Of course, it was expected—but now that Luce had lost the power of a dragon, his body was no different from that of an ordinary human. The spoon that had been moving steadily up and down came to a sudden halt and was laid down on the table. Seated beside him, Mikhail, who had been quietly observing Luce, casually spoke up.
“At this rate, the soup’s going to get cold, you know?”
He had been so confident, insisting he would finish it all. A faint, knowing smile curled on the prince’s lips, as if to say, I told you so.
At Mikhail’s remark, Luce turned his head with a dull expression. There was no trace left of the earlier enthusiasm when he had demanded the entire pot from the head chef. With a slight grimace, Luce looked down at his stomach and let out a sigh.
He had expected to be able to eat at least ten bowls. But by the second, he already knew it was impossible. The pot the chef had left behind was still half full. With a twinge of regret, the dragon glanced at the pot of soup and said,
“Such a shame… but I can’t eat any more.”
His voice dripped with reluctant longing. It was the first time he had ever wanted to eat so much, and now that he had a smaller stomach, he hated that there was a limit to what he could consume.
The hunger that had been causing him pain earlier had faded at some point. His once-empty stomach was now filled with soft, soothing soup, and the warmth of the food he’d spooned into his throat had spread throughout his body, reaching even his fingertips and toes. He was full. Deeply, satisfyingly full. Luce sensed that if he ate any more, that contentment would turn to discomfort.
“I figured as much.”
Not bad for a first-time experience of hunger. Mikhail gave Luce a small nod as he looked at him.
“Shall we head out now?”
“Yeah.”
Luce lightly rose from the table but cast a sidelong glance at the pot beside him. Setting off again meant boarding a carriage that couldn’t store food well. As Mikhail had said earlier, taking the leftover soup might be pointless. Once it cooled, it would lose its flavor and only become a burden.
Losing your power, and now you’re stuck worrying about this? So this is what happens when you’re trapped in a human body—your thoughts become as petty as a human’s.
Luce inwardly mocked himself, disgusted by how he was now craving something as trivial as food. That was when a hand entered his line of sight. Mikhail, who had been sitting at the next table, had stood and picked up the pot.
“…You’re taking it?”
Luce asked, and Mikhail tilted his head as he replied,
“Didn’t you say you wanted to?”
His expression said, Why are you overthinking something so trivial?
“…”
He had said that, hadn’t he?
Luce gave a nod toward Mikhail, who was holding the pot and looking at him. The dragon looked puzzled for a moment but quickly shrugged and said, “Alright. Let’s go with that,” before heading out the restaurant door first.
Left behind, Mikhail paused, frozen for a second, staring down at the pot in his hand.
Damn it…
His mouth tasted bitter. Without even realizing it, he had begun equating the dragon with Adrian Heather. It was a kindness he wouldn’t have extended to anyone else, but at some point, he’d started caring about the dragon’s expressions, trying to read his intent. Mikhail pressed his lips tightly together, let out a sigh, and turned to a nearby staff member approaching from behind.
“Put a preservation spell on this. Make sure it lasts a few days.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll load it onto the carriage right after.”
Nodding slightly, as if to say Make it happen, Mikhail quickly walked off.
Yes—this much kindness, at least, was something he could willingly offer to a great dragon as a prince of the Rustavaran royal family. Luce wasn’t an ordinary human, so perhaps it was fine to hold him to a different standard.
Mikhail kept telling himself it was no big deal as he headed toward the waiting carriage.
***
Sitting inside the now-departed carriage, Mikhail and Luce remained silent. Mikhail was reading a book, trying not to let the dragon occupy any more of his thoughts, while Luce simply didn’t feel like talking. The silence between them lingered until, after some time, a knocking sound broke it.
Knock knock.
The coachman had rapped on the wall of the carriage loud enough for Mikhail to hear.
“What is it?”
“A royal messenger has arrived, Your Highness.”
