Chapter 27: Little Handkerchief
Veles dreamed.
In the dream, he returned to the small, nostalgic cabin outside Green River Village. His vision was distorted and terribly blurred, occasionally swallowed by thick green mist—but that didn’t matter. In the dream, his thoughts were just as disjointed, muddled and hazy. He lazily let his “branches” droop, swaying gently with the wind as the sky gradually darkened.
What truly roused him was a slender figure.
It was Alan.
Veles rushed forward without hesitation, greedily rubbing against Alan, drawing in the gentle scent and warmth from him. But soon, an discordant presence intruded upon the beautiful dream.
The tall man with blond hair and blue eyes swiftly turned Veles’s rare pleasant dream into a maddening nightmare.
In the dream, that man actually held tight the mage Veles cherished most. Even in reality, Veles himself had never dared to embrace Alan so boldly, so completely—yet Lart did.
“I’ve been looking for you, Alan. I’ve missed you so much.”
Lart’s voice trembled slightly in the dream, unlike the detestable affectation Veles remembered. The captain of the Royal Knights was powerfully built, and with his silver armor and crimson cloak, he looked like a solid wall. Alan appeared all the more small and fragile before him.
When Lart held him, it was as if Alan were about to be embedded into his embrace.
“Alan, my Alan. I’ve finally found you.”
Lart bent slightly, took a deep breath, and spoke in a low, heavy voice.
Alan had to tilt his head up a little. From Veles’s perspective, he could see the faintly dazed look on Alan’s face at that moment.
“I miss everyone too,” Alan said.
This was Alan that Veles had never seen in reality. The mage in his memories had always been sweet and soft, someone who reminded Veles of honey, apple wine, and cream cakes. Yet in this moment of the dream, the purely sweet mage seemed to carry a trace of lemon-like bitterness and tartness.
His expression held joy and nostalgia, mingled with a faint, indescribable sting of complexity.
Without a doubt, Lart also sensed Alan’s hesitation at that moment—but the captain of the knights did not release Alan politely. Instead, he held him even tighter.
“Alan.”
He called out to Veles’s little mage.
This scene instantly ignited the violent darkness within Veles.
Even in the dream, Veles could not bear to see Lart embrace Alan like this.
The dragon vines surged up, the cruel, vicious green shadows twisting together like a terrifying venomous green python, striking toward Lart with ferocious speed.
If it were an ordinary knight, he would probably have been shredded into bloody pieces midair by the flailing branches. Yet Lart, still holding Alan, lifted his sword with one hand and swung it into the void.
The man softly chanted an incantation, and holy light erupted from the blade—the thick green sap exploded, and the resilient dragon vines snapped all at once, breaking into sticky green fragments that fell to the ground.
“Wait…”
Alan’s eyes widened in terror as he was held in Lart’s arms.
The next moment, the attacked dragon vines descended into an even more uncontrollable rage—though, in a sense, it was Veles who had gone berserk.
Even with countless magic arrays and spells to restrain him, with the arrival of the Blood Moon, the dragon’s greedy and frenzied side within him grew increasingly active.
The dragon vines began to change.
The dark green branches were now covered in visible diamond-shaped scales, and tiny spines dripped venom, as if countless fine fangs had grown along the tips of the branches.
They lifted their heads slightly, like venomous snakes coiling and ready to strike.
A peculiar metallic, almost fishy, scent wafted through the night air.
The scene before him looked like a monster attacking the human continent, yet Lart showed little expression. He glanced calmly at the now-raging dragon vines, then pressed his hand against the back of Alan’s head, forcing the human mage to bury his face in Lart’s chest.
“Don’t look. These things are a bit… disgusting,” he said gently to Alan.
Meanwhile, the golden holy light on his sword flared brilliantly.
The furious dragon vines were about to strike Lart.
Then, Veles “saw” Alan struggling to lift his head from Lart’s embrace, and he shouted in terror: “No—”
Was Alan… afraid?
Amidst the layers of green shadows and the flash of Lart’s blade, Veles locked eyes with Alan’s pale face.
