Tars decided to spend his first night within this space, attempting to get a relaxing sleep. The thought had just occurred to him: it would be far too strange to call this place the "Abyssal Bedroom" and yet never actually sleep in it. He had to rectify this; he had to fulfill the name's record.

  Curious, he approached the spatial wall and reached out with his short-spear to touch it gently. The wall, which shifted in an orderly chaos of black, grey, and white, rippled with prismatic colors at the point of contact. He felt a fleeting urge to test the wall's durability with an offensive spell—knowing full well he couldn't break it—but ultimately decided against it.

  He settled into a peaceful meditation and slept until he had no way of knowing if it was day or night outside. His first spatial sleep trial was a perfect success.

  Upon opening the spatial door, he found himself back in his "three-way ventilated" bedroom. The point of entry and exit did not change; the door acted like a temporary anchor dropped before opening the gate. This was both a blessing and a curse; if he used it to hide from an enemy, he would have to wait for them to leave on their own, as he had no way of seeing the outside world from within.

  Tars packed his things simply. Without notifying Aiskin, he quietly left the settlement alone.

  Advancing at a rapid pace, he arrived once more at the valley. This time, he didn't need to excavate a massive area. Pinpointing the location, he stood atop the soil, shielded his head and face with his hands, and began rapidly collecting the earth and stone beneath his feet. He descended vertically at high speed, calculating that he would dig forward once he reached the depth of the underground cavern; whether the tunnel collapsed behind him no longer mattered.

  Seeing the gargantuan beast again was no less staggering than the first time. Tars stood rooted to the spot, waiting until the next thunderous breath echoed through the cave before he dared to move comfortably within the chamber.

  On his way here, he had restocked his supply of grubs. Combined with what remained in the Abyssal Bedroom, he could survive for quite some time even if the monster woke up and trapped him inside—perhaps even long enough for the creature to fall back asleep or leave. He wasn't overly worried; once a beast of this size woke up, it would likely go on a massive, long-duration hunt.

  During his trek, he had experimented with combining Feather Fall and Bull's Strength. It was a formidable combination, though difficult to control at first; once he adapted, it opened up a whole new world of mobility.

  Now, he buffed himself with both spells, adding Spirit Boil for extra clarity. He began walking along the outer edge of the cavern as if strolling through his own small garden. On a whim, he pulled out his robes and donned them properly, pulling the hood securely over his head.

  He completed one circuit without rushing to strike. Even a mosquito must learn to find the right moment—and more importantly, the right spot to pierce. He approached the creature's tail, opened a spatial door nearby for insurance, and worked up the courage to touch the tip of the tail. Though it was just the very end, a single segment of the tail-tip was larger than the little kobold himself.

  The moment his palm touched the surface, his heart gave an uncontrollable thud, and the new hairs on his back stood on end. He quickly focused his mind, carefully sensing the texture beneath his hand. His greatest fear was that the "mosquito's needle" wouldn't be able to penetrate the hide; in this world, many things ended before they even truly began.

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  He slowly withdrew his hand, deciding to abandon this spot.

  This was exactly why he had learned Feather Fall. Taking a deep breath and summoning his courage, he leaped into the air and landed squarely on the mid-section of the dragon's tail. If he couldn't break through the ancient hide normally, he would look for an old wound. And since it had no wings, he would check its back.

  Tars had previously thought of the mosquito comparison as a self-deprecating joke, but as he traversed the dragon's back, he truly felt like a tiny insect. As time passed and the behemoth showed no signs of waking, his initial tension began to dissipate.

  He stepped across the overlapping scales, feeling as if he were walking upon a massive, man-made architectural landmark. As he neared the center of the back, the dark scales grew even larger. The little kobold had to remove his ill-fitting boots to keep from slipping; he didn't want to be the first kobold in history to die from tripping on a dragon's back.

  Nothing.

  There was truly nothing?

  When he encountered steeper slopes, he crawled on all fours. After advancing a bit further, he wobbled to his feet, but still didn't see what he was looking for. He dared to give a small hop to get a better vantage point; fortunately, it allowed him to see a wider area.

  The bad news was that the creature truly had no wings—it looked as though it had been born without them.

  The good news, however, was that there was indeed a wound on its back—a gash large enough for Tars to lie down and roll around in. The location was less than ideal, but it was manageable.

  Tars steadied his heart and began to approach the injury. This discovery seemed to confirm that the creature was not a "True Dragon." After overcoming numerous obstacles and inching toward the steep, jagged wound, he peered inside with high expectations.

  Inside the curled, raw flesh of the wound was a surreal sight.

  Tars blinked, struggling to get closer. Embedded within the dragon's massive injury was a large metal construct. Engraved upon it in dark red letters were the words: Exotic Dragon Management Committee, followed by a long serial number.

  Below that was a set of instructions, and in a small font in the corner, it read: If found in the wild, please report to the Exotic Dragon Management Committee.

  He stroked his chin, bracing his feet to carefully study the text.

  "Exotic Dragons"—like many anomalies in the world—served as living proof of the world's vastness. These abnormal births were usually not that powerful; many, due to their strange mutations, couldn't even reproduce. Some, however, were freakishly stronger than pure-bloods, possessing absurd abilities. This was the reason the Committee existed.

  This numbered monster was one of those "Exotic Dragons" whose strength rivaled a True Dragon. It was also of the stubborn variety. It had no wings and was rejected by the Dragon Flight, yet it still possessed the insufferable pride of its kin.

  Generally, the Committee's oversight followed two paths. The weak were given low-level monitoring, while those with high power or unique mutations received progressively stricter supervision. Both fell under "Limited Oversight"—leaving marks on the dragon without restricting its life.

  The Committee's core principle wasn't based solely on power or potential threat, but on whether the dragon had "committed an offense."

  Any dragon that broke the regulations was moved to "Compulsory Supervision," losing its freedom forever. Serious offenders became resources for the Committee—long-term experimental consumables for wizards. This was a major source of funding for the Committee's operations. The power rating was merely used to determine the level of force required for containment.

  The proud fellow before Tars was a target of the second-to-last tier of supervision—an offender. It had been restricted to a specific zone and fitted with a measure to force it into a coma. The trigger was simple: if it left its designated territory, it would fall into a deep sleep. It knew it would fall asleep, it knew it might starve to death in its dreams, and it knew it couldn't escape—but it simply refused to stay in its cage.