Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!-Chapter 83 : No, Who Are You?

The Ripple Tavern was always bustling.
Traveling merchants and adventurers brought him plenty of business. Located along the eastern coast of Sereka, this was where prosperous trade routes and shipping lanes converged. There was never a shortage of people on the move here—though troublemakers were just as common.
Loranhir didn’t even lift her head, merely glancing sideways as if idly observing the sudden appearance of this "tin can."
The man’s getup was far too eye-catching. Even among the motley crew of adventurers, few wore full plate armor like this, towering and burly.
The more Loranhir looked at him, the less he seemed like someone here for serious business—more like a kidnapper.
Princesses were naturally kidnapping magnets—that much was undeniable. Running into a couple of abductors while out for a stroll was practically routine.
"White Church…"
The tavern’s noisy clamor quieted. Patrons began leaving one after another; those with sharp eyes had already recognized his origins.
Loranhir’s brow furrowed deeply.
Wait… where was her drink?
Her gaze fixed pointedly on the middle-aged bartender behind the counter.
Her index finger tapped the table in displeasure—once, twice—until two brimming glasses of rum were finally set before her.
"The Princess is resting," Loranhir said, sipping from one glass. Her faint golden eyes glowed dimly in the shadows as she slid the other rum toward the tin can. "What does the Saintess want with her? Might as well tell me first."
"None of your concern. Bring her down." The tin can nodded impatiently, as if Loranhir herself were utterly insignificant.
Loranhir wasn’t angry—not out of fear, but because she saw no point in pressing the issue. Still, for the Princess’s safety, she had to verify his intentions.
A closer look told her the man had to be at least two meters tall. Experience told her that at that height, blood had a hard time reaching the brain.
That made things much easier.
A complete plan crystallized in her mind.
"Fine, no problem. But do you have an appointment?" Loranhir suddenly asked.
"An… appointment?" The tin can visibly faltered. "What appointment?"
"You know how it is these days—seeing the Princess isn’t that easy. If just anyone could waltz in for an audience, she’d be like a panda in a zoo. Think about it—even zoos require tickets. This is a royal Princess we’re talking about. You can’t just demand to see her."
Loranhir spun her nonsense with a straight face.
"No, no, this won’t do. There’s a proper procedure for requesting an audience with the Princess. Not a single step can be skipped."
"Fine… I’ll make an appointment." The tin can hesitated, then nodded. "That should do it, right?"
"Not yet." Loranhir pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from who-knows-where and slapped them in front of him. "Fill out this form first."
The tin can fell silent for a moment. Then, with surprising formality, he sat down—as if this rowdy little tavern had suddenly transformed into a royal administrative office."But isn't this just a blank sheet of paper?"
The tin can instinctively grabbed a pen, scratching his helmet in confusion at the empty page as if trying to scratch through the metal to his head.
"The Princess is like the blank space on paper—pure yet filled with beauty," Loranhir declared. "Do you have any objections to that?"
"…Fine, but what am I supposed to write on it?"
The tin can reluctantly accepted this explanation but remained at a loss before the blank page.
"Name, purpose of visit, your ideal audience time, and finally, a 500-word essay praising the Princess. Bonus section is optional." Loranhir's tone was utterly serious.
"Seriously? Can't we speed this up?"
"Hmm... According to royal protocol, only pregnant women and the disabled are exempt from appointments."
Loranhir scrutinized him from head to toe.
"At present, I don’t see any signs of pregnancy on you. Perhaps you could present a certificate from the clergy? If you have a mental deficiency, please provide valid documentation."
"Are you messing with me?" The tin can stood up abruptly.
"You couldn’t possibly be pregnant or disabled," Loranhir said earnestly. "Wait… Unless you are?"
"No." The tin can rolled his eyes and snapped.
"So then," Loranhir stretched lazily, as if the matter were settled, "continue filling it out."
"…I’m done! I’m not filling this out!" The tin can skipped the Princess-praising section entirely and tossed the half-completed form at Loranhir.   "Just call the Princess down right now!"
Loranhir carefully examined the paper, then smiled faintly and spread his hands.
"Please remain calm, sir. After thorough analysis, I’ve concluded that you are a church knight attempting to arrange a meeting between the Saintess and the Princess. Given both parties' esteemed status, we can make an exception—you’re exempt from the appointment process!"