At the messenger’s words, Mikhail brought the carriage to a halt. As he opened the door and lightly stepped down to the ground, he saw the royal envoy already dismounted and bowing in proper courtly etiquette. Mikhail closed the carriage door behind him and accepted the envoy’s greeting.
“Your Highness, we meet in a place like this again. I trust you’ve been well.”
The envoy deliberately slipped the word “again” into his greeting.
It was a subtle way of asking, “How many times are you planning to visit Hildeke Mountain?” But then, no one in the royal family could ever rein in the youngest prince’s stubbornness.
Mikhail, completely indifferent to the envoy’s unspoken thoughts, gave a small nod and got straight to the point.
“Ah, right. It’s already been another month.”
“…Yes, indeed.”
The letter was from Kyle D’Baicia, who worked in the royal capital’s research lab.
The envoy, holding the letter, gazed at the youngest prince of the royal family. It was because of what was likely written inside that envelope—the latest update on the search for a fellow academy classmate who had gone missing. With a respectful gesture, he handed over the letter.
“I’ve received it. You may return now.”
Mikhail, noticing the envoy’s lingering gaze, gave a halfhearted wave. His own eyes remained fixed on the envelope.
“Understood, then.”
The envoy mounted his horse again.
As soon as the envoy fully exited the prince’s vicinity, Mikhail leaned against the side of the carriage as if he’d been waiting for that moment. He immediately tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter to read.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
To His Highness Prince Mikhail Luce Inehart,
Assuming you’ve been waiting, I’ve enclosed a report on the latest findings from the ongoing search. To begin with, I regret to inform you that, once again, there is no definitive information regarding the whereabouts of Adrian Heather.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Mikhail stopped reading and shut his eyes tightly.
He had already anticipated the letter’s contents. If Kyle had uncovered any substantial evidence or a promising lead, he would’ve contacted him through more urgent means than this routine monthly report.
“…Ahh.”
But feeling something in your gut and having it confirmed in writing were two entirely different things.
Mikhail had appointed Kyle D’Baicia as a royal researcher immediately after his graduation—a decision driven more by emotion than practicality. It wasn’t because he deeply admired Kyle’s aptitude as a scholar, or because he found his research materials particularly compelling.
Rather, it was because Mikhail believed there were only two people in the world who would pursue Adrian Heather’s disappearance to the very end: himself and Kyle.
Kyle, grateful for the appointment, had continued the research he had begun during the Basamiel era in the capital’s laboratory. He always said that by studying Ordinas, he could one day understand why Adrian had to die like that—believing that only by tracing the entire current could the truth be found.
Mikhail read through the remainder of the letter carefully. While the top of the page stated there were no new findings, the rest included small tidbits: a visit to a family that had worked long with the Hedera Merchant Guild, testimony from hunters in surrounding villages—nothing significant, but not meaningless either.
Just as Mikhail reached the very bottom and was about to fold the letter away, he caught the postscript.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
P.S. I visited the Rustavaran royal greenhouse for the first time yesterday. It’s incomparable to anything Basamiel had.
That said, I do have one question.
On the path from the greenhouse to the main gate, I noticed a patch of Mirkint blooming. May I have your permission to transplant it into the greenhouse? While it’s not unusual for such a historically rich and traditional palace as Rustavaran to have Mirkint growing, it was located in a place where it might easily be mistaken for a weed. As a scholar, I couldn’t help but feel a shock. Since it could serve as valuable research material, I wonder if it might be best to preserve it safely within the greenhouse.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Rustle. The brittle paper in his hand crinkled slightly.
Mikhail stared intently at one particular part of the letter. His crimson eyes refused to move away from that single word. And then, with a clear voice, he spoke it aloud.
“Mirkint.”
He had heard it before. A strange sense of dissonance swept through his body in an instant, and Mikhail slowly furrowed his brow. It was the name of a crimson flower that had bloomed at the dragon’s grave—red like blood.
“Why would Mirkint be there?”
He murmured quietly, as if he couldn’t begin to comprehend what he’d just read.
