"I don't know. Eccentric but harmless?"
"Harmless!" Mr. Biggins repeated, laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his chair. "My dear boy, no dragon is harmless. Some of us are just better at pretending."
He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "Law understood that. He never made the mistake of thinking me tame. It's why we got along so well."
In the old world, dragons had been revered as gods, along with Umbra, Phoenixes, and Demons. The Old Gods, as they were called nowadays. Even now, one could find temples where people still venerated them, offering prayers and sacrifices in exchange for protection.
Watching Mr. Biggins now—licking chocolate from his fingers with childlike enthusiasm—it seemed... incongruous. This was a being that had once received blood offerings. Young women with their throats slit, gold piled high in tribute, all in desperate hope for protection from the terrors that roamed the world.
When Adom mentioned this, Mr. Biggins snorted.
"Massive misunderstanding," he said, shaking his head. "I only asked for gold. What would I do with dead bodies? Messy things. Terrible smell. Ruins the gold, honestly."
"But the sacrifices—"
"Human idea, not mine," Mr. Biggins insisted. "They started doing it on their own, and by the time I woke up from that particular nap, they'd convinced themselves I demanded it." He sighed. "Three centuries of sleep, and humans manage to completely rewrite your preferences."
"So you burned down their village."
"Well, yes. But I did let the innocent among them evacuate first," he added, as if this were an important point of etiquette. "And that's when Law showed up to negotiate. Clever boy. Brought me sweets instead of blood."
Mr. Biggins smiled fondly at the memory. "It was the first time I'd ever tasted chocolate. Been addicted ever since."
Adom finished the last chocolate, contemplating this new perspective on the shopkeeper. It was like seeing a house cat suddenly reveal it was actually a tiger—same general shape, vastly different implications.
"So," Mr. Biggins said, clapping his hands together and abruptly changing the subject. "This hunt you're planning. I assume it's for a physical enhancement skill?"
"How did you—" Adom stopped himself. "Right. Predictable human."
"No, no. Logical human. You're building something interesting, and you already have two pieces." Mr. Biggins ticked them off on his fingers. "Defense with what you call White Wyrm's Body. Recovery with Healing Factor. The obvious next step is offensive capability."
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"So," the old dragon leaned forward. "What did you have in mind?"
"Oh, it's completely insane," Mr. Biggins corrected him cheerfully. "But perhaps a slightly more calculated insanity than before."
Adom considered this. Calculated insanity was essentially his entire second-life strategy anyway.
"Do you know of any monsters," he asked carefully, "in a dungeon native to Arkhos, preferably low rank, that could give me the kind of strength skill I'm looking for? Ideally something I could hunt while also developing Healing Factor and my other skills."
"Hmm." Mr. Biggins' eyes drifting upward as he mentally sorted through what must have been centuries of accumulated knowledge about the local fauna. "You need something physically imposing but not overwhelmingly deadly at your current level. Something accessible but genuinely powerful. Something..."
He trailed off, eyes narrowing in concentration.
Adom waited, watching the old dragon's face as various considerations passed across it. Occasionally Mr. Biggins would mutter something unintelligible, shake his head slightly, then resume his contemplation.
Finally, the shopkeeper straightened, eyes focusing sharply on Adom.
"Tell me," he said, "have you ever heard of the Mountain Silverback?"
"You've offended him," Adom noted.
"Good," Sam replied flatly. "Very good."
Adom sighed, tucking the still-squirming Zuni under his arm. "I'm going to wash up. Please don't let him kill himself while I'm gone."
Sam turned a page in his book with deliberate slowness. "I can't promise anything."
Adom finished his preparations with methodical efficiency. He'd laid everything out the night before—sturdy boots, reinforced leather pants, a dark green tunic, and a weatherproof cloak. Not Academy uniform by any stretch, but practical dungeon gear.
He strapped a small pack to his hip, checking its contents one last time: healing potions, rations, a compass, and the two daggers he got from the dungeon he was trapped in just eight months ago.
Ah, time flies.
When he emerged from the washroom fully dressed, he found Zuni perched on Sam's head like some kind of spiny, living hat. Sam sat at his desk, one eye twitching slightly as he tried to focus on his notes while ignoring the quillick using his hair as a nest.
"Don't say a word," Sam warned without looking up.
Adom bit back a smile and headed for the small table where they kept breakfast supplies. He grabbed an apple and a hunk of bread, wolfing them down with the efficiency of someone who knew they had a long day ahead.
As he finished his makeshift breakfast, Sam yawned enormously. Zuni, apparently interpreting this as some sort of signal, hopped off his head and scampered across the desk, knocking over an inkwell in the process.
