It curled up on itself, trembling and whining like a beaten dog. I half-expected it to take flight, but it stayed put, head tucked beneath one wing, as if not seeing me could somehow make the danger disappear.
I tilted my head, watching it curiously. The shift in its behavior was... strange, to say the least. Was this really the same dragon that had hunted me for an hour, chased me through the sky like a fury incarnate?
Alright, maybe not across the whole continent, but definitely through half this enormous orc kingdom?
I sighed, a plume of smoke escaping from my nostrils, and turned to look at myself.
The fight hadn’t left me unscathed. Deep gashes crisscrossed my hide, patches of scales were slick with black blood, and even my wings hung partially tattered.
Heat surged through me like molten magma, my blood coursing hot enough to scorch. The air shimmered around me, vibrating with leftover fire. Beneath my feet, the earth was blackened and cracked, with small patches still catching flame as residual heat spread outward.
My breathing gradually steadied, and with it, the inferno in my lungs cooled from searing to merely hot.
In game terms, I’d guess I’d lost maybe ten percent of my hit points, maybe more. Too many hits landed that shouldn’t have, not against a supposedly weaker opponent.
Maybe some of my skills had improved over the course of the battle… but damn, I wished I had a status screen to check. Something, anything, to show me where I stood, what I’d gained, what I’d missed.
Levels were only part of the equation. Skills, and their individual skill levels, were the other half. They worked together, but not interchangeably.
You couldn’t raise a skill level beyond a certain threshold unless your magic level was high enough to support it. But having that magic level didn’t grant you the skill automatically. You had to earn it. Through practice, repetition… or battle.
In the end, it wasn’t some mysterious philosophy. It was like muscle and technique. You couldn’t master gymnastics or martial arts without a certain level of physical strength, but just having the muscles didn’t make you a black belt either.
I took a deep breath. So, what now?
Sneaking was off the table. After this brawl with the dragon, they had to know I was here. I could try to slip away, call it a win, and attempt diplomacy later. That would be the wise choice. But it would also mean delaying Ju’s rescue, and that thought gnawed at me.
Prudence urged me to retreat, recover fully, and return at full strength. A couple of days, maybe a week. I could either let time heal me, or fast-track it and spend the rest of the day drunk and hidden in some corner.
But I couldn’t walk away. Not when I’d gotten this close to the palace.
I was just beginning to send out my mana tendrils to probe the area... when the strike hit and then the dragon came.
I sighed, frustrated. If only I could spy properly and locate her. It would help me focus my efforts instead of flailing in the dark. I didn’t want to fight their army, didn’t want to tear down their castle or topple towers. That would be risky, messy, and, hopefully, unnecessary. I just wanted to find Ju, free her, and get out.
It was a pity I hadn’t thought to recover the dwarf’s minion when I created the ghoul. Maybe it could’ve worked, though I couldn’t have known back then what role those things truly played. Ideally, I needed a directly controlled minion, one I could guide exactly where I wanted.
I tilted my head. Actually… that wasn’t impossible.
I’d studied the dwarf’s “tattoo” in detail and had a good grasp of how that minion was made. When you’ve done enough transformations, the principles get clearer. It was essentially a simplified transformation: part of the self was reshaped into a minion, while the rest became a revised version of the original body. The two were then rejoined, with the ability to separate at will. Like growing a detachable limb, really.
But who should I transform?
It was too late to reconfigure the ghoul - ghouls couldn’t be remade. I could maybe fix some minor things, but not reshape it entirely. Still, the transformation itself? That I could replicate. Theoretically, I could apply it to someone else. All I had to do was ensure both resulting parts were viable on their own. And what better blueprint than the whole itself, duplicated with some minor tweaks?
So… why not do it? Should I go back and find a willing test subject?
That thought grated on me. Go back? No. I was here now... but I was alone.
I sighed. Wouldn’t it be fair to try it on myself first?
Part of me screamed this was reckless: a rushed, untested, irrational idea. That part begged me to be patient, to wait, to think it through.
But I didn’t want to wait. I needed this now.
Even as I battled with my own doubts, my mana had already begun swirling, responding to my intent, eager for a new spell. This was going to be so cool!
I shoved the doubts aside and focused on the result. One lesson I had learned from spellwork: you either cast it or you don’t. There’s no space for hesitation, no “maybe” in magic. Doubt was a straight path to failure.
Deciding to cast doesn’t guarantee success, but doubting does guarantee failure.
The swirls of dark magic around me became visible, tightening as I committed to the spell. Then, suddenly, I wasn’t a dragon anymore. I was myself again, my pseudo-human self, standing with legs apart, breath ragged in my chest.
Sweat beaded down my cheek as if I’d just finished heavy labor, and my legs felt a bit unsteady. My heart pounded as the magic dissipated. My mind reeled, because I was seeing double.
My own body stood there before me, chest heaving, eyes wide with confusion and fear. It was like staring into a mirror, and behind her - behind me - the world wrapped around oddly. The surrounding space merged front and back, the perspectives superimposed, layered in a way that made my stomach twist.
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It didn’t make sense. Nothing about it did. I flinched. It didn't hurt, even if I expected it.
I’d expected pain, some soul-tearing backlash, some physical rending. Was this not some kind of soul tearing spell? Yet there was no pain, just a gnawing unease, a jittery edge that buzzed beneath my skin like static.
