Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!-Chapter 72 : There Are Always People Who Care

In a modestly decorated private lounge within the Layang Empire.
The door was tightly locked, with no attendants present. No one would dare enter this room without permission.
It was said that those who had once defied their master's orders and forced their way into this room had subsequently vanished without a trace.
A helmet adorned with angelic wings and holy armor, freshly cleaned, rested on a stand. A newly sharpened longsword leaned against the bedside, while the sound of running water echoed from the washroom.
Elin cupped her hands, gathering a handful of cold water, and splashed it onto her face.
Then, she raised her head to gaze at the mirror before her.
Reflected within was a girl of extraordinary charm, dressed in the plainest of linen sleepwear, barefoot, her expression unreadable.
Her exotic features—lips as red as apples, pale skin flushed with moisture, mesmerizing eyes of an unusual hue, and shoulder-length hair trimmed to frame the delicate curve of her cheeks—accentuated her slender neck.
Small curved horns crowned her head, while a whip-like tail swayed gently behind her.
Elin studied the girl's face—soft cheeks glowing with vitality, yet her brows and eyes were as cold as ice. A faint pink allure clashed paradoxically with the cool, ascetic aura she exuded.
Her fists clenched as waves of shame surged through her. Two kinds.
Another crushing defeat.
The holy knight of light had fallen to the false hero of evil, unable even to defeat Loranhir's lich subordinate before being utterly routed, left at the mercy of others.
The combination of the lich and Bone Dragon was overwhelmingly powerful. Despite her utmost efforts, victory had been impossible, leaving only bitterness and humiliation in her chest.
Elin didn’t know how she had survived the battle against the lich's underling.
Her memories were a blur, the last fragments she could recall being a head of dandelion-like hair dancing in the wind and a faint, petite silhouette.
She didn’t know who that person was—no familiar figure came to mind—but there was no doubt that they had saved her. Their motives remained unknown, but surely they must have been a being of order and goodness.
Elin brushed her hair aside and slowly, resolutely, donned her armor once more.
Soon, the mirror reflected a different person entirely—a figure clad in gleaming armor, face obscured, the very image of a holy knight devoted to justice and lofty oaths.
At times, Elin couldn’t tell which version of herself was real.
But no matter what, no matter how many humiliations she endured, she would slay the false hero. If she couldn’t vanquish the greatest evil in this world, how could she prove her true devotion to the path of Holy Light?
She would offer Loranhir’s dark soul as a sacrifice to the Holy Light, praying for the purification of that wicked spirit.
To achieve this, she needed to unite more holy knights and advance to a higher-tier profession.
Next time—next time, she would return with more allies, stronger than ever, to purge the false hero!
Elin walked silently to the bedside and carefully picked up a photo frame, pristine as if someone had just polished it.
"...I will make you proud," she whispered, though to whom, she didn’t know.
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"Achoo!" Loranhir sneezed."You look like you're making a strange face. What's wrong?" Hedica examined Loranhir up and down.
"I just felt like someone was thinking about me just now," Loranhir wiped her face, "Probably just my imagination."
Not long after she escorted Hedica to the refugee camp at Blue Mackerel Bay in the city, the effects of the sleep spell finally wore off, and Hedica woke up at last.
After a brief period of disorientation and conversation, the oathbreaker knight finally understood the whole story and grew to admire the hero.
"I'm sorry I couldn't help you and only caused trouble instead," Hedica said. "But I'm still very grateful for your assistance. Without you, this city would have been overrun by the undead sooner or later."
"...I only did a little bit of work," Loranhir explained. "Others did most of it."
She felt the main credit should go to the holy knight and Elaphia. Without their help, she wouldn't have been able to sneak into Oz Tower and secretly smash the lich's phylactery.
"But even so, it was you who defeated Oz, wasn't it?"
Hedica thought the hero was being deliberately modest but didn't press further. As a former holy knight—though now an oathbreaker—she felt she should at least reward the hero who saved the city.
"I really don't have anything worthy to give as thanks," Hedica said. "How about this?"
She took out a crystal from her pocket, smooth and milky white with delicate red veins spreading from a chipped edge, like blood diffusing in water—naturally beautiful. Before Loranhir could react, it was already in her hand.
"The Mirror of the Magic Net, the last remaining magical artifact of Astraea City," Hedica explained.
"I used it earlier as a relay point in the magic net to help you contact Allen. Keeping it is useless to me, so I'll give it to you. It'll surely be more useful in your hands than mine. You've seen how to use it before—just compose a message, find the right coordinates, and send it. With this crystal, even a fool could operate it."
Loranhir's first reaction was to refuse such a precious magical item as a gift, but Hedica's expression brooked no refusal.
"Just..." Hedica hesitated.
"Just what?" Loranhir asked.
"No, it's nothing. I need to rest now." Hedica pushed her out and closed the tent flap.
"Rest again? Didn't you just sleep for ages?" Loranhir grumbled outside the tent.
She looked down at the Mirror of the Magic Net in her palm, and a vague image surfaced in her mind—a holy knight gritting her teeth and spitting out harsh words.
"Probably won't need to use this later," Loranhir muttered, tucking the mirror into her bag.
What to do now?
Loranhir suddenly noticed how unnaturally quiet it was around her. Her nose twitched as she caught a strong whiff of something like cured meat—a familiar scent, as if she'd just smelled it on Elaphia.
She shrugged and paid it no mind.
Should she go back to find the Princess?Loranhir wasn't ready to return just yet. Even though the Princess had implied she wouldn't mind seeing her true self.
But she simply hadn't figured out what stance she should take when standing by the Princess's side.
"A person's character is determined by their actions, not their words..." she murmured quietly. "Princess, you've really misjudged me this time."
