Adrian Heather’s corpse. The moment he heard those words, Mikhail’s expression turned cold. Hm? Luce waited a beat for his response but soon concluded that Mikhail must not have heard him clearly.
“…Adrian’s—”
“Yes. His corpse. I heard you.”
“……”
So he did hear it. Then why…? Luce scratched at his temple, confused by the unexpected reaction. It was far more subdued than he’d anticipated. No—more accurately, it looked like he was slightly angry.
“Wasn’t Adrian a dragon?”
“Well, considering there’s a corpse… I’d say not.”
“So you’re saying… he wasn’t a dragon.”
A low voice sank into the space between them. With his gaze fixed on the ground, Mikhail’s eyes, hidden under the shadows of his lashes, glinted sharply. He muttered under his breath.
“And the fact that a Mirkint bloomed where Adrian’s blood was spilled… that was just a coincidence…”
“Probably.”
It’s not like I know everything. Luce shrugged, keeping that thought to himself. Even if Mikhail tried to uncover the truth with just that one clue, it would never be enough. There was no way a human could determine when the Mirkint had bloomed or what kind of dragon’s blood had nourished it.
And then—
“Are you absolutely sure it’s him?”
Mikhail snapped his head up, asking again. And just like that, his eyes locked perfectly with Luce’s, who had been staring straight ahead.
What Mikhail saw flooded his vision: surreal golden irises, shimmering with specks of mana flowing like a slow-moving river.
“You’re asking if the one I confirmed is truly Adrian Heather?”
Luce’s lips twisted slightly at Mikhail’s question, only one corner quirking. His mood was clearly sour, visible in the narrow, reptilian pupils contracting within his dragon eyes.
Noticing the shift in expression, Mikhail quickly realized his mistake. He bit his lower lip hard before hastily speaking again. The urgency in his voice made his original intention perfectly clear.
“My apologies. I never meant to question your abilities—”
“…Forget it.”
Clicking his tongue, Luce waved his hand dismissively a few times, cutting off the apology. It dawned on him just how young the human in front of him really was—barely a few decades into life.
Luce let out a few hollow laughs, as if the air had just been let out of him, then straightened his posture. The sharp, frosty tension between them melted instantly with that laughter. In the end, getting worked up over something trivial only caused him more trouble.
Mikhail’s eyes remained on Luce. Though his eyes curved slightly as if to smile, there wasn’t a trace of warmth in Luce’s expression.
“There were some unusual traces beneath the cliffside of the mountain, so I checked it out with magic. One thing you need to know upfront: he’s been dead for quite a while now.”
“……”
Luce’s low voice filled the space between them. It had already been over two months since the day Adrian went missing. Mikhail’s gaze slowly dulled as it dropped to the floor. If Adrian had truly been human, Mikhail had never even considered the foolish possibility that his body would be left intact. Still, hearing it confirmed left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“So?”
Whether Mikhail’s expression sank or not, Luce’s priority was finishing the wish bound to him through the dragon’s scale. The limitations imposed by the summoning contract were a nuisance, so settling the wish first took precedence. Turning Mikhail into a Hero would come after that.
“Why don’t I go fetch it first? Just wait here a bit.”
They could confirm the rest afterward.
Luce smiled with only his eyes, gauging Mikhail’s intent. Once Mikhail received the fabricated corpse and verified it for himself, the wish would be considered fulfilled, thus ending the dragon’s speech contract. That made his reaction the most critical part.
The very first thing he wanted to do after regaining his dragon powers was visit his lair. For a dragon, a lair meant far more than just a place to rest—it was a sacred domain. He figured he might as well stop by to harvest some mandrake, and while he was at it, the potted plants probably needed watering. The protective magic woven throughout the lair had likely weakened too, so it was time to re-inscribe the wards.
“…Yes. Please.”
Mikhail nodded as he looked at Luce.
***
With his index finger resting on his chin, Luce stared intently at the figure before him before finally speaking.
“Hmm. What do you think? Does it look just like me?”
