Dragon (2)
A dragon's head atop a human torso, complete with a long, swishing tail and skin of rough scales.
This was the unvarnished reality of a dragon's Polymorph. Gorgeous men and ethereal beauties were pure fairy tales; she had quite literally assumed an anatomical human shape and stopped there.
If pressed to classify her race, "lizardfolk" felt generous. Yet something about it puzzled me. According to Cain, the vast majority of legendary heroes during the Dragon Era had been dragons indulging in mortal roleplay. But the Vanir standing before me was unmistakably draconic. Her appearance was entirely divorced from standard humanity. Even demons, for all their pale blue flesh and inverted eyes, looked fundamentally human.
"You wear the expression of someone who understands nothing," her thoughts echoed directly in my mind.
"...Can you blame me? Master Cain told me earlier that most heroes of the ancient era were dragons in disguise. I just assumed you would look a bit more... human."
"I could," she replied flatly. "However, it is a tremendous bother."
"A bother?"
"Do you possess any conception of the labor required for a complete Polymorph? Sculpting every layer of dermis, calculating individual follicles of hair, shaping every fingernail and toe... Every single attribute must be manually formulated and sustained."
Put that way, it made sense. She was talking about full-body cosmetic surgery down to the cellular level. Just imagining the mental processing power required to run those calculations made my head spin.
"So you only bothered with the meticulous sculpting when you were out in the world?"
"Naturally. There was good reason to do so."
"What reason?"
"Mortals proved far more accommodating whenever I wore a beautiful face."
It was an uncomfortably pragmatic answer. A sliver of disappointment lingered, but even so, having her in humanoid proportions made conversing vastly easier, even if holding eye contact with a reptilian maw took some getting used to.
"So, Lady Vanir, you originated from the outside world before entering this forest, correct?"
"I did."
"If you don't mind my asking... how old are you?"
"Well over three thousand winters, surely. I hatched toward the twilight of the Dragon Era. I have yet to experience senescence, so I cannot have surpassed six thousand."
"...What is the average lifespan of a dragon, exactly?"
"Hardly any have ever died of natural causes."
What kind of non-answer was that? Still, I could empathize. As people aged past a certain point, they tended to stop counting their years and simply stated the year they were born. Keeping an exact tally became a chore. Her reasoning was likely along the same lines.
She possesses an unimaginable wealth of lived experience.
That was the true reason I asked. Even for the apex predators of the mortal realm, the Forest of the Four Seasons remained a death trap. If there were territories here that even a full-grown dragon dared not cross, I needed to know about them immediately.
"Are there any areas we must avoid at all costs? Regions where even a dragon would struggle to survive?"
"You still harbor hopes of escaping," she remarked, her golden slit pupils narrowing slightly. "You would be wise to abandon them."
"If I do nothing, nothing will ever come of it. If I try something, at least there's a chance."
Action was infinitely preferable to rotting away in helplessness. Above all, I had reliable benefactors at my back. That alone warranted probing for any sliver of an exit. Prompted by that thought, another burning curiosity surfaced.
"Oh, by the way... do you know anything about 'the Gallery'?"
"The Gallery? You speak of the invaders' capability?"
Astonishingly, even a primordial entity like Vanir recognized the concept. Yet her phrasing suggested she was merely familiar with it, rather than capable of accessing it herself. Had she been able to connect, she wouldn't have spoken of it as a foreign anomaly.
If she can wield magic in this forest, why can't she access the network?
Perhaps it was a deliberate countermeasure enacted by the gods when they cast the dragons into this dimensional pen. If the holy realm of El Dorado had fallen into utter deception, ancient mythology was bound to be twice as distorted. In fact, following the well-worn tropes of modern fiction, the "benevolent gods" were more likely absolute bastards.
"So you cannot access the Gallery from here?"
"It is impossible within this place."
"...I can use it, though."
"Hoh?"
