Chapter 55
“Haa… Ughhhh.”
A pained groan escaped from Chanellica’s lips, her entire body tightly bound. She had no sense of how much time had passed since being trapped in the cave.
Her strength was completely drained—she couldn’t even lift a single finger. Her eyes were barely open enough to catch the faintest trace of light, but they couldn’t focus, leaving her blind to everything.
It was a kind of pain she had never experienced before.
Not as a human, not as a dragon, not even as a god—never had Chanellica felt such excruciating agony. Every corner of her body seemed to burn and tear apart, only to be stitched back together again. It felt as if each tiny cell in her body burst, then regrew, again and again.
Only now did she understand something she had once dismissed. Back when she was a god, someone had tried to explain human suffering, describing it as “so unbearable that you’d rather die.” At the time, she couldn’t comprehend it at all. Now, she finally did.
And yet—even amidst flesh being shredded and reattached, whenever the pain momentarily subsided, Chanellica couldn’t help but laugh faintly. Because she thought: I must still be alive, to be able to feel pain like this.
“You’re tough. You can laugh?”
Stern clicked his tongue as Chanellica let out another deflated chuckle. Leaning lazily against the cave wall, one hand propping up his chin, he had been watching her writhe in agony for quite some time.
Stern knew well how to conduct torture. If pain ranged from one to ten, he didn’t just inflict ten. It was crucial to leave behind a seed of hope, only to crush it later for even greater suffering.
The “dragon powder” passed down in Stern’s family had been created precisely for that purpose.
Forced to inhale the powder through her nose, Chanellica endured unimaginable pain. The powder’s essence constricted the mana flowing through a dragon’s body, intended to force them into their true form. Dragons always cloaked themselves in polymorph magic when leaving their domains, but with their mana bound, the agony would intensify until eventually the polymorph broke on its own.
But Chanellica—though suffering for hours—showed no sign of transforming. Stern, frustrated, wondered if he hadn’t given her enough powder, so he kept forcing her to inhale far beyond the normal amount.
Sweat poured from her body as though every pore had become a tear duct. While the torment raged, Chanellica couldn’t even open her eyes or speak—only groan in agony.
“See? I told you… I wouldn’t… transform.”
During a brief lull in pain, Chanellica forced out the words between ragged breaths. That mocking smirk of hers made Stern’s irritation boil over.
“Ha. Can’t kill you, can’t wound you…”
Even his patience was wearing thin. He began to wonder if the powder had simply lost its effectiveness after centuries.
This cave had long been the place where dragons came to die—at the hands of Stern’s family, the Miache clan.
Ordinarily, a human killing a dragon—especially one in its true form—was virtually impossible. But the Miache clan had made it possible.
Not because they were a special race like the Finet, who possessed unique powers. Those races usually lived isolated in the so-called “Legendary Lands,” unable to coexist with ordinary humans.
The Miache story began when an ancestor encountered a dragon outside those lands nearly a thousand years ago.
That dragon, recorded as “Hassen,” strangely despised his own kind. He befriended the human ancestor and passed on vast knowledge of dragons, even helping him kill wandering dragons for wealth and power.
One such legacy was this very cave—a place Hassen cursed specifically against dragons in their true forms. The moment a dragon transformed here, the curse would sap its strength, rendering it powerless. That was why Stern was so desperate to force Chanellica to transform.
Many dragons had died helplessly in this cave. The Miache family used their Finet bloodline’s power to detect lies—not for truth itself, but because it made it easier to read a dragon’s eyes. They would befriend wandering dragons, coax them into revealing their true forms, then strike them down.
There was never any retribution from dragonkind. As Hassen had said, “When you wander for amusement, whatever happens is your own responsibility.” Unless it happened on Speecher Island, dragons turned a blind eye to what befell their kin among humans.
Still, not every dragon was foolish. Some suspected the trap and tried to leave without transforming. That was why the dragon powder had been developed—to break their resistance.
At first, it wasn’t used this way. Hurting a polymorphed dragon’s human body would also wound its true form, which was dangerous. And using too many mind-altering drugs could rot the dragon’s heart, rendering it useless.