"So she can come down now?" The tin can’s voice brightened with hope.
Loranhir, now seemingly disinterested, glanced away. "No. She’s still asleep."
"Ha… Ha… Say that again?" The tin can laughed in disbelief.
A heavy silence fell between them.
The tin can glared at Loranhir as if thinking this person was truly born wicked, while Loranhir glared back as if considering him utterly uncouth.
Only then did Loranhir notice the golden-haired girl standing silently behind the tin can. She wore a pristine white robe embroidered with golden patterns, dignified yet softly feminine, its hem swaying gently with her movements.
"Abella, you’ve really been led in circles, haven’t you?" She smiled, her green eyes glinting with amusement. "Good."
"Lady Celia, this guy’s being completely unreasonable!" the tin can protested.
"You were rude. You deserved it."
"I am Celia Yuselanska, Saintess of the White Church. May I request an audience with Her Highness the Princess?" The girl lifted the edges of her skirt slightly, bowing gracefully to Loranhir with a faint smile."Or do I need to fill out a form too?" she asked.
○
In truth, Patunasankus had occasionally dreamed of her embrace—soft as cotton, light as clouds, with a face full of longing, lingering in her dreams like rain over a night river, her heart sighing sweetly in slumber.
Patunasankus didn’t realize just how much she craved this feeling.
So much so that she often woke up unable to shake off the dream immediately, leaving the entire dragon in a daze for quite some time.
Rubbing her bleary eyes, Patunasankus heard the rain outside, pattering against the roof, the air suddenly turning crisp, as if electrified by the dark threads woven across the sky.
How lovely.
The raindrops hissed softly on the rooftop.
Below, light kisses descended one after another.
She got out of bed, not bothering with shoes, stepping barefoot outside, drifting half-asleep as if through a mist, instinctively searching for something around her.
Pushing open the door, Patunasankus rubbed her sleepy eyes and glanced around.
Suddenly, she spotted another figure—someone with golden hair, shimmering like amber wine in a glass behind a veil of gauze.
To Patunasankus, this was a silhouette both familiar and freshly imprinted in memory.
"Hello, Your Highness," said Celia, who had been waiting there with Loranhir’s permission, greeting Patunasankus. "It’s a pleasure to meet... you?"
Before Celia could finish the last word, she felt an abrupt, soft impact against her chest—small and gentle.
It took her a moment to realize the Princess had carefully buried her face against her.
"!?" Suddenly embraced by a complete stranger—a Princess, no less—Celia froze, her mind thrown into chaos, utterly baffled by the situation.
Her thoughts raced, her carefully prepared words still unspoken, when she was caught off guard by this unexpected turn.
"Your Highness?"
Celia noticed, inexplicably, that the Princess was now looking up at her with a flushed face.
Her body was incredibly soft, and though she lacked any particularly striking features, Celia could still feel the slight swell of her small chest.
For some reason, the Princess kept staring into her eyes, her face drawing closer and closer.
"..."
Closer.
"..."
Closer still.
"..."
Closer, closer.
"Mmm..."
As the Princess’s face neared the tip of her nose, Celia, overwhelmed by shyness, instinctively shut her eyes.
Though her movements seemed composed, her face gradually reddened. She felt something was terribly amiss, her cheeks burning—she couldn’t see it herself, but the other must have noticed, she thought.
Flustered, her face grew even hotter, and she could only stare timidly at the girl.
At a complete loss.
○
Patunasankus couldn’t remember the last time she had hugged someone.
Suddenly, she clung tightly to this girl, as if afraid she might drift away the moment she let go—just like in her countless dreams.But the harder she tried to recall the sensation clearly, the more blurred it became in her memory.
Moreover, within the hazy recollections, only the urgent need for that familiar embrace drove her toward the other girls.
Patunasankus stared intently at Celia's face—the figure before her bore the golden locks she adored most.
That warm, fragile embrace—yet the wide, startled eyes gazing back at her were not the familiar blue she knew so well!
Snapping out of her daze, Patunasankus suddenly sobered, her bright, clear eyes narrowing sharply.
She shoved Celia away without hesitation, her expression layered with unmistakable disdain and distance.
"Who the hell are you?"