Chapter 12: Drunk
Those who knew Veles’s true identity all called him the “Silver Reaper,” and the Reaper’s scythe was that inhuman, cursed tail of his. In the eyes of those aware of Veles’s existence, that tail was sharper than a dark elf assassin’s dagger, more cunning and vicious than the Mesa Witch’s venomous serpent.
No one had ever known that the tail, covered in poisonous barbs and scales, was not used solely to reap the lives of enemies in battle. It could also help its owner maintain balance (allowing Veles to move along treetops and tightropes as effortlessly as a great cat), or detect the flow of air (which was why Veles could so easily evade assassinations in the dark by sensing the slightest shift in the wind). It could even perceive changes in the density and direction of surrounding magic (yes—this was precisely why Veles was always able to avoid deadly magical traps with ease)…
Of course, all of this nonsense was really just meant to explain one thing—Veles’s tail was extremely, extremely, extremely sensitive.
In fact, in a sense, his tail was even more sensitive and fragile than his skin. One might even call it his weakness. The only reason Veles had never realized this was that, before now, no one had ever dared—like Alan—to grab his tail so brazenly and refuse to let go.
For Veles, in that instant, the entire world seemed to vanish from his awareness. All his senses and nerves converged on that damned tail of his.
Because of the alcohol, the human’s skin was warmer than before. Veles had once used his tail like a spear, driving it straight through a medusa’s chest and letting its poisonous blood pour over his tail spines without feeling a thing. Yet now, with Alan merely holding his tail lightly, Veles felt as though the part of him pressed against Alan’s skin was about to burst into flames.
“I’ve seen this tail before.”
The drunken human mage examined the inhuman thing in his hands with great care.
He looked closely, his soft breath brushing lightly against the barbs of Veles’s tail.
“It’s a bad thing.” Alan frowned, then looked at Veles with a pitiful expression, mumbling almost like he was tattling, “It made me break my wine bottle! I lost a whole bottle of honey wine—that was my last bottle of honey wine!”
“I know.”
It felt like an entire century before Veles finally recovered from the intense shock. He spoke with difficulty to the soft, squishy human in front of him.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Alan. At that time… I wasn’t in a good state. In any case, I’ll make it up to you. Please… please let go of my tail.”
Until today, Veles had never felt this much difficulty just talking.
Though nearly invisible to the naked eye, each of his scales concealed fine poisonous barbs underneath. If he pulled his tail away recklessly from Alan’s hands, he could hurt him—after all, Veles had already felt firsthand just how delicate and soft the human’s palm was.
And so, Veles found himself defenselessly trapped in this awkward predicament, stiffly sitting there, trying to persuade Alan to release the innocent tail.
But since time immemorial, getting a drunk person to listen has always been nearly impossible, no matter how gentle and friendly they were when sober.
“I can’t let go! This tail is hurt… oh, wait, that person is hurt!” the tipsy little drunkard mumbled incessantly.
“Let me check, I remember he was badly injured. I should help him—it would be wrong to let him die—”
Suddenly, Alan raised his voice. The hand that had been holding only the tip of the tail now stroked along the scales all the way to the base beneath Veles’s cloak.
“Mr. Alan!”
Veles gasped. He jumped up, stumbling and nearly falling to the ground because his tail was still in Alan’s grip.
If it weren’t for worrying that pulling his tail out might hurt Alan, Veles would have probably dashed straight into the forest beside the cabin—he had never before experienced such a terrifying sensation.
He seemed to have entered a state of frenzy prematurely. Veles felt an overwhelming surge of excitement and power, his blood roaring so fiercely that he could almost tear a fully grown griffon apart with one hand.
Yet at the same time, he felt utterly weak—so weak that even his bones ached with a dull, hollow fatigue. His body felt empty, every sense and nerve focused entirely on that damned, foolish tail: the human was holding that filthy, obstructive, deformed appendage in a drunken grip, and the Silver Reaper could not move, his entire body stiff.
Alan continued to stroke Veles’s tail—the part that had been tightly hidden beneath the cloak. Unlike the slender, sensitive tip, the tail grew thicker toward the base, the scales larger and harder.
Of course, this section also took longer to heal after injury. Alan was extremely careful, pressing his fingers over Veles’s scars: a row of scales had been torn off in the recent battle, and the new growth was still tender—almost soft.
When Alan’s fingertips touched that small patch of scar tissue, attempting to cast a healing spell, Veles could no longer restrain himself. He grasped Alan’s wrist with a forceful grip.
“Mr. Alan.” His voice was rough and hoarse. He stared at Alan’s tipsy cheeks, whose skin looked as delicate as a rose, with wet eyelashes like morning dew.
Veles was now certain that the curse within him had triggered prematurely—otherwise he wouldn’t feel such a desperate, burning thirst. His tongue kept brushing against his fangs—he realized he wanted, more than anything, to lick the human in front of him.
The human, soaked in the scent of apple wine and drunk, radiated an irresistibly sweet fragrance.
“Please… don’t… pay attention to this cursed body,” Veles said, forcing his voice steady with all his strength.
“Wounds on this filthy body are of no concern.”
He carefully pried Alan’s fingers apart, finally freeing his tail.
He should have thought of this sooner, Veles thought. Alan wasn’t very strong, and under Veles’s careful movements, he obediently released his grip.
Veles shook his tail, newly freed, forcing himself to ignore the inexplicable reluctance tugging at his heart.
Then he heard Alan’s voice.
“It’s… really beautiful.”
Veles froze.
He lowered his head, following the human’s gaze, and looked at his own tail—so ugly in his own eyes.
Alan’s eyes, glassy with intoxication, shone unusually bright.
He stared at Veles’s tail, completely unguarded in his admiration. “It’s not cursed or filthy at all… hic…”
Alan hiccuped, his words slightly jumbled.
But Veles heard it clearly.
“You—” Alan suddenly turned to Veles. He grabbed Veles’s hands and leaned closer, their eyes meeting directly. “Your tail is beautiful! So take good care of it, don’t let it get hurt!”
Veles looked at the human in front of him.
He didn’t understand why, even though his tail was no longer being held, his body still felt so strange.
His heartbeat raced uncontrollably.
It felt as if a whole swarm of butterflies was fluttering wildly inside his chest.
Alan gazed at the dazed Veles and blinked.
After a moment, he seemed to finally remember, with some effort, the identity of the man before him.
“Mr. Veles,” he said.
“Mm,” Veles replied.
“You’re a good person, aren’t you?”
Alan spoke with a note of earnest pleading, his voice gentle and careful.
“You… you won’t hurt us when you come to Green River Village… no, you’ll protect us, won’t you?”
“Yes. I will protect you.”
“Heeheehee…” Upon receiving that confirmation, Alan smiled sweetly. His breath brushed against Veles’s face, the warm, intoxicating scent of apple wine enveloping the silver-eyed man.
“I knew it, Mr. Veles, you really are a good person… hic… So, you have to behave… as a reward, I’ll bake you a very, very delicious cream pie later… really tasty… cream pie… custard tart… cheese and meat rolls…”
Alan’s voice gradually softened.
Seemingly reassured by Veles’s reply, he relaxed completely, closing his eyes, and then simply collapsed into Veles’s arms, falling asleep sweetly.
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Author’s Note:
Who could possibly dislike a beautiful dragon tail~
—As said by a certain little mage with a hidden tail obsession.
