Theon's gaze lingered on the kneeling dragon. Though it couldn't see him, the tension in the air was thick—dense enough for the dragon's bones to rattle.
"You're certain," Theon said, his voice quiet but razor-sharp, "you have no higher-level herbs?"
The dragon's voice cracked.
"Y-yes, mighty one… please trust me… that was all I had…"
Of course, he was lying. Theon didn't need proof. He had been at the pinnacle of existence once—he could feel the hesitation, the strain in the dragon's tone. Still, he said nothing.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"If this were the past, I wouldn't have wasted breath. But now…"
He looked at his bruised, nearly broken body.
"I couldn't even kill a rat in this state. That's the truth, isn't it?"
He exhaled through his nose.
"Fine. Bow again."
The dragon said nothing—he simply knelt once more, bones clacking against stone.
Theon reached for the herbs. The level 6s were not weak at all,at least not for a mere mortal. it was something. Theon examined them carefully, muttering:
"Even a real Mythvein cultivator couldn't absorb these directly without heavy backlash…"
He clenched his jaw.
"And I? I don't even have a spiritual vein. Just a rotting body and a cursed reputation."
He paused.
"Still… I could refine them. Make something usable. All I need is a flame…"
A slow, devilish smile returned.
"Hey. Dragon."
The dragon flinched again.
"Y-yes, mighty one?"
"You have a flame, don't you?"
There was silence for a beat. Then—
"Yes… but it's my last resort… If I lose it, I might not survive the next few months."
Theon stared for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Then, calmly:
"And?"
The dragon's soul trembled.
He didn't know who this being truly was, but one thing was certain:
This man did not care for excuses.
"I said—give it to me."
Theon's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. The weight of his words alone made the air feel heavier.
The dragon hesitated, bones creaking as it shifted. His mind raced.
"If I give him the flame… I won't survive past a few more months. But if I don't…"
He dared not finish the thought. He feel like a single word from him could erase me.
But then… suspicion crept in.
"Wait… why would a high-level cultivator—someone who makes me tremble—need flame from a dead, half-rotted skeleton dragon like me?"
He dared not speak it. He wanted to ask, but something inside him—maybe the instinct from his past human life—told him that crossing this man's patience was suicidal.
If I still had a bladder, he thought bitterly, it would've emptied ten times by now. Luckily, skeletons don't pee.
Swallowing whatever remained of his pride, he spoke, voice shaky but obedient.
"A-as you command… mighty one…"
He opened his mouth, bones shifting with a hollow clatter, and from deep within his ribcage, a dim, flickering blue flame floated forward—his final source of life, his last safeguard.
Theon watched it float toward him, unimpressed.
"That's it?" he said, raising a brow.
The dragon flinched.
"I-it's weak now, b-but it once came from the Spirit Forge… in its prime, it could melt star-metal…"
Theon caught the flame with two fingers, inspecting it. It flickered weakly, barely alive.
He sighed.
"What a miserable world I've returned to."
Then, without another word, he sat cross-legged and began preparing the herbs.
But inside dragon's mind...
"This guy… said my flame is weak? That's a third-level flame! Not peak, but still… no rookie alchemist can even ignite it without getting burned alive!"
Meanwhile, Theon sat cross-legged, face pale, arms trembling. The blue flame danced in his palm, biting at his flesh, and the stench of burning skin filled the air.
His lips curled into a grimace—not from fear, but from annoyance.
"Tch. Weak flame, yet this pathetic mortal body struggles to hold it. How miserable."
His fingers moved precisely despite the pain. The herbs crackled and hissed under the flame's breath. Bit by bit, he refined them, enduring the searing agony.
Eventually, he raised his burnt hand.
Three pills glowed faintly in his palm.
His skin was charred. His veins pulsed black beneath his flesh. But his gaze never wavered.
He flicked one pill at the dragon. "Eat it."
The dragon hesitated. "M-Mighty one… may I ask wha—"
"I said eat."
The dragon flinched and swallowed it whole without another word.
A second later, his bones began to shine. Faint runes crawled across his ribs, his cracked spine straightened, and a fourth-level flame sparked into life in his hollow chest.
The dragon gasped. "T-this…! You thought of me?! Even as a broken, useless bone dragon...!"
But Theon wasn't listening.
His mind, sharp and cold, was elsewhere.
"What a miserable fool. I just needed to test the pill. Since I already died once, I'm not taking chances. Now, I know it works."
He smirked.
"He has no idea… anyone who consumes this pill cannot disobey me. Even if he finds out I'm just a mortal with no cultivation—he'll be bound."
Then he picked up the second pill.
"Now, it's my turn."
Instead of swallowing it, he took a nearby stone, crushed the pill slowly in his palm, and watched as its powder glowed.