Her reptilian brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment. Her expression seemed to scream: A magnificent dragon cannot touch it, so how can a mere hatchling of a human?
She scrutinized me from crown to toe, then turned her gaze toward Ludwig, who stood quietly beside me.
"Can you also access this network?"
Ludwig shook his head vigorously. Forget accessing the Gallery; the poor man could barely manipulate ambient mana. The only reason he had survived the wilderness at all was thanks to the Mithricon sword he carried.
"Fascinating."
"I find it pretty bizarre myself."
"Mmm... cough! Hack!"
Vanir broke off, coughing violently as her chest heaved. I recalled that the lingering wyrm venom was still circulating through her bloodstream. Keeping her engaged in idle chatter was selfish; I needed to extract only the most vital survival data before she departed.
"Regardless," she managed, steadying her breath, "the Gallery may be considered an innate mechanism of the invaders. It was also the paramount reason our kind suffered defeat in that ancient war."
"A reason for your defeat?"
"They conversed across vast expanses spanning thousands of leagues as effortlessly as two beings standing face-to-face. Their command hierarchy possessed an insurmountable cohesion born of instantaneous intelligence. It crushed our fractured forces."
[Ah, of that matter, I am also informed,] Cain interjected from my hip, his small mechanical voice solemn. [The tether binding this vessel to the Holy Sword functions upon an analogous foundation.]
Hearing their testimonies together, the puzzle pieces regarding the Gallery's true nature began clicking into place. Even so, the sheer volume of cosmic unknowns remained overwhelming.
"Did the gods attack you unprovoked, or...?"
"Hardly. We brought banishment upon our own heads."
"You brought it on yourselves?"
"Whenever the mood struck, our kin plundered mortal kingdoms and slaughtered their populations. Banishment was an entirely reasonable verdict."
[The legends claiming that dragon lairs are carpeted with mortal treasures were not spun from thin air,] Cain supplied helpfully.
"......"
Fair enough. Self-awareness was a virtue, I suppose.
Regardless of ancient grievances, my immediate concern was finding an exit, not arbitrating prehistoric war crimes. Once I broke free of this living tomb, I could worry about lodging complaints with the pantheon. Survival took absolute priority over philosophical debates.
"Returning to our previous topic... which territories should we never set foot in?"
"Whichever path you tread will prove lethal to one of your fragile constitution. This seasonal forest happens to be the third safest domain in the entire basin."
"...There are regions safer than this?"
That came as a shock. I had assumed this temperate woodland was the crown jewel of safety. One might argue her scale of comparison was skewed by dragon biology, but that very standard made her assessment horrifyingly objective. This forest was dangerous enough to wound ancient wyrms, and hostile predators had assaulted her lair only days ago.
"There exists a jungle bathed in perpetual warmth," Vanir said thoughtfully. "The vermin grow somewhat large, but the ambient climate is gentle."
"Define 'somewhat large' vermin."
"Roughly the size of my foreclaw."
"...Measuring against your true draconic form, I presume?"
"Naturally. What other measurement would I use?"
To ordinary humans, that was an extinction-level horror show. At least the seasonal climate here kept the bug population down to reasonable dimensions. The nightmare domain Vanir described was something I never wanted to imagine. Had I awakened there, I would have been forced to feast on scuttling horrors—or worse, ended up as their afternoon snack.
"Please, just tell me the places I must avoid at all costs."
"The list of perilous zones is extensive for your kind, but above all, never tread upon the viridian-tinged lands. To call it a cursed expanse would be an understatement."
"A land covered in green?"
"The moment your flesh crosses its threshold, your bones and marrow will gently detach from within. Exceedingly slowly."
"......"
"Skin that ought to mend will slough away like peeling parchment. You will rot alive, suffering a agonizing demise indistinguishable from a virulent plague."
That was textbook ionizing radiation sickness. What kind of mythical fantasy forest harbored a radioactive exclusion zone? Whatever the metaphysical cause, I swore never to venture anywhere near glowing viridian soil. The twisted mutants lurking in an environment like that didn't bear thinking about.