As I glanced at my trembling hands, a small voice chirped: “Hello, Lores!”
I blinked.
There she was - I was? - a mini Lores, no taller than a finger, with delicate filigree wings that buzzed like a dragonfly’s. She zipped into the air, grinning as she flitted around in circles.
“Hi… um… hey, Lores?” I said.
She pouted and looped around my hand before landing delicately on my outstretched palm.
Sitting back, legs crossed and arms braced behind her, she tilted her head to peer up at me. “We can’t both be Lores,” she said with a tiny shrug. “That’d get confusing.”
I shrugged too and we both giggled, perfectly in sync.
“So, what should I call you?” I wondered aloud, then chuckled. “This sounds like one of those people who name parts of their own body…”
She crossed her legs gracefully and raised her palms.
“You can call me Lo,” she said. “I’m only just a part...”
“Nah.” I shook my head and pointed at her with my other hand. “So I’m Res now? No thanks, I am not RESt.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. What’s wrong with Lo and Lores?”
I sighed, bringing my palm closer to examine her in more detail. Prude, she covered herself with her hands.
"Don't peek!" she said and I rolled my eyes.
“Lo isn’t a real name...” I protested. “What about Lola?” I suggested, pointing my finger.
She jumped, grabbed it like a branch, and balanced there.
“No. Lola was Lola. That would just remind me of her, and I don’t want that.”
I nodded. She leapt back to my other palm, put her hands on her hips, and exclaimed,
“Don’t you dare call me Loli!”
I chuckled. “Okay, okay. What about Lili?”
And just like that, we agreed.
My mind was still doing mental gymnastics, trying to process both visual inputs at once. But I was getting better at it. It felt like the two identities were slowly settling into place—one image becoming background to the other. The sensation was bizarre, yet somehow manageable. Even though I could see both perspectives simultaneously, each part of me had begun to feel… distinct.
Well, hopefully it would all sync up soon.
“Oh well. Let’s see how good you are at spying!” I said aloud, mostly to myself.
Lili shook her head.
“Hmm. I could use some mirages to hide,” she offered, her voice thoughtful. “But I’m not so sure this will work as well as you think. I’m smaller, sure, but if someone tries to identify me…”
I raised a brow, and she tilted her head in return.
“Let’s test it,” she challenged. “Try to identify me!”
She darted off in a zigzag, flitting through the air like a gnat.
I didn’t bother chasing. Instead, I launched a wide-area identify spell.
The dragon stirred, lifting its head to peer at me inquisitively. Then it rested it back down on its paws, eyes still watching us curiously.
I sighed.
So much for stealth. A simple area identify had picked her up with no trouble. That meant anyone with basic magical perception could spot her. The dwarves’ minions hadn’t been so easily revealed - Lynx hadn’t been able to detect them.
“Damn,” I muttered. “What did the dwarves do differently?”
She flew up, stopping ten centimeters from my face, and gave me a sharp look.
“You based your spell just on studying a tattoo on a ghoul? And you thought you understood how it worked?” She shook her head, wings buzzing irritably. “Stupid girl!”
I swatted the air half-heartedly, but she darted easily around my hand.
“The spell itself was fine,” I muttered, “but they probably built their minions differently. I was afraid I’d give you some fly-sized stupid brain.”
Lili sniffed outraged.
“Well, we could try again—”
“No way you're trying that again!” she cut me off. “These are transformations, not shapeshifting! You know the difference. Transformations are permanent soul modifications! If we want to change anything, we need to look it up properly in the book. I really don’t want to end up with a pea-sized brain!”
I sighed.
“You already have a pea-sized brain. I don’t need my pinky to tell me what I should do.” I protested.
She landed lightly on my head resting on one of my horns, settling down in my hair like it was her personal nest.
“I wonder if you’re not looking at the wrong part of the problem,” she mused.
I raised an eyebrow.
“You think we should change the Veil of Inscrutability skill?” I asked, catching where her thoughts were heading.
“Of course. What’s the use of a stealth skill that doesn’t work?”
“But it used to work just fine. Maybe it just needs more use. It could gain levels eventually.”
“And how long would that take? Years? You haven’t seen any progress yet. What if we just create a new skill?”
As she spoke, wisps of dark mana began swirling around my head.
“Wait—no! You might overwrite the old one if you try that!”
I reached for her, but it was already too late.
“Oh, drats, Lili, you’ve done it!”
The mana dissipated. She lazily floated down again, predictably settling into my outstretched palm—where I’d instinctively offered it. Damn it, she really was training me like a pet.
She sprawled on her back, arms behind her head, legs crossed.
“Ah, this is comfortable,” she sighed contentedly. “Now, try again. Identify just me, and leave that poor dragon alone.”
I cast the identification spell... and got nothing.
“Now this is strange! It's like you don’t even exist!”
“Heh-heh!” she laughed, clearly pleased with herself.
I shook my hand, and she tumbled into the air with a tiny squeak. She zipped off and settled back on my head, now resting with her back on my other horn.
“How rude!” she chirped, then let out a dramatic sigh and snuggled into my hair. “Well then, I’m ready for some palace investigations. Wake me when we get there.”
“Hey! You’re supposed to integrate as a tattoo on my shoulder!” I protested, reaching up to pluck her off and press her into place.