Tars knew the time for choice had come. After all, he wasn't that tenacious little root that had braved untold hardships just to drink a mouthful of dragon urine. Judging by the potency of the black fruits, the effectiveness of a pool of diluted waste was likely limited. However, it also suggested that if this behemoth truly was a dragon, its symptoms—urinating blood—weren't yet terminal.

  He suddenly looked down at the nursery pouch on his waist.

  The bag was vibrating, growing more frantic by the second, as if it wanted to leap right off his belt.

  "Do you... do you actually want to drink that dragon urine?" he asked the air, glancing around.

  The nursery pouch paused for a heartbeat, then pulsed twice in response.

  Tars didn't rush into action. He stood still for a moment, thinking, and then began to circle the cavern. He moved with light, cautious steps, observing the gargantuan creature from a distance. The behemoth's head was tucked toward the back of the cave, its massive body sprawled at a slight tilt. Because it was so towering, his visibility was severely restricted.

  Not daring to get too close, he took a wide detour until he reached a position where he could see the creature’s back. He frowned slightly, moved a bit further, and confirmed his suspicion from another angle.

  This big guy... why does it seem to have no wings? A flicker of surprise crossed his mind.

  Whether it was the dragons Old Golden-Tooth spoke of or the ones occasionally mentioned in Kalyu's diary, they all had wings. They might look different, possess eccentric temperaments, or vary wildly in size, but if they were pure-blooded—True Dragons—they inevitably possessed wings.

  Is it just an underground beast with dragon blood? he wondered. Like the former Lord of the Red-Horn Tribe, a pseudo-dragon or a drake? Then a second thought occurred to him: if it had been beaten badly enough to urinate blood, it might have simply lost its wings to injury.

  He noticed the creature took a breath only after very long intervals. He didn't dare approach the head, but the sound of its exhalations was like a powerful gale whistling through the cave. Perhaps it was the natural, insignificant aura of a kobold, or perhaps it was because he had been exceedingly careful since entering, but the behemoth showed no sign of waking.

  He circled the cave once more, inspecting every corner. He could confirm that aside from the tunnel he had used, there was no other entrance. Considering the valley outside, the soil layers, and the lack of other tracks, he concluded that this giant had been sleeping here for a very long time—perhaps as long as several kobold lifespans combined.

  The disparity between species was truly fascinating.

  Tars stroked the few remaining hairs on his chin, a bold idea forming. Would a powerful, gargantuan existence, lost in its sweetest slumber—a sleep so deep it hadn't woken in decades, not even for its own injuries—care about the sting of a tiny mosquito? What if that mosquito was exceptionally polite? What if it were considerate, moving silently without a single buzz?

  The more Tars thought about it, the more he admired his own nerve. He decided that his earlier shaking knees had just been a momentary illusion.

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  Even if this creature wasn't a True Dragon, it was an incredibly powerful dragon-beast. If he could secure a sufficient amount of its essence, even a decrepit, old kobold like Old Golden-Tooth could find a second spring of life. Old Golden-Tooth could be saved. And Tars's own path as a wizard would be secured—or at least, he could walk it with more composure. He wouldn't rush to consume dragon blood himself; the most important thing was having the option.

  He remembered the half-man's promise to solve the problem of his short lifespan, but there had been no news. With this new choice, he could face the half-man and his own future with much less anxiety.

  The Spirit Boil spell seemed to reach its peak effectiveness alongside his surging emotions, making him feel as though he had boundless energy—he almost wanted to burst into song.

  After a moment, he retreated toward the exit. Even a mosquito needed to prepare. Besides, Aiskin was still outside; if this thing woke up, she would be defenseless. He took one last look at the pool of water but didn't touch it. He wasn't being picky; he just preferred to leave everything undisturbed until his next visit.

  He crawled out of the hole with delicate movements. Once out, he climbed back up and used some of the stored earth to seal the entrance again. Aiskin was waiting anxiously.

  "Let's go back. Old Golden-Tooth might live much longer now," he said.

  He wanted to put her mind at ease. If his plan to get blood failed later, he could still try to "steal" a whole pool of urine and soak Old Golden-Tooth in it; surely a private bath in the stuff would have some effect.

  The two began their journey home. Between the trekking and the digging, it had been a long, exhausting day.

  "Oh, right," he remembered the treasure in his storage pouch and started rummaging. "I have a gift for you!"

  He pulled out the roasted beast leg, a delicacy personally prepared by a fifth-level peak apprentice. The aroma was still fresh, and he felt a wave of relief. They were both starving, so they found a place to rest and shared the meal. The tension of the day had drained their energy; Tars had spent the day swinging between joy and terror, and Aiskin had been a bundle of nerves. The beast leg—originally meant to include a share for the Big-Dumb-Humper—was polished off by the two of them in no time.

  Tars had expected Aiskin to be happy, but her reaction was more one of profound shock than simple joy.

  Upon returning to the settlement, he told her not to tell Old Golden-Tooth anything yet. He would handle the details first.

  He settled his mind. He had gained much today, but his meditation schedule had slipped. He lay down in his familiar spot, staring at the cave ceiling and blinking occasionally. He recalled the majestic body of the beast; the Grey-Neck Lord looked like an earthworm in comparison. The sheer impact of that visual and spiritual pressure was what had made his legs fail him for that split second.

  If such an exaggeratedly large creature might not even be a True Dragon, how powerful were the real ones? And how terrifying were the wizards who stood above dragons? They must have moved beyond the concept of "human." Even if they remained small in stature, their mere presence must be enough to make a dragon tremble—just as he had felt that uncontrollable, soul-deep weakness today.

  He thought of the words in Kalyu's diary: To explore the mysteries of life, to unveil the veil of time, to possess great power and an immortal soul, to see through the world with longevity, and to perceive the secrets of all things with supreme wisdom.

  Of course, those were just the aspirations of Kalyu as an apprentice. Tars wondered how far Kalyu had actually gone; this diary seemed to be only the first volume. Yet, the fact remained that the half-man had found the diary, and Kalyu was likely long gone.

  Peering into Kalyu's life through the pages, Tars felt a strange sense of kinship with the apprentice, as if they were old friends. At least, the young Kalyu; some wizards became twisted as they aged, turning into entirely different people.

  He took a deep breath and sat up.

  No matter how distant the goal, one must walk it step by step. He would start with his daily meditation. As long as he didn't stop—even if his steps were small, even if the path was winding—even a dragon would eventually seem small. On the long road of a wizard, a dragon wasn't the destination; it was merely a milestone.