Sinking Forest (2)
Suddenly, Remiella's startled cry rang out.
But by then, I was already plunging into the sinking lake—that thick pool of mana. The instant I hit the water, I realized my mistake.
I couldn't breathe. No, it wasn't just suffocation. The overwhelming mana pressure crushing my body felt like it would flatten me completely.
If I'm not careful, I could die here.
No exaggeration. Even when I'd faced the remains of the ancient high dragon, Cryupe, I'd never felt mana pressure this intense.
This was mana concentrated over countless ages in a confined lake—a pure essence that was poison to any awakened being.
Absorb mana this dense and use mana acceleration? Impossible...
It had been my own idea, spur of the moment.
But now, I was on the verge of admitting it was reckless folly. And right then, my mana heart sensed the crisis. The dragon heart accelerated wildly.
No. I won't lose. Not to this damned lake... If it's impossible, I'll make it possible.
That was probably my true nature.
From a young age, I'd been infamous as a little rascal. The lively young master of lively Reinhyme. That was the nickname little Yulian von Reinhardt often heard.
No, not lively—truthfully, I had a terribly twisted personality.
The Reinhardt family treasured its bloodline above all. My grandfather had barely secured one child, Agnes von Reinhardt, his only offspring.
And I was her only son—my mother's sole child.
So even the Grand Master, the Lion Duke, the empire's living hero famed in Pantheon's textbooks—my grandfather Wilhelm von Reinhardt—couldn't scold me too harshly for being a bit odd. I was his only blood kin, after all.
Besides, I lost my parents young. Grandfather doted on me even more.
It was only natural I'd grow into a spoiled brat. The great ruler of Essemont, a hero etched in Pantheon's tomes, was wrapped around my finger.
And little Yulian? Utterly twisted. Refused to lose to anyone.
Whether it was trauma from losing my parents young or the Reinhardt blood running through me, I couldn't say. Looking back, I'd caused plenty of trouble in front of the estate staff.
The one person that odd little me actually minded was Eirin.
Embarrassing to admit, but I'd fallen for her the moment I first saw her.
But that damned voice... Knoya's curse...
My body wasn't normal. In place of my late parents, Knoya's curse had been left to me. It twisted my personality day by day.
I snapped at everyone, couldn't interact normally. My temperament became pure chaos, making proper sword training impossible.
Yet even then, I wanted to look cool in front of Eirin. In Essemont, a cool man meant a rough one.
So I'd pick pointless fights with the estate folk and Reinhyme's citizens.
Even if it was the curse... thinking back, it's mortifying.
Anyway, my innate competitiveness, fueled by that wretched curse, turned me into an irredeemable scoundrel.
Of course, Mother's arrangements freed me completely from that curse. But to cut to the chase: my refusal to lose to anyone remains as strong as ever.
*Cough, cough*—
I forced ragged breaths that wouldn't come easy.
Truth be told, I hadn't jumped in blindly.
Only two days left in the Primordial Forest. Fail to complete the breath technique by then, and my plan to retake the imperial capital from the rebels crumbles.
As Remiella said, Chris by Grius's side was beyond my current level.
If I can't beat a punk like Chris, I'll never catch Duke Pedro.
I had to secure the breath technique, no matter what. For it, I needed just 15 more seconds.
* Dragonkin Transformation rank rises due to magi from the Archduke of Demons.
: Temporarily boosts all stats massively.
: Current duration: 4 minutes 45 seconds (+15s)
[Maintain Dragonkin Transformation Level 2 for 5 minutes to unlock new skill: Breath.]
The system window popped up before my eyes. Just yesterday, training with Lucia and Rozette had extended Level 2 by 15 seconds.
It had been intense—needing Unir's priestess for focused healing. And not just training; the messy, passionate nights with them too.
The three Archdukes of Demons I'd contracted with shared their magi as well.
Even so, 15 seconds short.
The moment I woke in the bedroom this morning, instinct told me: yesterday's training might squeeze out a bit more time, but not enough for the breath technique.
So when Remiella mentioned this sunken forest, I resolved to try the harshest training yet.
Damn it. I won't die—not and lose.
Resisting the mana pressure that threatened to crush me, I unleashed my body's maximum potential: Dragonkin Transformation Level 2.
* * *
For now, I was alive.
Awkward horns, wings, and a tail sprouted from me.
Unlike Cecilia's adorably cute golden dragonkin form, mine was savage black—like a tyrant's.
