The black-robed figure clearly sensed something was wrong, his expression changing almost instantly. An indescribable feeling of fear and pressure descended upon him. Everyone present, except for the soundly sleeping hero, felt this overwhelming pressure.
Why? Why could such a delicate body give off such an oppressive aura?
It was like the fear of encountering an ultimate natural enemy. Even when facing the encirclement of several holy knights, the black-robed figure had never felt such terror.
He didn't understand; he couldn't comprehend.
The petite girl before him walked leisurely past the soundly sleeping Loranhir. Moonlight filtered through the branches, pouring onto the ground, making her small figure more distinct.
Her dandelion-colored hair danced in the wind, her light pink dress was immaculate, and under the moonlight, her doll-like delicate features were illuminated. Everything about her suggested she was merely the weak, helpless Princess Latifa Flandoya that Grand Duke Dreka had spoken of.
But why did such a small, fragile being give him such an indescribable sense of fear?
Perhaps she was just pretending, like the incompetent hero.
With this thought, the black-robed figure chose to strike first. With a gesture, the surrounding thralls were forced to suppress their natural fear.
In response, Patunasankus merely took a deep breath, golden pupils flowing with flame-like light, like a mirror reflecting fire.
Then the black-robed figure witnessed the most splendid spectacle of his life.
With Patunasankus at the epicenter, the vast night sky seemed to ignite entirely. Fierce flames spewed out shower-like sparks, one wave surging over another toward the sky, illuminating the heavens for miles around, smoke billowing.
Before being completely consumed by dragon flame, the black-robed figure recalled many things.
"—Go eliminate the princess."
"Me?"
In a crimson underground palace, a figure completely wrapped in dark shadows spoke to him, the voice somewhat hoarse and deep, yet carrying a unique elegance.
The candlelight on the table couldn't illuminate that person's face; even the flickering light seemed unstable, as if about to be devoured by him.
In that person's presence, no one dared to act rashly.
Vampire Grand Duke Vlad Dreka.
The uncrowned king of the Blood and Wine City, Taurant, the brutal enslaver of countless vampires.
That person had given him such an order.
He had knelt on one knee to accept the mission.
Now, the black-robed figure felt the scorching heat in the air. His entire body seemed to tremble with fear, all consciousness gradually consumed by the flames. In his mind, one sentence echoed repeatedly:
"Me, eliminate the princess? Really?"
Patunasankus exhaled with satisfaction. She narrowed her eyes, smiling like a cat. To maintain a good mood, sometimes one needed to breathe a bit of fire—it wouldn't be good to hold it in.
As for the large fire, it was simply because she couldn't control herself.
The evil dragon walked to the soundly sleeping hero, crouched down, and rested her chin on her hands, staring intently at her peaceful profile.
Now it was time to clean up.
"This incompetent fool, playing me for so long." Patunasankus played with Loranhir's pink hair with her fingertips. The shame of being deceived made the evil dragon's cheeks flush even redder.
Despite her indignation, she couldn't do much to the hero. At least until she figured out the source of the curse, she still needed this princess identity.
Patunasankus looked at the devastated surroundings and the pile of black charcoal-like objects...
She needed to find a way to cover this up.
Patunasankus gently closed her eyes, long eyelashes trembling slightly.
After a long while, she reopened them.
At this moment, she had a bold idea.
Patunasankus shifted her gaze to the holy sword at the hero's waist, reached out to touch it, and placed the sword, scabbard and all, into the hero's palm. With some effort, as if manipulating a doll, she deliberately arranged her in a pose of resheathing the sword.
That should be about right.
The evil dragon nodded with satisfaction. The spellcaster who had caused the hero to fall asleep was now a lump of charcoal, and she calculated that the hero would soon wake up.
As if specifically to vent her anger, the evil dragon gently snorted and lightly kicked the hero, not daring to use too much force, fearing she might actually wake her up.
Having done all this, she gently laid down beside the hero and slowly closed her eyes.
Now, she just needed to wait.
○
The hero had a long dream.
She dreamed of the day of the hero selection, the same day, where once again she pulled out the holy sword, becoming the chosen hero, with incomparable blessings descending upon her.
"Power!"
"Wisdom!"
"Life!"
"Joy!"
The four supreme gods each bestowed their protection upon her. She became a true hero, facing vicious evil beings. All she needed was to draw her holy sword, swing the blade wrapped in sacred flames, and easily defeat her enemies.
Defeating evil dragons, rescuing princesses, successful in everything!
She drove the carriage carrying the princess down the central road of the imperial capital, welcomed by the cheers of the people, imagining the rich rewards promised by the old king.
"Great Hero, will you marry me?" the princess beside her suddenly asked.
"I would, no matter what," Loranhir smiled at her.
The princess suddenly smiled, like a cat. This was the first time Loranhir had seen a hint of girlish cunning on this innocent girl's face.
"Then... what about this?"
Then, Loranhir watched as sharp horns sprouted from the princess's head, her skin gradually covered with scales, and two pairs of wings extended from her back.
She jerked violently, as if on the brink of disaster, her body producing an enormous force, lunging backward.
"Aah-!"
Loranhir awoke from her dream with a start.
The night was deep. Darkness had spread velvet blackness over the horizon. Countless stars burned, flickering like phosphorescent fire. A petite, adorable, beautiful girl was curled up in her arms, sleeping quietly.
The girl's breathing was steady. Her light pink fitted dress was spotless, her long eyelashes trembled slightly, and her slightly rounded chest rose and fell gently. Occasionally, she would whimper, as if having a nightmare.
Loranhir's cry seemed to interrupt the girl's nightmare, eliciting a delicate moan.
Long eyelashes fluttered, and the girl slowly opened her drowsy eyes. Her confused gaze still carried a hint of moisture, making her blue eyes shine even more brightly.
"Great Hero... is your battle finally over? I was so scared, so worried, but I'm glad you're alright..." Seeing Loranhir's face, the girl hugged her tightly. Her exquisite, adorable little face revealed a sweet, harmless smile, her tender voice very pleasant to hear.
Battle?
Right, the black-robed man from before!
Loranhir immediately sat upright, scanning the devastated surroundings. The plain was still burning with remnants of sparks, the air still somewhat scorching. A bit further away was a large pile of humanoid charcoal, from which thin wisps of smoke seeped upward into the sky.
"..."
Loranhir was silent for a moment.
"I see, I see..."
The hero held up the holy sword, murmuring.
"So, you have always been with me."