After aimlessly wandering around for a while, Loranhir spotted a group of people.
The long alleyway was deserted, yet a crowd of pale-skinned figures with crimson eyes seemed to be searching for something, whispering among the shadows.
"The Princess, where's the Princess? We finally tracked her here—where is she?"
"If we fail, the Grand Duke will torture us to death."
"The scent clearly led us to this city..."
○
The moment Loranhir passed by, they immediately sensed the intruder. Pairs of eyes and faces turned toward her in unison.
Loranhir recognized them instantly.
Like Elaphia, they were vampires.
Loranhir: "..."
"The hero... what's she doing here?!" the lead vampire exclaimed in shock. "We haven't found the Princess, yet the hero comes knocking first. There's no time to flee—we'll have to strike first."
As he spoke, he shot forward like a blade.
Loranhir felt an invisible pressure surge toward her with his attack. His incredible speed made him resemble an eagle diving from the sky. His claws—sharp and bloodthirsty—could tear through a grown man effortlessly. Even iron would be shredded by such a strike.
His movement acted like a battle cry, and all the vampires charged at her.
Loranhir hadn't expected to encounter the Grand Duke Dreka's search party for the Princess here.
If not for these vampires suddenly appearing before her, she might have completely forgotten about the grand duke's existence.
What to do?
Loranhir watched them.
Right now, the only two with sufficient combat strength—Elaphia and Hedica—weren't present. A tactical retreat was impossible, her usual bluffing tactics seemed useless, and she couldn't even hope for the holy sword anymore.
This situation was practically a death sentence for her.
Yet, strangely, Loranhir felt no fear.
None at all.
In the past, she might have been paralyzed with terror.
But now, her heart pounded—louder than ever before, like war drums, like battle horns. An indescribable emotion surged in her chest, accelerating her heartbeat until the violent thumping left her chest tingling.
It was an entirely new sensation, but Loranhir's attention wasn't on it at all.
Because she suddenly noticed something unbelievable.
Everyone's movements seemed to have slowed down—the charging vampires, their sharp fangs, even the rustling of leaves in the wind, the falling of withered foliage—everything had become so slow, so sluggish.
In that instant, her nervous system fired signals relentlessly.Loranhir was certain it was an excitement she had never felt before, like vibrant berries bursting with juice in her mind.
Almost instinctually, she coldly uttered a name.
"Yanubi."
A faint tremor in her heart resonated with a savage Wyvern in the distance.
Crimson flames ignited in her palm, and Yanubi's draconic claws materialized instantly within the fire, phantasmally attaching to her right hand.
In the blink of an eye, Yanubi's claws tore through the enemy.
A force both pure and overwhelmingly powerful.
Loranhir froze, as if jolted awake from a dream. Surveying the corpses around her, she realized the vampire thralls sent by Dreka to search for the Princess had long been slaughtered, the scene of carnage resembling the aftermath of a dragon's rampage.
"Did I do this?"
But Yanubi's fury still burned in her chest—a power that belonged to her, or perhaps didn't, the sensation of losing herself threatening to drown her.
Yanubi's draconic form thrashed wildly in her mind. Closing her eyes, all she saw were a pair of vicious, resentful golden pupils, nearly dragging her into the abyss.
She slowly found a step to sit on, clasping her hands and resting her forehead against them.
Loranhir had no idea how long this struggle lasted—until she heard the sound of measured, elegant footsteps not far away. Just like the person they belonged to, they were unmistakable, one of a kind.
Instinctively, she lifted her head and looked toward the sound. The white winter holly there was breathtakingly beautiful.
Its branches drooped like willow tendrils, stretching outward. Loranhir watched as the Princess stepped beneath the tree's shade, a gentle breeze carrying petals that settled at her feet and shoulders.
The sky behind her, now free of the morning's gray clouds, was a clear, washed-out blue.
Yanubi's frenzied heart came to an abrupt halt—as if sensing a natural predator, or perhaps because Loranhir had calmed.
Her mind settled, bit by bit.
Like a single heartstring plucked softly within her, the tender note slowly spread until only a profound silence remained.
"You're losing it," Patunasankus said seriously.
In her eyes, Loranhir was covered in blood, looking utterly terrifying. Even Elaphia couldn't bear it and handed her a handkerchief, gesturing for her to step closer.
Loranhir hadn't expected the Princess to remain unfazed by her blood-soaked appearance. Overwhelmed, she stammered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I don't know how, but I just... killed them all."
"Why are you apologizing to me for killing them?" Patunasankus looked baffled, then waved a hand dismissively. "Go wash yourself clean right now, or don't even think about coming within five meters of me. Understood?"
The evil dragon of the past had no concept of filth, but now she had developed a fastidiousness.
A very severe one.
"Elaphia, take her to get cleaned up," she ordered, pointing toward the makeshift bathhouse in the refugee camp.
Elaphia immediately stepped forward, giving Loranhir a once-over before recalling the gruesome scene from earlier."That was quite intense, no wonder I've never seen you fight before. Having to take a bath after every fight—I wouldn't want to start one casually either," Elaphia said, resisting the temptation of the blood as she pulled Loranhir further away. "Go wash up quickly, so you don't upset the Princess."
"...They started it all. I don't know how things ended up like this," Loranhir muttered, following behind Patunasankus as they headed toward the bathhouse.
Patunasankus remained silent.
Because she had spotted that little girl again up ahead.
As always, the girl wore a simple ponytail, her small delicate face framed by almond-shaped black eyes, her complexion slightly dusky.
The girl waved a fairy tale book at her—one she'd somehow dug up from who-knows-where.
This time, the evil dragon didn't comment.