"For the love of—" Sam caught the inkwell before it could spill completely, shooting Zuni a look that would have turned a less oblivious creature to stone.
The quillick chirped happily and bounced over to Adom, climbing up his pant leg to reach his preferred shoulder perch.
"Be careful with the dungeon stuff," Sam said, rubbing his eyes. "Those restricted areas are no joke. If you get caught, I never knew your plans, understood?"
"Got it. And thanks," Adom replied, adjusting his pack. "You should get some rest. Skip classes today—maybe say you're sick?"
Sam let out a humorless laugh. "Lack of sleep at this level is sickness. My brain feels like it's been pickled."
"All the more reason to rest," Adom said, heading for the door. "I'll try to be back before evening. If not..."
"If not, I'll pretend I have no idea where you went," Sam finished for him. "Now get out before your little demon decides my eyebrows look like a good breakfast."
Adom nodded gratefully and stepped out into the hallway, Zuni chirping softly on his shoulder. The quillick seemed to understand they were embarking on something important, his usual hyperactivity momentarily subdued by curiosity.
Adom slipped through Xerkes Academy's east gates without fanfare. The sun hadn't yet crested the horizon, leaving the campus draped in that peculiar pre-dawn grayness where the world exists in muted tones. The grounds lay still and quiet, with only the occasional flutter of maintenance familiars going about their early morning duties.
The guards at the gate barely glanced at him. Since the Academy had lifted its curfew policy last semester, students came and went at all hours. Being off-campus before sunrise wasn't technically against any rules, even if it was unusual enough to merit a raised eyebrow from the sleepy-eyed guard.
"Early start," the guard commented, stifling a yawn.
"Field research," Adom replied with the easy confidence that came from not technically lying.
Arkhos was different at this hour. The usual sounds of street vendors, horse-drawn carriages, and pedestrian chatter hadn't yet begun. Instead, there was a hushed quality to the cobblestone streets, as if the city itself was still gathering energy for the day ahead.
The Pentoss Adventurer's Guild stood opposite the city's central plaza, its imposing facade adorned with banners displaying successful expeditions and the guild's five-pointed star insignia. Despite the early hour, lights already burned in its windows.
Inside, the guild hall hummed with subdued activity. Early risers occupied scattered tables—a man sharpening an elaborate battle-axe, a pair of women poring over what looked like a map, and a handful of people checking equipment or simply nursing steaming mugs of something that smelled strongly of caffeine and regret.
The main desk stood at the back of the hall, where a halfling man with spectacles balanced on his nose was sorting through a stack of documents. He looked up as Adom approached.
"Morning," Adom said, Zuni chirping in cheerful echo from his shoulder.
"Morning to you both," the halfling replied, his eyes lingering curiously on Zuni. "Interesting familiar you've got there."
"He thinks so too," Adom said as he placed his Rank B adventurer badge on the counter. "I'd like to register for the C-rank dungeon run."
The halfling picked up the badge, examining it briefly before sliding it through a small crystal apparatus on his desk. The crystal glowed blue, then green, confirming the badge's authenticity.
"Cutting it close," the halfling remarked, pulling out a form. "Today's the final day for the Misty Vale dungeon access. Gates close permanently at sundown."
"Just need a few hours," Adom assured him.
The clerk nodded, scratching something on the form. "Standard rules apply. No ganking. No resource hogging. The guild takes no responsibility for injuries sustained during your expedition." He glanced up. "Coming with a party?"
"Solo dive."
The halfling paused, looking at Adom more carefully. His eyes flickered to Adom's youthful face, then to his Academy-style haircut, then back to the badge.
"I have experience," Adom said, anticipating the question. "And I'm not entering as a Xerkes student but as a Rank B adventurer. The Academy has no jurisdiction here."
The halfling shrugged. "Your funeral to arrange, not mine." He stamped the form with surprising force and slid it across the desk. "Sign here, here, and initial here."
Adom signed where indicated, the scratching of the quill oddly loud in the quiet hall.
"Entry point is the western gate, near the old mill," the clerk said, taking back the form. "Follow the blue lanterns. They'll lead you to the active portal. Like I said, it closes permanently at sundown, so make sure you're out by then or you'll be spending a very uncomfortable night inside."
"Understood."
"And keep that thing under control," the halfling added, eyeing Zuni who was now attempting to eat Adom's collar. "Guild doesn't cover familiar-related incidents either."
"He'll behave," Adom said, gently pushing Zuni's face away from the fabric. "Thanks for the information."
The halfling nodded and returned to his paperwork, clearly dismissing them. Adom pocketed his badge and headed for the exit, mentally reviewing his plan.
Find a silverback. Somehow kill it without dying. Perform an alchemical transmutation that most likely would kill him anyway.
Nothing too difficult.