novelraw Chapter 9: The Tail
Chapter 9: The Tail
Clatter clatter clatter—!
A gust of wind whipped past as Fischer’s carriage rumbled to a stop just outside the still-under-construction gates of Keken City. The walls had only recently been completed. The uneven dirt path leading to the gate was riddled with wheel ruts and hoofprints. Armed guards patrolled the entrance, while farmers queued up, holding bundles of freshly gathered produce.
Posters plastered the gate walls, introducing the city and advertising local businesses. One flyer featured a busty blonde painted in oil portrait style, paired with a shop address. Above the city, a griffon-emblazoned flag billowed in the wind—its reflection caught under the brim of Fischer’s hat.
Lucky—it was a Naryan city. If this had been a Shivali or Kadu settlement, as a Naryan citizen he would’ve had to pay entry fees and taxes.
Fischer lightly tapped the flank of the horse, urging it forward.
“Esteemed gentleman, may I see your identification?”
At the gate, a bearded guard with a musket coughed politely and asked for Fischer’s documents. Behind him, several younger soldiers eyed Fischer’s ornate carriage with eager curiosity—clearly itching to poke around.
But once Fischer presented his South Continent Transit Permit and Citizen Certificate—both issued by the Naryan Government—the officer waved discreetly at the others, and they begrudgingly backed off to resume chatting.
“Ah, a gentleman from Saint Nary. Enjoy your stay in Keken City. Next!”
Without a word, Fischer retrieved his documents. As his carriage passed through the gate, a deep red carriage followed behind—clearly Shivalian in origin. The red-themed decorations made it obvious; even their wedding garments were fat, crimson monstrosities. Same protocol. Same document checks. But this time, the young guards had work to do.
Fischer lowered the brim of his hat and ignored it all.
Inside the city, the streets were still a mess—mud everywhere, sewage spilling from shop fronts. For most Southern cities, the priorities were simple: build walls and open shops. Sanitation and living conditions were secondary at best.
It was tolerable. Fischer wasn’t planning to stay long anyway.
“Sir, look here! Affordable inns for nightly rest! Free stabling and carriage care, plus warm water and towels in the morning! Only 50 euros a night—bulk deals available!”
“Authentic Saint Nary cuisine!”
“Southern natives! Naryan ladies! Shivalian sisters! Sir, are you traveling alone tonight?”
His carriage moved slowly, tailed by a small army of hustlers trying to pitch him their inns, restaurants, and brothels, each one emphasizing their unique features like a circus barker on fire.
Fischer ignored them. Instead, he gently tapped the carriage door with his cane.
After a short wait, someone inside started pushing the door open—only for Fischer to press it shut with his hand, stopping it midway.
“This is a human city. Stay inside for now.”
“You were the one who knocked.”
His response, delivered in Draconian, made the pushing force relent. Through the narrow opening, a pair of emerald eyes stared out at him.
“…I’ll go get some food. After you eat, go to the second room on the left, put on the clothes inside, then come with me for supplies.”
The eyes watched him for a moment longer, then disappeared—likely to relay the message to the others.
With his spatial magic carriage, Fischer didn’t need an inn room. But he still needed somewhere to park, so he called over an errand boy from a lot that allowed carriage-only customers.
Once the carriage was backed into the corner of a rough parking yard, surrounded by other resting travelers and coachmen, Fischer opened the rear door.
He’d chosen the most secluded corner possible, minimizing the risk of others seeing what was inside.
He ordered five roasted chicken platters and a single bread meal for himself. The meal alone cost nearly 100 euros, which made his eye twitch when it came time to pay.
The money he used to buy the dragonkin came from that dead idiot Ohn—who had originally just been an informant for red dragonkin sightings. Turns out, Ohn had tried to pull something shady… and lost everything instead.
Fischer had already brought almost all his possessions when coming to the South, anticipating how expensive the trip would be. But every time he had to pay, his face stiffened like someone draining blood from his veins.
There were plenty of ways to make money in this age—but none that suited him. Clearly, the goddess wasn’t blessing him with fortune this year.
Balancing all seven trays in his arms, Fischer returned to the carriage under the horrified gaze of the inn staff.