The instant he realized Alan’s fear, a sharp, searing pain erupted simultaneously through Veles’s soul and body.
As Lart’s sword sliced through the dragon vines, Veles suddenly opened his eyes.
The dream dissipated.
He had woken up.
The first thing that met his eyes was an ominous dark red, within which floated countless shifting ancient runes. Behind the red shimmered vague black shapes.
Then came walls of mithril magic, repaired to be even thicker and heavier than castle fortifications.
A pale blue light hovered over the high vaulted ceiling, casting a deathly dim illumination.
Veles remembered—he was now in the royal capital. At the base of the Mage Tower deep within the palace, countless mages had spent years, pouring in manpower and resources, to construct this specialized prison. And Veles… was currently trapped inside it.
The heavy stench of blood filled the entire space. Cold liquid ran down Veles’s hard, black-scaled skin, and it took him several seconds to realize that the liquid was his own blood. The iron chains embedded with runes had long since driven deep into his limbs, carving intersecting wounds across his body.
The pain and blood that had awakened Veles from his nightmare came from this very source.
Spells, chains, and other visible—or invisible—restraints bound his vile, terrifying body tightly.
As for everything Veles had just seen… it was nothing but his imagination, or rather, an illusionary dream.
The royal capital was far too distant from Green River Village. Even Veles’s dragon vines could not possibly traverse such a vast distance to project the village’s scenery onto him.
Realizing this, Veles felt a wave of despair—but at the same time, an unprecedented sense of relief.
Despair, because the Alan he had so desperately seen was only a fantasy.
Relief, because if it had all been just a dream, it meant Alan had not been frightened by the true, terrifying form of the dragon vines.
The thought of Alan’s panicked eyes in the dream made Veles’s chest ache—a feeling far more painful than the wounds inflicted by the restraints in reality.
“Prince Veles,” a figure emerged from behind the layers of magical arrays. It was Antara.
The elf, who usually seemed somewhat casual and carefree, now looked unusually solemn.
He furrowed his brows, studying Veles carefully, and after a long moment, he let out a deep sigh.
“If I may, I sincerely suggest that you control your emotions. You should know—the closer you get to the Blood Moon, the more likely your dragon blood is to take control of you, and the more your dragon blood takes control—”
“I will be more easily corrupted into a demonic dragon,” Veles interrupted Antara coldly.
He lowered his gaze toward himself, and it was easy to understand why Antara had come over to spout nonsense again.
He was now barely recognizable as “human.” The lower half of his body was completely covered in thick scales. Spikes and claws jutted out from his limbs, and the wings that had once been sealed were now fully unfurled, their dark bony frames shrouded in ominous membranes. His tail coiled around most of his body, barbs protruding and hissing small spurts of venom even now.
That dream had only worsened an already bad situation.
In fact, deep within him, a strong, unrelenting malice still simmered.
Even seeing Lart only in a dream, the mere image of him embracing Alan inflamed Veles’s mind—his desire to kill, his possessiveness, and his jealousy corroded his already fragile sanity like acid.
And because of this, even now that he was awake, he could not control the unnatural transformations of his body.
Every scale, every venomous spine trembled with anticipation—his primal instincts screamed to sink his jaws into the head of some blond-haired, blue-eyed man.
Better yet, to tear off the arms that had embraced Alan, chew them into a bloody paste, spit it out, and then spray a final jet of venom to corrode everything utterly.
“Cough, cough,” Antara finally coughed twice, unable to bear it any longer, issuing a warning. “Your Highness, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but your eyes look… wicked right now. Believe me, no other mage would want to see you like this.”
Veles snorted coldly.
Antara continued, “Think of Mage Alan. I’m sure he’d prefer to have dinner with a handsome prince rather than… a dragon like you—”
“Hah, a prince? Someone like Lart?”
Veles’s aura turned icy, his gaze freezing Antara’s clumsy attempt at provocation right in his throat. Well, Antara was beginning to deeply regret having mentioned Prince Lart to him.
God… just thinking about the other secrets he had kept from Veles made Antara shudder. He couldn’t imagine the scene if Veles ever learned everything.
It would be a nightmare.
