Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!

Chapter 110 : What's Wrong with Secrets

Elaphia slowly opened her eyes to a pure expanse of white, everything appearing hazy and indistinct.

She held no belief in deities—as an undead creature like herself, even devotion to a church would not grant her the blessing of a soul returning to divine realms.

Yet Elaphia noticed the face now leaning close was flawlessly pale. The sky had cleared, and the figure in a blue dress seemed both blurred and deeply familiar, like the lotus fragrance permeating the entire space.

The arrival of decay and the passage of life left Elaphia increasingly disoriented. She strained to lean forward, trying to discern the face clearly. A subtle scent lingered at her nostrils—the color of delphiniums, still elegant, gentle, modest, and so pleasing to the eye.

Just as Elaphia nearly pressed her entire face forward, the other remarked offhandedly, "I don't offer good morning kisses."

Elaphia's focus sharpened slightly. With effort, she roused her sluggish mind, realizing she lay in a modest bedroom. Through aged curtains, she could almost imagine someone standing quietly under the afternoon sun, swelling with warmth, bringing a drowsy urge for eternal slumber.

"Princess?"

"Mhm," Patunasankus nodded, following Elaphia's gaze to the wooden window. "Even if you adore sunlight, it's better to avoid it for now."

Patunasankus had long understood Elaphia's condition—she was like rootless duckweed, destined to scatter and dissolve, where the slightest loss could hasten the process.

"You could die immediately," Patunasankus told her bluntly.

"I know," Elaphia attempted to move, propping up her waist, but found it difficult. Patunasankus had to reach out and assist her.

"Elaphia, are you afraid?" Patunasankus rested her cheek in her hand, tilting her head to observe her.

"Afraid. Very afraid," Elaphia whispered.

"Death isn't unusual—everyone dies eventually. How strange. Since everyone will die, why is it still frightening?" Patunasankus inquired curiously.

Elaphia reflected for two seconds, tugging at the corner of her mouth in a soundless smile. "Perhaps because, before death, we fear being utterly forgotten."

She felt increasingly weary, her eyelids heavy, and simply closed them. "I find loneliness so terrifying that I've considered ending it all more than once. But what held me back was the thought that no one—absolutely no one—would be moved by my death. I'd be lonelier in death than in life."

Sunlight surged like tides through unseen corridors. With closed eyes envisioning perfect sunshine, Elaphia felt a flicker of warmth. Then, she noticed her hand—icy for nearly a century—brushing against something soft and warm.

It took a long moment before she realized the Princess had carefully taken her hand.

Elaphia opened her eyes, watching the Princess hold her hand, her crimson pupils reflecting the other's sky-clear form.

Whenever Elaphia saw that expression, it always reminded her of skies after rain—washed into boundless crystal clarity, fresh and pure.

"..."Elaphia fell silent for two seconds before saying, "In moments like that, I'm just afraid—afraid to face my past, to face my future. After all, how could someone as filthy and ugly as me ever receive warmth as beautiful as a dream?"

"But at least, for now, I am free."

Elaphia counted her limited time, savoring the fleeting comfort and warmth, along with the meaningless emptiness.

Patunasankus rarely tapped on the wooden frame of the bed, gently shaking her head as she pondered for a moment.

"What does it matter to you now to gain freedom by casting something off? Yet, your eyes should clearly tell me—what do you want freedom for?" Patunasankus said earnestly.

"Is that important?" Elaphia closed her eyes again.

"Very important." Patunasankus's expression was serious, as if her answer would determine the future.

Elaphia recalled a sonnet written by a great poet, a precious poem she had read countless times.

She softly recited:

"When I do count the clock that tells the time,And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;When I behold the violet past prime,And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;

When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,Then of thy beauty do I question make,That thou among the wastes of time must go,Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defenceSave breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence."

Each time she read it, Elaphia felt as if she could grasp the warmth of life and the allure of change—the sweetness, the pain, the richness of existence—all of which she longed to taste.

"...I want to feel every ray of sunlight in the world, experience rebirth washed by pure streams, listen to the sea, behold the wonders of the world, sense the breath of summer, and return a freer self to music and all things."

Elaphia said seriously.

"I want to feel the taste of being alive again."

"I see, I see," Patunasankus nodded, standing up and walking to the window. She slightly drew back the curtain, allowing a slant of afternoon sunlight to drift in, softly enveloping her face with a faint, hazy, and cool reflection.

Elaphia watched Patunasankus's profile as she sat by the window, humming softly, her long hair slipping from her shoulders as she gently tucked it behind her ear with her fingertips.

At that moment, she was serene and transparent, like a glass placed on the windowsill, half-filled with clear water, bathed in tranquil sunlight—making one irresistibly want to hold it.

"Your Highness," Elaphia whispered.

"...What is it?" Patunasankus turned to look at her.