He motioned toward the wolf standing loyally by his side, gesturing with a tilt of his chin, and muttered the question aloud. Dragons were naturally used to talking to themselves. Even if the other party was a plant rather than a wolf, dragons considered it a valid conversation partner.
At his words, the gray-furred wolf licked the bridge of its nose with its tongue. Then it tilted its head slightly and gave a short, sharp bark—keng!
Taking that as affirmation, Luce patted the wolf’s head roughly and murmured,
“‘Looks just like me,’ huh?”
I see. Luce cast a disinterested glance over the freshly harvested mandrake.
It had the body of a blond-haired human male, eyes tightly shut. The only sign of its plant origin was a few blades of green sprouting subtly from the crown of its head. With a bit of careful grooming, there would be no way to tell that this body was made from a mandrake.
He slowly reached out and brushed the mandrake’s forehead. As he gently swept aside the hair there, a faint mole came into view—located in exactly the same spot as on the real body. Luce gave a soft snort of amusement.
“…Well, I guess it really is a good match.”
As he lifted his finger, the tousled hair drifted back into place, rustling softly.
Hmm. Luce studied the naked, lifeless form he’d crafted from the mandrake. Not a single thread covered it—of course. If he was going to hand it off to Mikhail, he’d need a few extra things.
With a quick snap of his fingers, Luce conjured a sharp sound into the air. In an instant, the clothes he’d worn during the Hildeke expedition materialized over the mandrake. With that, the impromptu corpse of “Adrian Heather” became all the more convincing.
Conveniently, there happened to be a wooden coffin in his lair. He couldn’t quite recall why he had left such a thing here, but it was fortunate that he had.
He gently placed the mandrake inside and looked down at it. In the coffin, it truly resembled the corpse of a deceased human. Just to complete the look, he neatly arranged the limbs that had been splayed haphazardly to the sides.
The wolf, still keeping quiet beside him, yawned wide and then slowly lay down, clearly bored of waiting. Watching it, Luce slightly parted his lips.
“Ah.”
If Adrian Heather had really been human, there was no way his body would still be this intact.
He’d nearly forgotten the most important detail. His golden eyes glinted with clarity. The clean, orderly form lying in the coffin didn’t look at all like it had been left for months at the base of a cliff.
Placing one palm gently over the mandrake’s chest, Luce chanted a spell—one that only worked on the dead. A simple enchantment.
Under the effects of the magic, the mandrake-crafted body began to rot rapidly.
Now it was perfect. The mandrake had become the convincingly decayed corpse of Adrian Heather—dead two months ago.
“Well then, shall we go?”
Luce slowly curled both corners of his lips upward, clearly satisfied. There didn’t seem to be any issues left in wrapping up the wish.
***
Particles of golden light floated in the air, gathering at a single point until they coalesced into the shape of a man—a teleportation spell.
Golden hair and golden eyes, as if dusted with ground gold—Luce.
Though not a breeze stirred the forest, the magical wind summoned by his mana ruffled his hair. Having arrived at Mount Hildeke, Luce also retrieved the wooden coffin from his lair. It drifted in midair before dropping with a thud, settling firmly on the ground.
Once he confirmed the coffin had landed securely, he scanned the area. The coffin’s recipient was elsewhere.
“Mikhail.”
He called the name of the one meant to receive the coffin, but there was no answer.
After walking a bit into the woods, he spotted Mikhail sitting atop a wagon, staring at the ground. It wasn’t the wagon they had arrived in, but a freight cart that had apparently been hitched to the back at some point.
When did that get there? Luce shrugged at the sudden appearance of the cart.
And what’s he doing, sitting there like that? Luce was puzzled, but human emotions were fickle things. He didn’t bother asking.
“Mikhail?”
As Luce approached the wagon and called out, Mikhail, who had seemingly been lost in thought with his head bowed, snapped his head up. Luce tilted his own slowly, noting the look on the prince’s face.
Mikhail’s expression was filled with confusion.