She went on to list active volcanic fissures, an abyss of total sensory deprivation, an endless subterranean ocean, and territories I had only glimpsed beyond the chasm Across the River.
"So, geographically speaking, our shelter sits near the center of the basin?"
"Essentially."
"And boundaries typically share an entrance and an exit, right?"
"Generally, yes."
"Then couldn't we simply escape by tracing the path Ludwig used to get in?"
"...?" Ludwig blinked, tilting his head in confusion before Cain translated my question into his ancient dialect.
If dimensional portals shared an ingress and an egress point, backtracking Ludwig's trajectory seemed painfully obvious. Why had I not realized something so simple earlier? Just as a surge of self-recrimination washed over me, a dry, mocking sound echoed across my mind.
"Heh."
Vanir gave a brief, derisive smirk. Her golden eyes glinted with unmistakable condescension: Did you truly believe none of us possessed the wit to conceive such a scheme?
The mockery stung, but I knew better than to argue with an apex predator. There was obviously a catch.
"If salvation were attained through such pedestrian methods, we would not remain imprisoned here," she said coolly. "How long have you dwelled within these woods?"
"A little under a month."
"As you deduced, the portal itself remains anchored to a fixed coordinate. The dilemma lies in the surrounding reality. While the gateway sits stationary, the space enveloping it is in perpetual, chaotic flux."
Vanir raised a clawed finger toward the canopy. My eyes followed her gesture toward the horizon, where the morning sun was inching over the jagged ridgeline.
"Even within this modest clearing, the sun rises from a different quarter each morning. Do you comprehend the implications?"
"......"
"You seem to understand. This basin encompasses dozens of disparate domains, all woven into a self-scrambling tapestry that reshuffles at erratic intervals. Position, cardinal direction, topography—the variables defy conventional calculation."
"...What are the statistical odds of locating the true exit?"
"According to my estimations..."
Vanir crossed her arms and closed her eyes, evidently running spatial probability equations through her ancient mind. Even for a dragon capable of parallel algorithmic thought, the calculation took an unsettlingly long time. Or perhaps the percentage was so infinitesimal that rendering it into standard digits proved difficult.
After an agonizing silence, she reopened her slitted eyes.
"Strictly mathematically speaking, your odds hover around 0.00000002%. And that is an exceptionally generous appraisal."
"...That's the generous version?"
"The human vessel is fragile beyond measure, prone to pestilence, starvation, and trauma. Factoring in mortal biological frailties, your actual probability degrades by several orders of magnitude."
"......"
A suffocating despair pressed against my chest. I wiped a weary hand over my face. Those odds were worse than winning the national lottery jackpot multiple times over. And considering she had rounded up in my favor, the true mathematical value was practically a statistical impossibility.
Yet...
"...That's a relief, actually."
"What?"
"It means the probability isn't zero."
It approached zero, but it had not collapsed into absolute impossibility. That tiny distinction was my lifeline. Probability was still probability. Who was to say lightning couldn't strike? People had won the lottery back-to-back in the real world; there was no cosmic law forbidding me from beating the odds.
"Opportunities only belong to those who take action. If we steadily eliminate wrong variables, the odds won't remain zero—they'll eventually climb toward one."
"......"
Vanir stared at me as though inspecting a lunatic. Her expression plainly read: Has this mortal lost his grip on reality? But my resolve was absolute.
"Besides, I'm not navigating this wilderness alone. There will be ways to tilt the odds dramatically in our favor."
"...If you wish to cling to that conviction, I shall not dissuade you. Only ensure you do not perish from sheer reckless ambition."
"Thank you for the warning."
Hearing the brutal truth from Vanir was infinitely better than nursing blind optimism. At least now I knew an absolute end existed. Whether it took a handful of years or several decades, as long as a definitive exit awaited at the finish line, the struggle held meaning.
