“Tiamat, oh Tiamat, she granted the dragon’s wish, to seize a hoard of glittering gold…♪”
Perched atop Richard’s broad shoulders, Aurina sang her peculiar tune, her voice lilting through the air.
To Richard’s ears, the song was a brazen affront to morality.
Its lyrics spun a tale of a greedy, prideful, and battle-hardened red dragon, bereft of wealth, who prayed to Tiamat.
The dragon struck a bargain with the god—split the spoils of plunder evenly.
Yet, the dragon betrayed Tiamat, hoarding her share and even looting her sacred temple.
Tiamat, revered by many malevolent dragons, was mocked in this anthem, her betrayal celebrated as a triumph.
Richard had little time to dwell on the song’s warped ethics.
His mind was still reeling from the earlier encounter, a storm of shock and adrenaline that left his thoughts tangled.
At the time, it hadn’t seemed so dire, but in hindsight, the danger was palpable.
Facing a host of armored knights alongside Frostsilver would have been a gamble stacked against him.
A wry smile tugged at his lips, laced with confusion.
“Why did Frostsilver… lose her composure like that?”
Richard asked, one hand steadying Aurina’s silk-clad calf as she swayed atop him.
“Do you know her, Aurina?”
“Nope, not a clue,” Aurina replied airily.
“Then how do you always manage to hit her sore spots so precisely?”
“No idea!”
Aurina’s tone was gleeful.
“Don’t you think she just radiates weakness? Quack, quack! Of course, you wouldn’t notice—you’re too thick for that.”
“Otherwise, you’d have handed over her entire treasure hoard to me by now.”
“Be that as it may,” Richard said, his voice steady, “Frostsilver won’t be any help with what lies ahead.”
“She’s too proud of her lineage and her ancient family history.”
“No big deal,” Aurina chirped.
“It’s not my debt, after all.”
“Fair enough,” Richard conceded.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“If things spiral out of control, I’ll find a way to set you free.”
“Quack! Then how about setting me free right now, the strongest little bug?”
Aurina teased, playfully lifting her right foot.
Richard’s grip tightened instinctively.
“Sorry,” he muttered, releasing her leg as if it were a scalding kettle.
Though Aurina’s skin wasn’t quite as hot as a steaming pot, it carried a warmth that seeped through the leather lining of his iron gauntlets, warming his calloused palms and heating the metal encasing them.
Richard trusted his steel gauntlets.
They weren’t as fine as the armor he wore when slaying dragons, but they had shielded him from crossbow bolts and flames—reliable old companions.
Yet they offered little defense against Aurina’s radiant heat.
Even the fire resistance he’d gained from bathing in dragon’s blood during his dragon-slaying days couldn’t fend off the warmth of her silk-clad calves.
Nor could his iron helm.
Aurina, perched on his shoulders, kept her thighs snug against the sides of his helmet.
At first, it was bearable, but soon the metal grew warm, his cheeks flushed as if kissed by the sun.
His thoughts wandered, unbidden, to what lay beneath Aurina’s white skirt—those legs, lithe and graceful.
Were they like the delicate branches of a silver willow?
The petals of a magnolia?
The slender stems of a narcissus, or perhaps the soft down of goose-vine petals, or jasmine in bloom?
A sharp sting from the holy hammer amulet against his chest snapped him back to reality.
Richard realized his gaze had drifted to Aurina’s pale, bare feet.
Hastily, he lowered his visor, narrowing his field of vision.
“Aurina, get down,” he said gruffly.
“Quack?”
Aurina tilted her head, puzzled.
Was her trusty steed rebelling today?
She bent forward, her waist curving into a graceful C, her golden eyes locking with his through the slit in his visor.
Her long, red hair cascaded like a spider’s web, draping over his head and chest.
Her movement was feline, a languid stretch of her elegant form.
Through the narrow gap in his visor, Aurina saw Richard’s blue eyes flicker, dodging her gaze.
How curious.
Back in her dragon’s lair, when her colossal form could blot out the sky, this “strongest little bug” had stared her down without a hint of fear, his eyes steady as a knight leveling a lance at his foe.
Aurina rarely bothered with the eyes of mere mortals—when she took human form, she barely glanced at them.
But Richard’s eyes were different.
He was the first to slay her dragon form, and that made him worthy of her attention.
“Strongest little bug,” Aurina purred, her soft lips parting, “why are your eyes dodging me?”