And matching the transformation, my mana heart—the dragon heart—shifted into draconic armor form. Its vibrations accelerated so fiercely I felt them directly.
To maintain Level 2, I need Lucia Style at maximum output.
I channeled the refined mana—aura—from the dragon heart into my horns, tail, and wings. The resulting shield finally began pushing back the surrounding dense mana.
At the same time, the system started counting down.
Roughly 4 minutes 40 seconds. Before Level 2 ended, I could probably survive this mana abyss.
No. I didn't dive in here to play scuba diver.
Dragonkin Transformation let me endure, but no interaction with the high-density mana around me.
I need to absorb that mana into my body. Then the remaining 15 seconds... the breath...
Instinct told me: my dragonkin body differed from a human's.
Lucia Style, based on Reinhardt and Orhain origins. But even that special attribute mana cultivation was for humans.
At my potential's peak—in dragonkin form—I sensed I needed a different method instinctively.
Just before suffocating in the mana earlier... dragonkin transformation started on instinct...
But dropping the aura shield and breathing directly? I'd just choke on the dense mana.
Damn. No time to think.
I hadn't jumped blindly. Magic dragons—rare even among dragons. Tricia said even in the demon kingdom, few knew of them.
But I knew someone who knew magic dragons better than anyone. Not a person—a demon.
I shouted her name.
"Luiril! Come out now!"
Luiril, the female Archduke of Lust. I called the pinnacle demon I'd contracted with.
No response.
This lewd archduke. Playing hard to get.
I shouted again.
"Pretending not to hear? You peep just fine when I'm with others, but when I need you..."
Luiril appeared with a seductive laugh.
"Hehe. No need to panic like a premature sufferer. I would've come without the rush."
She materialized before me. Unlike her voyeuristic grimoire form during my romps with the heroines,
she'd borrowed the body of Emily, the blue-haired witch from last time—standing there in a noble dress with cleavage on full display, parasol in hand, like a Pantheon lady.
Emily was a beauty rivaling my heroines. Luiril, in that form, smiled coyly at me.
I said to her,
"Late because you changed outfits?"
"That, and makeup. Females are like that."
She parried my jab. Glancing me over, she added,
"Anyway, unusual for you. As you felt, this mana is excessively dense. Even for you, diving in blindly is danger—hm. I see you've removed your usual collar."
"Collar? You mean the Rosario?"
She nodded slightly.
As Luiril said, I'd unclasped Mother's Rosario and given it to Remiella. A holy relic tied directly to me.
I'd tossed it to her so she wouldn't worry.
Well, not just that—another purpose too.
And Luiril nailed it.
"Makes sense. With the saintess's Rosario on, your mother would've stopped you from jumping into this perilous lake."
Just as Luiril said. Mother's—Agues's—Rosario calmed my temperament excessively. That stabilization helped me build my harem successfully and achieve my current growth.
"A man can't grow forever in his mother's embrace."
Luiril burst out laughing.
"Haha. Fitting for my contractor. True—northern men are famed for their rough edge. To satisfy the Archduke of Wrath someday, you need that manly side. Shaking your cock wildly in bed alone won't cut it."
For someone saying that, she was the happiest when I did. Enough banter.
"Anyway, got it. Luiril—teach me. The dragon's breathing method."
She smiled, surprised.
"Impressive. Your fusion method—no, Lucia Style?—that special mana cultivation should've sufficed. Yet you sensed the need for the next realm yourself. The Archduke of Sloth would faint at such diligence."
"Save the praise. When dragonkin transformation ends, your contractor suffocates. You gonna watch?"
"Hehe. Whiny men have no charm, but if he's my contractor... Fine."
Luiril folded her parasol. She slipped behind me, embracing me from the back.
Breasts rivaling Chloe's—Emily's soft mounds pressed gently against my wings and back.
Her silk-gloved hands roamed my upper body teasingly, pausing at my heart.
"You're Reinhardt stock—a swordsmanship dynasty. Yet at Pantheon Academy, you wielded magic and alchemy yourself."
Luiril spoke truth.
My blood was swordsman's blood. But during my time at Pantheon—when I thought it a possession—I'd handled spirit arts and alchemy masterfully.
The game's system, buying traits with points.
Spirit Sorcerer and Alchemist traits unlocked those skills. Of course, no game—it was reality. The system was lost high imperial divine spells.
Luiril continued,
"Odd, though. Same mana, yet mages and swordsmen refine it differently from the start. You know that, right?"
Then, nibbling my earlobe, she whispered low,
"That's where the dragon's breath secret lies."