So the Miache clan researched mana itself, guided by Hassen’s teachings. They discovered that inflicting pain through mana didn’t harm the true body. Thus, they perfected the dragon powder—forcing transformations without damaging the prize.
But now Stern was stumped. He had captured Chanellica in the cave, but she refused to transform, and the powder barely worked on her. Its effects wore off quickly, forcing him to administer it over and over. Records showed most dragons transformed after just one or two doses.
“And it’s not like I can let you go…”
No dragon had ever left this cave alive. Either the dragon or the human it brought along always died.
And Chanellica was no ordinary dragon—she was a hatchling, something dragonkind cherished above all else. The clan’s books only had one line about hatchlings: Never touch them. They never wander, so you needn’t worry.
And yet, here she was.
He had been careless, blinded by the dream of witnessing a dragon’s true form. He thought the powder would solve everything. But clearly, this was different.
Worse, Chanellica was bonded to the Dragon Lord himself. While dragons typically ignored each other, a hatchling and the Lord’s mate were another matter entirely.
“Well, whatever happens, happens.”
Stern’s eyes gleamed.
He decided to experiment further. If she suffered some damage or if her dragon heart rotted, so be it. Even half a usable body would still bring him enormous wealth.
“You don’t seem to be in much pain, huh?”
Hearing this, Chanellica nearly laughed in disbelief. After all the screams she’d let out, he said that? True, now that the effects had waned, only a faint tingling remained. But she knew—once the powder entered her nose again, that unbearable torment would return.
“So… are you planning… to kill me?”
She sneered, though exhausted. She at least knew Stern wouldn’t.
Her insight only deepened his annoyance. Still, he replied smoothly, “No. I’ll just hurt you—enough to make you wish you were dead. Like humans torture each other.”
He crouched before her bound body and touched her face.
“Get your hands off.”
“Mm. Maybe this way works better?”
“Pfft!”
Chanellica spat in his face. Caught off guard, Stern recoiled, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.
“Heh. Interesting. What goes on in that little head of yours?”
His mocking eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Chanel… should you really be acting like this? Begging might be the only way I’d even consider sparing you.”
“And would you, if I begged?”
“You’re clever. But no—still, you’re only making me angrier.”
Smack!
His palm, heavy with strength, struck Chanellica’s face. Darkness flooded her vision. Her sight flickered black, slowly returning to light. The pain was nothing compared to the sheer force of the blow, which rattled her brain. Blood filled her mouth, and she spit it out unconsciously.
“Oh dear. Just one hit and your mouth’s already bleeding?”
“…”
“Hurts, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t it be easier to just transform? You’ll die either way—better to thank me for once and make it quick, painless.”
What utter bullshit.
The thought circled in her head. Her face burned with pain, blood stung her tongue, yet she managed a faint smile.
“You’re laughing?”
Wham!
Smack!
Crack!
Stern’s fists and kicks rained down. This pain was unlike the powder’s—it wasn’t her whole body burning, but sharp, targeted blows that gnawed at her mind.
“Transform! Do it!”
His snarling voice echoed, but Chanellica let go of all will. Were she not a hatchling, she probably would have already transformed. Everything was too overwhelming, too new.
She felt she had reached her limit.
Once, she had wondered what it meant to reach one’s limit. Not as a dragon, but perhaps back when she was a god.
And though she was dying from pain now, she couldn’t stop laughing. She finally understood how fragile beings lived—weak, powerless, yet still moving forward. She couldn’t recall which god she had once been, but she now recognized how arrogant she had been back then.
To suffer like this, helplessly—unable to do anything. She almost wished she could just pass out for peace. But the pain never stopped, and her mind only grew sharper.
Step. Step.
The brutal beating paused. Chanellica’s ears rang as though submerged underwater, but amidst it, she heard approaching footsteps.
“Who’s there?!”
Stern barked in alarm. Chanellica forced her eyes open.
Someone was walking from the far end of the cave. Blinking through the haze, she saw the figure grow clearer and clearer.
“…Brother…”
She whispered weakly.
The one emerging from the shadows was none other than Derwin’s younger brother—Pherdin.
Of course. The Lord would never abandon me.
For the first time, hope pierced Chanellica’s desolate heart.