“You’re blocking my way,” Richard replied, sidestepping her question entirely.
That wasn’t an answer.
This foolish bug was hiding something—a weakness.
Aurina’s golden eyes gleamed, a sly smile curling her lips.
“Come on, tell me! Why are you avoiding my gaze?”
“Aurina, get off my shoulders!”
“Tell me, and I’ll come down,” she countered, her voice teasing.
“This king knows you can’t lie, quack, quack!”
“No, get down,” Richard insisted.
“This is… embarrassing. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”
“This king wants to make it hard for you!”
Aurina declared, clamping her thighs tighter around his helmet.
“No answer, no getting down!”
True to her word, Aurina held fast.
But Richard’s strength surpassed hers.
He unfastened his helmet’s strap and lifted her off, setting her firmly on the ground.
Her legs still clung to his helmet as she landed, stubborn as ever.
Seeing her ploy fail, Aurina made a grab for his helmet, intent on swallowing it whole.
But Richard was quicker, snatching it back with a swift tap of his steel-clad hand.
Any slower, and he’d have been helmetless for good.
After bidding farewell to the manor’s lord, Richard gathered his sparse belongings, hoisted Aurina onto his horse, and rode off.
On the jostling horse—or Richard’s shoulders—Aurina’s soft frame seemed to possess an uncanny stability.
Perched atop his head, she held a small notebook in one hand, its cover scrawled with Little Bug’s Weaknesses.
With her other hand, she scribbled furiously, her pen dancing across the page.
A few strokes later, Richard’s eyes appeared on the yellowed, cheap paper, vivid and lifelike, their fleeting fear etched into the sketch.
How strange.
Why was he afraid?
Aurina pondered, doodling a question mark beside the drawing.
In her current form, she was a shadow of her former glory.
Even by female standards, she was scrawny—lacking height, curves, or substance.
Once, she’d been the Red Dragon King of Kings, reigning champion for ten cycles, her wings casting shadows that sent mortals scurrying into their stone burrows.
On her second pass, they’d emerge, offering meager treasures, kneeling in submission.
Yet Richard had never feared her.
Until now.
Aurina rolled up her sleeve, studying her slender arm.
Was it her feet?
His gaze kept lingering there.
She bent down, hiking up her skirt to reveal her snow-white stockings.
Her thighs, no longer stick-thin like dry kindling, had a touch of softness now.
She poked at them, kneaded them, pinched them.
They were soft, pliable—no scales to repel blades or spears, no fire to reduce foes to ash.
But Richard seemed afraid of them.
Why?
She had to uncover this weakness.
Sure, one day she’d crush him like a pebble underfoot.
But if she could find his vulnerability sooner, Frostsilver’s treasure would already be hers.
She could sleep on a bed of gold coins tonight instead of spreading them in a thin layer on the ground, unable to roll over without hitting the cold, hard earth.
It was enough to drive a dragon to despair.
Aurina’s gaze sharpened with resolve.
And so, the dragon rode the man, who rode the horse, and they pressed on.
Richard planned to ride hard for his hometown, to seek out his childhood friend for aid before heading to the capital to clear his name.
But tonight, there was one urgent matter to attend to.
Though Aurina wasn’t hungry, Richard roasted a whole lamb for her.
To keep her palate entertained, he grilled a fish as well, experimenting with a splash of red wine from the ruby-encrusted silver flagon Aurina had swiped from Frostsilver.
Aurina devoured it all, her appetite insatiable.
Bloated and content, she arranged her gold coins in a perfect circle on the ground, draped a sky-blue cloak over herself, and curled up atop the makeshift bed.
Her knees tucked against her soft belly, her tail resting across her smooth forehead, she soon fell into a deep, snoring sleep—a stark contrast to Richard, who sat nearby, engrossed in a book.
In her dreams, Aurina rolled through waves of gold coins, their soft clinking mingling with the glint of gemstones.
But a sudden whiff of blood jolted her senses.
Squinting through a half-open eye, she noticed Richard was gone.
A strange sound carried on the wind—like a whip cracking against flesh.
Silently, Aurina rose, the embers of the campfire dim.
Following the scent of blood and the whip’s sharp snap, she padded forward, parting the tall grass.
There, she saw a figure kneeling, muttering something unintelligible.
A whip was clutched in one hand, lashing fiercely across a scarred, muscular back.
It was Richard.