"Cough... hack! It is time I took my leave. Have you any final inquiries?"
"Final inquiries... Ah! Come to think of it..."
A memory resurfaced from my internal energy breakthrough. During that bizarre out-of-body sensation induced by the Heavenly Demon's mnemonic formula, my consciousness had drifted far above the clouds. High above the forest canopy, I had spotted a titanic silhouette piercing the heavens.
I had originally planned to investigate it, but the relentless daily grind of survival had pushed the expedition down my priority list.
"Do you know anything about a colossal tree? One that towers impossibly high into the sky?"
"You would do well to avoid approaching it."
"Why?"
"It radiates an overwhelming, toxic saturation of ambient mana. Aside from organisms born and nurtured directly within its domain, foreign entities cannot process mana under its pressure. It is the primary reason extraplanar beings find their magical channels paralyzed here."
"What on earth is it?"
Vanir paused, seeming to search her ancient lexicon for the proper terminology.
"The invaders referred to it as... the World Tree."
"The... World Tree?"
"Indeed. It discharges an suffocating mana pressure that crushes external spells. In fact, a parasitic offshoot resides uncomfortably close to this very clearing."
Vanir leveled a clawed finger toward the corner of my campsite. Ludwig, Cain, and I turned in unison toward the garden patch.
There, growing slowly but determinedly from the soil, was the miniature sapling gifted to me by the user Let's Grow Trees.
"...Wait."
The moment Vanir's gaze locked onto the innocent little shoot, her entire posture seized in visceral disgust.
"Wh-Why is that abomination planted here?!"
Before I could even open my mouth, she crossed the clearing in a blur of reptilian motion, lowered her snout toward the earth, and—
FWHSHSHSHSHSH—!
A concentrated jet of incandescent dragon breath erupted from her jaws, engulfing the patch in blinding crimson flame.
"......"
I stood frozen in stunned disbelief. Was she allowed to just incinerate my property like that? If Let's Grow Trees had witnessed this hate crime, she would have suffered an immediate apoplectic seizure.
Regardless of my inner turmoil, Vanir inspected the neat pile of smoking grey ash with visible satisfaction.
"A close call. Vile, parasitic blight."
"...Was that because of the mana suppression?"
"That is part of it, but worse is how it devastates surrounding ecology. It hoards the nutrients of the earth with the greed of a swine, starving everything else to death."
"......"
So this was the root of ancient anti-elf prejudice. Dwarves weren't the only ones who detested elven horticulture. But considering Let's Grow Trees had casually mailed me a World Tree sapling, she had to occupy a ridiculously high station within her realm. Unless Alfenheim engaged in state-mandated ecological terrorism as a matter of policy.
I should definitely grill her about that later.
At any rate, trekking toward the distant World Tree was officially struck from my schedule. Vanir had conceded it wasn't strictly lethal to visit, but urged extreme caution.
"Now then... before I depart, I shall bestow a parting token upon you."
"A token?"
"You have agreed to foster my whelp. It is only fitting that I compensate your efforts appropriately."
I certainly wasn't going to turn down an ancient dragon's parting gift. What kind of mythical artifact was she about to impart? Dragon scale armor? An ancient spell scroll? A priceless ore? Expectations soared.
"Hrk... urk..."
"...?"
"Guh-uurk...!"
Vanir suddenly threw her reptilian head back, her scaly throat undulating violently like an engorged serpent trying to regurgitate a swallowed boulder. A terrible, sinking premonition gripped me—and reality wasted no time fulfilling it.
SPLAT!
Thud. Roll, roll, roll...
She hacked up an enormous mass directly onto the grass. It wasn't an egg. It was a soccer-ball-sized, prismatic inner core, radiating iridescent bands of light through thick, glistening coats of viscous dragon slobber.
"Consume it."
"......"
At that exact moment, I couldn't help but glare at the ancient mythical beast with the precise expression of a man being served a steaming bowl of fish-head curry.