"Even if it's not sincere, tell me you like me." Weariness surged relentlessly, and Elaphia knew it was the fatigue of eternal slumber. Each word was spoken calmly, even with a strained smile, yet a faint tremor at the end betrayed a trace of genuine emotion.Patunasankus remained silent for a long time, her tone softening as she stood there like a genuine young girl.

"I like you, Elaphia."

"..."

Elaphia did not respond.

She had fallen asleep.

"I like you," Patunasankus repeated.

Outside the door, Loranhir's fingers hovered mid-knock, and something deep within her twitched faintly, leaving her suddenly hollow.

○

Patunasankus truly believed death was a strange thing.

People spend their entire lives pretending it doesn't exist, even though it's one of life's greatest motivators. Yet some are given ample opportunity to understand it, allowing them to become more diligent, persistent, and insightful.

Others only recognize the beauty of life when death draws near.

And there are those tormented by it, perpetually anxious and fearful, as if imprisoned.

Patunasankus eventually realized that everyone fears death, but what they fear even more is it happening to someone they know. The greatest dread of death lies in it brushing past you, leaving only her behind.

Those unfamiliar with Patunasankus often thought her cold and harsh, excessively rational. But in truth, she wasn't cold or harsh at all—she simply disliked letting others know what she was thinking.

When Patunasankus had to accept losing her most beloved Princess, her heart still shattered, and time could never smooth over such a wound.

Yet she came to understand that when Latifa left her, she hadn't truly died—she had merely ceased to live.

Once she grasped this, what needed to be done became clear.

And she wanted to become a gentle person, because she had been treated with such gentleness and deeply understood how it felt to be tenderly cared for.

"You're not allowed to die, understand?" Patunasankus told Elaphia.

With a creak, Loranhir peeked through the door crack with anxious and uneasy eyes, which seemed to conceal something else, though Patunasankus couldn't decipher it.

"Princess, she..." Loranhir pointed at Elaphia.

Patunasankus stroked Elaphia's cheek and pressed a finger to her lips. "Shh, she's asleep."

Loranhir hesitated about whether to bring up certain matters. After a brief thought, she decided to say nothing, silently watching and waiting.

"It's alright," Patunasankus said. "Leave it to me. Just let me stay in this room for a while."

"She'll be fine." Patunasankus turned and gave Loranhir a smile.

"Understood. I won't disturb you then," Loranhir said straightforwardly. "If you need me, I'll be waiting outside in the courtyard."

There was none of the questioning Patunasankus had anticipated—only the clear sound of Loranhir's footsteps fading into the distance.

"A bit too straightforward, isn't she?" Patunasankus muttered.

She turned to Elaphia and asked softly, "Would you be willing to become my blood descendant?"

"..."

"You want to live, don't you? I can bring you back to life.In addition, I will provide you with triple the compensation originally offered to other evil dragon subordinates, along with two days off per week and an eight-hour workday. If you complete your tasks early, you can leave early. On rest days, I generally won’t contact you, and emergency call-outs come with additional subsidies. Of course, there are also transportation and meal allowances, all provided free of charge by the nest.

All your external expenses will be reimbursed by the nest, and weapons and equipment are provided at no cost. Additionally, there are housing placement fees and paid leave. After retirement, you can mentor newcomers while still receiving your full salary—I’m very wealthy."

"..."

"Five seconds of silence and I’ll take it as your agreement."

"..."

There was certainly no response.

"5, 4, 3, 0—good, I knew you’d be willing. No chance to back out now," Patunasankus muttered to herself, then gently undid her buttons, letting her clothes slip slowly off to reveal her pale shoulders, like newly blooming petals.

"If you’re unsatisfied in the end, just go find the Black Death. Go bother her instead—if you have what it takes, that is. It has nothing to do with Latifa."

Patunasankus said.

"To claim benefits, don’t come to me—go to Isha for reimbursement."

Patunasankus knew Elaphia couldn’t hear her, but she just felt like chattering on and on, which was unlike her usual self.

She deliberately pressed her fingertip against her skin, slowly drawing out a round drop of blood.

Did it hurt? Not at all—it was like a strangely lovely cherry on her finger.

As if remembering something, Patunasankus took one last glance in the direction Loranhir had left.

"Uh—"

Then she pulled the curtain shut with force.

○

Crimson sunflowers bloomed by the wall, a tabby cat lounged on the stone steps, and morning glories flourished wildly in the abandoned garden. The sun was rising into the dappled light of the east, shining on fruit trees laden with blossoms and dewdrops, illuminating the quiet path beneath the trees.

"What’s wrong with the Princess having her own secrets?" Loranhir leaned against the fence and said.

Her smile was a flower grown in her own garden; her speech was the whisper of pines from her own mountains.

But her heart remained that of a young girl.

The young girl they all knew.

Loranhir wasn’t foolish—she was just innocent.

She leaned against the garden fence, resting her chin in her hand, gazing at the sky for a long time.

Originally empty, with nothing to see, she suddenly broke into a radiant smile, as if she’d told herself a joke in her heart.

"And it’s precisely because of this that the Princess is so captivating."

Loranhir murmured softly.