“Antara, bring me the Item Number Two stored in the treasury,” Veles ordered.
Antara froze for a moment, surprised. This was the first time he had ever seen Veles personally request an item.
In truth, this wasn’t the first time Veles had forced himself through the agony of the curse. From childhood, he had endured countless episodes like this, each one a form of torture. As a child of the queen, Veles naturally had every privilege—he could request the rarest treasures in the world to ease the pain of his curse.
But he had never done so.
Until now.
That little mage from Green River Village truly was different to His Highness Veles…
With that thought in mind, Antara hurried to Veles’s private treasury and retrieved the legendary “Item Number Two.”
He wouldn’t admit it, but when he first saw it, he had stared blankly for a long moment before regaining his composure.
Bracing himself, he handed the “treasure” to Veles.
It was a handkerchief.
Ordinary, clean, but clearly showing signs of use.
Made of linen, so plain that it wasn’t even embroidered—but Antara easily guessed its owner.
It was Alan’s handkerchief.
On one occasion, when visiting Veles’s residence, Alan had accidentally left the handkerchief behind. And for some inexplicable, mysterious reason, the Empire’s prince—the Silver Reaper, the fearsome dragon in waiting, Veles—had silently hidden away the unassuming little handkerchief.
It’s hard to say whether Veles had any premonition at the time that he would one day need this handkerchief, but regardless, it played a crucial role—when Antara reluctantly handed it over, the terrifying, half-draconic being carefully placed the tiny handkerchief beneath his body.
He lowered himself to the ground, curling his tail around his forelimbs.
His senses, sharpened to an extraordinary degree after his draconic transformation, helped him immensely.
Veles closed his eyes. This time, even without dreaming, he could feel Alan’s presence—warm, gentle, reassuring, and peaceful.
The handkerchief reminded Veles of that night, of Alan’s embrace.
Gradually, the dark scales covering Veles’s body began to fade…
…
What Veles did not know was that, at the very moment Lart was about to cut through all the dragon vines, the weak and slight Alan in his mind had launched a Water Sphere at Lart.
“Splash—”
It was a very small water sphere, only about the size of a fist.
Inside, the clear water even carried a faint scent of honey, a spell Alan usually used to feed Little Green.
The spell had virtually no offensive power, yet when the water sphere exploded over Lart’s head, drenching him completely, he looked momentarily embarrassed.
His attack paused for an instant, and at his side, the dragon vines, sensing an opportunity, instantly swelled. The ends of the branches even bulged into massive fruit-like growths. When the fruit split open, it revealed densely packed teeth and dark, gaping maws.
Green digestive liquid dripped down from the petals.
The open-mouthed dragon vine was just a hair’s breadth away from sinking its teeth into Lart’s head.
But at that very moment, Alan forcefully tapped on the unsightly tip of the dragon vine.
“Stop!” he shouted.
“…”
For a moment, the dragon vines froze.
The next second, it tried to pretend it hadn’t understood Alan’s command, trembling as it stretched its head again toward Lart.
“That’s very impolite!” Alan raised his voice.
The dragon vine drooped its branches, a little dejected, reluctantly retracting.
The thinner, smaller auxiliary branches next to the stout main stems shook desperately from side to side. Even the thumb-sized fruit buds opened slightly, revealing tiny, fragile white teeth, protesting near Alan’s calves.
Alan sighed and, instinctively treating these plants as he would Little Green, scolded the vines belonging to Veles.
“If you’re naughty again, I’ll get angry!” he called out.
The remaining dragon vines abruptly halted, then withdrew, hiding their now rather unsightly branches behind a few intact leaves.
Only the tips of a few vines and leaves peeked out, pathetically swaying toward Alan.
Alan watched this scene helplessly, then turned his head and forced a dry smile at Lart.
“Captain, these little things are actually very well-behaved. They mean no harm—they only… I think, they only attacked you because they were frightened.”
“Very well-behaved?”
Even the captain of the Royal Knights, who had never shown emotion even before the Medusa Queen, couldn’t help showing a flicker of surprise.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author’s note:
Alan’s heart has drifted all the way out to outer space…
