Tars ran faster and faster. After filling the pit back in, he beat a hasty retreat from the valley.

  He didn't know what level of wizard would come to reclaim the wingless monster, nor when or how they would arrive. He certainly didn't know if their temperament was kind or cruel, so it was best to vanish as quickly as possible. One thing was certain: anyone the Committee sent would be far more powerful than he was now.

  In the oversight rankings marked on that metal plaque, this exotic dragon was explicitly described as a target that was "no weaker than a True Dragon" and even "stronger than most True Dragons of its age." Yet, it had nearly fallen into the lowest category, rated only as a second-to-last tier supervision target. This spoke volumes about the staggering power ceiling of dragons, but it spoke even louder of the might of the Exotic Dragon Management Committee.

  This peculiar form of unmanned oversight was a test in itself. Every time a dragon escaped, it either encountered law-abiding folk who reported it in exchange for blood, greedy opportunists who tried to kill it, or no one at all—leaving it to die slowly in its sleep. Surely, even the most stubborn "little coward" of a dragon would learn its lesson after being hauled back twice.

  He recalled the Grey-Neck Lord's mockery of Bald-Tooth. When that giant serpent had heard news of a "Kobold King" rising in the Red-Horn Tribe and threatening to deal with wizards, the scarred beast had laughed until its head hung back. That serpent clearly knew a great deal about wizards; it must have spent a significant amount of time at the side of one.

  Tars looked at the dragon blood that already occupied half of his Abyssal Bedroom, and his pace quickened even more. The Secret Mark he had left behind would be his first entry into the true world of wizards.

  Bolstered by his two spells, he realized for the first time that running could be an exhilarating experience. It felt psychologically liberating; he was light as a swallow yet stable and powerful. Every leap was a joy, and the surrounding rock walls and boulders became perfect springboards for his rapid transit. Though he was not yet a match for Baont, he was thoroughly satisfied.

  He went straight to Old Golden-Tooth's quarters.

  Aiskin and the Big-Dumb-Humper were nowhere to be seen. Only the old kobold sat there, quietly and meticulously examining his own glowing "bean sprouts." Looking at the very things that were sapping his life, the elder seemed strangely satisfied, sighing with admiration or muttering softly to himself.

  Tars stepped to his side and looked down at him.

  "You've come. No need to busy yourself; you don't belong here. You certainly shouldn't be doing dangerous things for an old storyteller like me. And tell Aiskin she isn't as clever as she thinks; tell her not to waste her strength running around. She only listens to you. That thing that came from your hand last time—that was a spell, wasn't it? Just focus on your own path..."

  Old Golden-Tooth spoke slowly, never once turning his head.

  Tars thought for a moment, then opened the door to the Abyssal Bedroom. He stepped inside to partition off a small pit, using frozen earth to isolate it from the main pool of dragon blood—though, in truth, most of the floor was already soaked. The blood was now split into three: the original large basin, the temporary small pool, and the overflow on the ground. The blood in the large basin was the cleanest.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  When Tars stepped back out of the spatial door, he found Old Golden-Tooth staring at him with his mouth hanging open in shock.

  "Today, I'm going to show you something you've never seen before."

  With that, he grabbed Old Golden-Tooth, taking great care to avoid touching the bean-sprout-like filaments of light. As he touched the elder, he quietly left a Secret Mark—a precaution in case the old kobold lost his mind and turned into a wandering monster; it would make him easier to find.

  "I knew you were different. You don't belong here. I guessed you were a powerful caster—stronger even than those pointed-ears..."

  The old kobold was pulled into the magical space, his eyes darting up, down, left, and right in a frantic attempt to take it all in. But when Old Golden-Tooth saw the dragon blood, his voice stopped dead.

  "Come. Today is a good day for a bath."

  Tars supported the elder, who could barely walk, and dragged him toward the temporary small pool.

  "This... this is—" Old Golden-Tooth stared at the blood, feeling its oppressive, alien aura.

  Tars took the opportunity to check the filaments of light on the elder's body. After entering this space, the filaments had become significantly less active, though his mental senses told him they weren't exactly withering either.

  "Yes. It's exactly what you think. All of this is yours. Whether you bathe in it or want to drink it dry, I have no objection. In fact, I'd be delighted to see such a dramatic scene."

  With a thought, Tars closed the spatial door behind them. The Abyssal Bedroom became a completely sealed chamber. He let go of the elder's arm.

  Old Golden-Tooth swayed, snapping back to reality. He looked at Tars, then at the pool of dragon blood. Unbelieving, he knelt at the edge of the pit and lowered his head to take a tiny, cautious sip.

  It was a move Tars hadn't expected, but he simply stood by and watched in silence. He didn't rush him.

  Old Golden-Tooth's wide-mouthed expression of disbelief remained unchanged, but it began to brew a deeper, more intense joy and excitement. It seemed that no matter how much his emotions shifted, the fundamental core of being a kobold remained—even for a clever one.

  That 'Kobold King' of the Red-Horn Tribe truly must be a unique specimen, Tars thought.

  After a series of near-frenzied prostrations, his face covered in blood from drinking, Old Golden-Tooth finally stepped into the pool. In fact, the transformation had begun with that first sip; his steps as he entered the pool were remarkably steady, as if he had regained his youth.

  The old kobold was not much larger than Tars, and the temporary pool had been sized accordingly. Old Golden-Tooth lay down, submerging himself completely. The shallow pool swallowed his form in an instant, leaving only a few gurgling bubbles on the surface.

  Tars waited patiently. He noticed that the filaments of light on the elder seemed to grow even more robust after consuming the blood. Old Golden-Tooth really is a special case, he realized.

  He decided to pass the time by finally organizing the storage pouch he had been saving as a surprise. Inside were food, a book on the Fireball spell with research notes, and some clothing. His hand paused as he pulled out a diary. This was a treasure to him—a diary written by someone he had killed. It had a unique "flavor" to it.

  Ignoring the other items for now, he opened the diary and began to read. It was a journal that began during the writer's mid-apprentice stage. He flipped to a random page, and the very first sentence made him freeze.

  Day of Silence. I am irritable. The path that has been stagnant is about to open, but that cunning pseudo-dragon with the Red Dragon bloodline has deceived me. To deceive a wizard apprentice destined for greatness... It is now certain that so-called 'Heart-Blood' is merely a fabrication of third-rate novels. It holds no special properties whatsoever.