He had just opened the door when a cacophony of excited voices hit his ears. For a second, he thought he’d wandered into a cotton mill near Saint Nary.
“This can’t be how you wear it—I think it’s inside out…”
“Oh! I get it! Human clothes don’t leave room for tails—no wonder we couldn’t figure out front from back!”
Fassil was probably the smartest of the group after Raphaëlle—despite her childish side. She often noticed things the others missed. Like now.
From the chatter alone, Fischer could already imagine the “disaster” unfolding inside.
Carrying the food, he descended the steps into the changing area. Sure enough, the room was in utter chaos. He resisted the urge to rub his temples—only because his hands were full.
Amid the chaos, the first thing to catch his eye was a long red tail. He followed it up—past shimmering red scales—to patches of creamy white skin etched with faint pink scars.
Even from behind, he could see the outline of a well-endowed chest.
Raphaëlle turned, alarmed. Her tail twitched upward instinctively—then, realizing something, she hurriedly lowered it, covering her lower body.
“Human clothes don’t fit me very well…”
Fischer took in the scene without a word. Her white shirt and pants hung off her like torn rags.
He had prepared clothing specifically for them—sealed in dragon-tongue-labeled boxes. Why hadn’t she found them?
“All of you, come get your lunch. One plate each. No grabbing extras.”
“Yay! Food!”
“Larr!”
“This is your fault, Mir—you spoil her!”
“Eh?!”
Larr rushed over, abandoning the scattered clothes she’d been playing with. The others followed more reluctantly, setting aside their garments to eat.
After handing out their food—and setting aside portions for Raphaëlle and himself—Fischer finally freed up a hand and stepped into the changing area to help.
He found Raphaëlle’s feet jammed through the sleeves of a shirt, stretching the seams apart. She’d thrown the garment around her shoulders like a cape, but it didn’t even cover her front. No wonder so much red scale was visible.
“I labeled the right outfit in Draconian. Why did you tear through the pile?”
She couldn’t see him, but his voice came from just behind—so close she could feel his breath brushing her scales. Dragonkin scales were hot to the touch, but his breath somehow felt… too warm.
“It… It was Larr who went in first…”
She was clearly embarrassed, glancing around the room in shame.
Fischer didn’t respond. He crouched, searching the pile until he found the box labeled in Draconian:
“Dragonkin Female Clothing.”
Thank the gods. Larr hadn’t destroyed it.
“You stuck your head through the armhole. That’s why it got stuck. I’ll hold it—just pull your head out slowly.”
He grabbed the shirt between her neck and hair. The moment his fingers touched her nape, Raphaëlle shivered, and her thick tail instinctively curled around his waist.
Fischer blinked and glanced down.
“Ngh…”
Her scales fluttered, and steam seeped out—warm, but not scalding like before. He didn’t pull away.
Then—
Silence.
For a whole second, neither moved. The long tail looped gently around him, her crimson hair brushing his chest. He couldn’t even see her face.
For once, he was stunned.
He cleared his throat and muttered:
“…Your tail.”
“!!”
That single remark triggered a steam burst—like someone opening a factory valve. Her tail flung outward, shoving Fischer back violently.
But he was still holding her shirt.
Rip!Thud!
The shirt tore. Fischer fell backward. Raphaëlle stumbled forward.
Crash! Crash!
Two loud thumps echoed in the room.
“Y-Y-Y-YOU—!”
Raphaëlle crouched in a corner, her tail protectively wrapping around her exposed body. Meanwhile, Fischer lay flat, eyes fixed on the ceiling, deliberately not looking at her.
That’s when Larr, ever the curious one, skipped into view.
“Whoa! Lady Raphaëlle fell! And so did Fischer! Mir, come see! I told you her tail’s too big—it gets stuck in clothes! No one believed me!”
...Apparently, you could still learn things about dragonkin outside of research time.
Fischer sat up, tossed the clothing back to Raphaëlle.
“The instructions are inside. You’ll manage this time. Don’t let Larr and the others ‘help’ again.”
Funny enough, he found himself actually looking forward to her next assassination attempt—and her inevitable failure.
Larr stared at him, wide-eyed and betrayed. Her face crumpled.
He sighed, ruffled her hair, grabbed a roll, and left the carriage.