one descended from its dear friend. Had a malevolent entity deceived Douglas's soul, the dragon soul's final curse would have been enough to give demons headaches. But Tasha passed its scrutiny.
Nothing lasts forever. The fragmentary soul dissipated after revival, unable to restore the dragon to its former legendary primeval glory. Yet it was sufficient to bestow a generous gift upon the dungeon. The dragon, now imbued with the fragmentary soul, approached true dragonhood closer than before. It still lacked its former memories and spellcasting abilities, but in terms of intelligence alone, the transformed dragon was incomparable to the dungeon's initial creation.
It was nearly a sentient being.
Tasha gradually grasped the nature of the so-called "extra dragon attribute bonuses." Those marked with (Dragon) on the back of character cards—the Rune Pseudo-Dragons, Dragon Knight Douglas, and the Great Dragon—all showed varying degrees of enhancement. Since completing their advancement, the Pseudo-Dragons had grown restless. After several hours, their scales had hardened significantly beyond before, and their forms underwent subtle changes—more agile, better suited for flight. Douglas's body temperature spiked to over fifty degrees Celsius, making one wonder if his brain might melt. The dragon conveyed to Tasha that "there's no need to worry about Douglas." Like Tasha, this half-baked dragon's evolution had already been completed upon finishing the dungeon advancement.
Tasha gained more than just a pair of large bat wings.
At first, he couldn't even stand upright without losing balance. Yet after just a few hours of training, his wings became as responsive as his own limbs. Adapting to this new form took far less time than it had with the wolf-headed body—despite the wolf-headed form being far closer to human. To adapt to an entirely new body in mere hours, learn to fight with new limbs, master their use, and gain the ability to fly... it was nothing short of astonishing. After all, learning to swim isn't something accomplished overnight, and swimming requires limbs one is born with.
Rather than learning something new, it felt more like "remembering" something.
Muscle memory guided Tasha in manipulating these massive dragon wings—extending, contracting, gliding, soaring. She sensed that actual flight wouldn't prove too difficult either. In her previous life as a human, and now in this dungeon existence, Tasha possessed no muscle memory for flight. This power clearly resided solely within the dragon's legacy.
The "Extra Dragon Attribute Bonus" allowed Tasha to experience how a dragon favored by the Creator lived through unlocked memories.
Dragon muscle memory, martial arts learned from Amazons and armies, combat techniques instilled by demons, plus a future destined to be anything but peaceful and stable... Just how far this body could grow was truly something to look forward to.
However, among the many ways to advance in the dungeon, Tasha believed the most practical aspect wasn't the dragon attributes.
...
Osmond nervously chewed on his pen. His dog was barking again—woof, woof, woof, woof, woof—the noise splitting his skull. He wanted to storm downstairs right now, sword in hand, and chop that beast's head off. Then he'd tell his wife the dog had charged into the sealed basement and crashed to its death in the collapsed area.
"Why? We loved him so much!" his wife would surely sob. "We fed him such good food, gave him such a big house, played with him all the time—what could he possibly have been unhappy about?"
"Because every dog chained to work wants to die, just like me." "Osmond would answer her, "My damn boss dumps every problem serious enough to get a senior officer hanged ten times onto his adjutant. Now I have to juggle an old bastard and a young fool, either of whom could chop off my head like I chopped off your dog. Dear fool, look at your husband on the brink of madness—and you're still fretting over your yapping mutt?!"
Osmond wouldn't actually do it, wouldn't really shout that at his wife, just as he wouldn't voice any real grievances to his superiors.
So he remained here, desperately juggling reports for the Major, His Excellency the Governor, and those reaching higher still. Major Benson only knew how to yell at his brother, demanding a report to General Cyril, but Osmond knew he wouldn't dare do it. Deep down, he trusted the Governor implicitly. The Governor hadn't issued any orders lately, likely swamped with the aftermath of the airship's disappearance. Osmond didn't believe for a second he'd followed proper procedures when acquiring the airship. And then there was the higher-ups... So this damn situation was deadlocked. He had no idea how much time the correspondence would waste, no clue when the sword hanging over his head would finally fall.
The dog was barking.
Osborn finally charged downstairs, knife in hand. Rage and resentment filled him, a burning desire to shut that damn thing up. Why was it barking? Why wouldn't it stop? This stupid dog! Osborne's heavily guarded estate was impossible for intruders or other wildlife to enter...
He stopped. Before the barking dog, in the silent courtyard where no alarm had been triggered, a translucent shadow waited for him.