Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!-Chapter 70 : She Can't Refuse

Is this fool dead?
Patunasankus looked over the motionless Loranhir.
In truth, the hero was just a hair's breadth away from breathing her last.
Having been exposed at close range to the soul-shaking death aura of a lich's destroyed phylactery, it was already a miracle Loranhir hadn't dropped dead on the spot.
Even seeing Loranhir in such a pitiful state, Patunasankus' expression remained calm—no different from how she treated Elaphia.
The evil dragon didn't seem the least bit distressed by her miserable condition.
She simply didn't care.
Not that Patunasankus particularly valued this one's life—she simply disliked most humans to begin with.
The evil dragon always felt these two-legged creatures were untrustworthy and incomprehensible.
And truly, they were hard to figure out.
Everyone dreamed different dreams, everyone spoke of their own dreams, yet none saw the essence of existence. Dreams couldn't communicate between each other, as if they were all rushing toward their own futures—and their own deaths.
'Don't make friends with food or creatures whose thoughts you can't comprehend'—that was the evil dragon's philosophy.
But Latifa unconditionally tried to understand everyone's existence, so Patunasankus had no choice but to bury such contemplations deep in her heart.
She knew better than to speak ill of those Latifa loved—nothing good ever came of that.
Though no one understood, Patunasankus knew exactly why the girl had taken such a liking to her.
Patunasankus tried her best not to grow fond of anything, but Latifa's joy was simply too infectious.
She always laughed so brightly—the evil dragon couldn't fathom what there was to be happy about.
Yet she laughed anyway, carefree and radiant, like sunlight dancing on a summer lake.
Her happiness radiated from every pore, and even Patunasankus couldn't help but be drawn to it.
So regarding all matters concerning Latifa, the evil dragon never voiced any objections, letting her have her way in everything.
Patunasankus knew exactly what the other would do, knew that if Latifa were here, she'd drag the evil dragon along by force.
And Patunasankus knew even more clearly—she wouldn't be able to refuse.
"What a waste of time," the evil dragon muttered under her breath.
Then Patunasankus crouched down, conjuring flickering flames in her palm that channeled Yanubi's power.
Though this wyvern had long fallen to the Black Death, her soul showed no signs of decay or dissipation.
"...Don't waste my dragon heart, you fool. If you're truly descended from Dragon warriors, then don't you dare die on me," Patunasankus whispered to the unconscious Loranhir.
"Those who indulge in the Dragon Feast gradually cease to be human. Don't go turning into some Earth dragon for fun—how embarrassing. At least have some dignity as my first dragon priestess. Not that your eventual fate matters to me anyway. You're on your own."
Patunasankus stood up and walked away. In the dawn's light, her shadow grew longer, seeming to contain within it the silhouette of a girl—a dandelion girl.
And so this troublesome affair came to an end.
At least, that's what Patunasankus thought.She needed to find a seemingly safe place to stay for a while—at the very least, to put on a convincing act.
Before leaving, Elaphia had told her not to wander around. The evil dragon had agreed, and she had always kept her promises.
But those instructions were given to Princess Latifa. What did they have to do with her, the Black Death Patunasankus?
The evil dragon felt no guilt whatsoever.
Just as she passed under a tree, a gentle breeze stirred, shaking loose droplets of dew. A few trickled down Patunasankus’ neck.
She shivered, instinctively hunching her shoulders, then tilted her head up to gaze at the branches above.
The leaves, washed clean by the morning dew, gleamed brightly, filling her with an inexplicable fondness.
"Good morning," she whispered.
○
Nothing. There was nothing—only emptiness.
Loranhir didn’t know how long she had been lost in this silent darkness, but with no way out in sight, she could only wander aimlessly.
Perhaps this was the afterlife.
Loranhir thought.
As she walked, she suddenly stopped—not for any particular reason, but because she heard strange noises ahead, as if something, or someone, was waiting for her.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" Loranhir called out instinctively.
The next moment, something in the darkness slowly opened its eyes—amber slitted pupils, glowing with an intense light that momentarily illuminated the surroundings.
A massive head, crimson scales, the shifting of plates, the arch of a spine, the glint of fangs...
"A dragon?" Loranhir’s voice trembled.
This dragon was far too familiar—so much so that it felt like déjà vu.
Loranhir recognized it.
This was unmistakably the same dragon that had perched on the ancient bridge, attempting to abduct the princess!
She had no idea why this dragon was here, nor why it was glaring at her with such hatred, as if it wanted to tear her apart limb by limb.
For some reason, Loranhir knew its name, and her chest faintly trembled in resonance with this powerful wyrm.
"Yanubi," Loranhir uttered the name.
The moment the name left her lips, Yanubi spread its massive wings and roared, as if ready to lash out and shred her to pieces in the next instant.
All of Loranhir’s consciousness was swallowed by the dragon’s claws in that split second.
Her entire body jolted violently, as if teetering on the brink of death, and a surge of immense power rose within her.
She jerked backward in reflex.
"!?"
Loranhir woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat, her heart pounding like a war drum. For some reason, she felt as though the sound of her heartbeat had grown louder.
It took her a long while to shake off the nightmare.
"What just…?" Loranhir looked around.
At this moment, she was still inside the mage tower.
The shattered remains of the lich’s phylactery littered the floor, the arcane runes now dim. The holy sword lay discarded to the side, covered in dust.
Loranhir distinctly remembered being on the verge of death—the experience had been so vivid, so unforgettable.
Yet here she stood, perfectly fine, full of energy, as if she had been revitalized by a long-awaited downpour.The last fragments of memory were hazy. Loranhir could only vaguely recall seeing a familiar figure, yet she couldn't remember who it was.
"Right, I almost forgot about her!"
Loranhir suddenly remembered Elaphia, who had stayed behind to cover her retreat. There was no time to waste—she sprinted back along the path at a speed that even she found astonishing.
Sure enough, amidst a pile of undead bones, she found Elaphia. The latter's face was deathly pale, and upon closer inspection, she seemed utterly motionless.
D-dead?
"Damn, she's so pale... She's really gone, isn't she?" Loranhir's voice trembled as she instinctively prepared to wail over the body.
But before she could shed more than a few tears, a grumbling voice came from the figure in her arms.
"Idiot, I'm not dead yet..." Elaphia paused, then corrected herself, "Wait, I mean, I haven't rotted away!"
With that, she shoved Loranhir away.
"What's your problem with a vampire being pale? Who asked you to mourn me? Go cry over someone else's grave!"
"...As long as you're not rotten, that's fine. That's fine." Loranhir let out a slight sigh of relief.
○
Elaphia took a small sip of healing potion and finally managed to recover somewhat from her severe injuries. Fighting a horde of undead had left her thoroughly beaten up.
The last time she'd been pummeled this badly was when she faced the Ferocious Beast, Evelyn.
"So Oz is dead?" Though phrased as a question, Elaphia's tone was certain.
After all, in her view, it was a foregone conclusion that the mighty hero could handle a lich's phylactery.
"Yeah."
Loranhir nodded but didn't mention her own brush with death.
She hadn't even figured it out herself, so telling Elaphia wouldn't help.
But...
What about the dragon in her dream?
Loranhir couldn't make sense of it.
Something felt off.
"Oz's phylactery was completely smashed. He's dead for good," Loranhir told Elaphia.
Oz's remnant soul had returned to the phylactery midway, clearly meaning someone had destroyed his physical body.
Loranhir could confirm it was undoubtedly the work of the holy knight Allen. Among everyone present, only this exceptionally talented holy knight of the Layang Empire had the strength to defeat a high-ranking lich head-on.
She couldn't think of anyone else who could have done it.
Now that the holy knight had taken care of Oz, he'd probably head her way soon.
The thought of dealing with such a troublesome opponent made Loranhir eager to leave immediately. But she still had to retrieve Hedica—no matter what, she couldn't leave without her.
So, after discussing with Elaphia, they decided to find Hedica first.
They wandered around Oz's mage tower for a while. During this time, Elaphia helped herself to a "zero-dollar shopping spree," emerging with quite the haul.
Loranhir didn't comment. After all, Oz himself wasn't in a position to object.After searching for quite a while, the two finally found Hedica at the very bottom level. The oathbreaker knight was dead asleep, and no matter how Loranhir called her, there was no response. They had no choice but to carry her out of Oz tower.
Just a few steps outside, still not beyond the edges of the battlefield where holy knights clashed with the undead, Loranhir spotted a familiar face—someone so familiar it couldn't be more so.
Before Loranhir stood a holy knight who had set down her sword and shield. Her hands pressed against the rows of severely wounded comrades around her, their injuries miraculously healing under the radiant holy light emanating from her palms.
This familiar figure was none other than Allen—still wearing his helmet. Loranhir was now certain this woman must be downright unattractive.
The moment Allen saw Loranhir, the root cause of all this chaos, she struggled to her feet despite her weakened state, raising her sword to shield her companions.
"Fake hero!" she spat through gritted teeth.
Allen... or rather, Elin.
Elin had no idea how she had survived the threat of the Bone Dragon.
The final moments of the battle felt like a missing puzzle piece—she simply couldn't recall what had happened.
By the time Elin woke up, the lich, the Bone Dragon, and the countless undead legions had vanished without a trace. All around her were rows of grievously wounded holy knight comrades.
Once again, she had inexplicably survived.
But Elin knew there was only one explanation for this situation.
The inherently evil fake hero had once again trampled upon the honor of the holy knights, beaten them to their knees, and humiliated them thoroughly—all for her own amusement.
Loranhir couldn't be bothered to speak. She knew the less she said in these situations, the better. After several encounters, she had figured out the other's temperament completely.
At times like this, all she needed to do was smile.
"…Aren't you going to kill me?"
Seeing the greatest evil in this world—Loranhir—react with nothing but a mocking smile, Elin burned with humiliation, her delicate face beneath the helmet flushing red.
She desperately wanted to gather the last of her strength to unleash a Divine Smite, to strike down the fake hero before her at all costs. But her comrades were still here, and no matter what, Elin had to save them from the fake hero's threat.
"The shame of today's crushing defeat at the hands of your subordinates—we holy knights will remember it," Elin forced out through gritted teeth, immediately activating a precious teleportation scroll. Magical runes instantly enveloped her and the wounded holy knights around her.
"One day, one day... I will purify you, this vile creature, with the holy light!" Elin hurled her final threat.
In the blink of an eye, the holy knight and her companions vanished without a trace.
"Crushing defeat? Why 'crushing defeat'?"
Elaphia muttered softly beside her, slightly baffled by the choice of words.
Loranhir, however, showed no reaction—or rather, any reaction would have been pointless. She knew now that this woman would cling to her like a stubborn rash, impossible to shake off...
Wait!
A thought suddenly struck Loranhir.
If this woman was determined to chase her to the ends of the earth...
Didn't that mean she now had a holy knight reinforcement squad on call whenever she needed?You should know, from the time she asked Hedica to deliver the message until Allen arrived, it took less than the anticipated two hours. It was as swift as lightning, unbelievably fast.
Loranhir thought how great it would be if she could obtain the magic net short message technology from Hedica.
However, there was still one thing she had to do now.
She needed to take her leave from the Princess.