Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!-Chapter 84 : The One in My Heart?

"Who are you?"
"Do we know each other?"
"Who let you in?"
"Who told you to hug me?"
Patunasankus fired off questions with extraordinary intensity.
The dazed, sleepy dragon state had ended.
Patunasankus had realized that the girl standing before her now was not the same as the one in her memories.
Like an out-of-focus silhouette, once it became clear, the general shape remained, yet every detail was different enough to overturn all previous impressions.
Thus, an air of unfamiliarity and distance took over—the clingy affection from moments ago now seemed like an illusion that would shatter at the slightest touch.
A world of difference.
"Huh..."
The faint blush on Celia's cheeks gradually faded, and her scattered thoughts settled. She hesitated, unsure which of Patunasankus's questions to answer first.
If anything, what concerned her more was the princess's sudden change in attitude—not that Celia particularly cherished the warmth of that embrace.
Though she had been flustered at first, Celia had noticed every shift in Patunasankus.
The biggest change was in her eyes—still clear, yet flickering with confusion and sorrow from time to time. And her slightly parted lips, soft as petals, seemed like a lone flower blooming in the wilderness—fragile, carrying an almost imperceptible loneliness.
"The hero allowed me to come up here and wait for you to wake," Celia said calmly. "I wanted to speak with Your Highness about something..."
Before she could finish, Patunasankus turned and walked toward the inner room.
"Keep talking. I'm changing."
Patunasankus slipped behind the folding screen. The delicate rustle of fabric followed as her fingers undid the fastenings, and her nightgown slid from her shoulders like falling petals, draping over the edge of the screen.
Celia blinked lightly, her cheeks flushing slightly before she quickly lowered her gaze, clasped her hands, and averted her eyes.
"Your Highness came for the vampires in this city, didn't you?" Celia asked.
"Yes, and no," Patunasankus answered truthfully. "To be precise, I want to burn this city to ashes."
Oh, right.
She had forgotten one thing—she also needed to drag back that idiot vampire thrall who had left the party without a word and make him serve her again.
"Huh?" Celia froze, not understanding. "Burn what to ashes?"
"Just a joke." Patunasankus chuckled. She was growing fond of teasing the girl—in a way, it was as amusing as a cat toying with a mouse it had no intention of eating.
Celia hesitated before replying, ...I'll take that as a 'yes.'
"Your Highness must know how close this place is to the royal capital. For your own safety, I hope you won't interfere with their dealings," Celia cautioned. "Even with your noble status, it's best not to provoke them."
"Them? Who are 'they'?" Patunasankus bent slightly, peeking her head out from behind the screen.The rain outside the window finally ceased, and faint light pierced through the clouds, casting the shadows of tender leaves onto the screen. It made her pure white dress seem to faintly reflect a soft glow.
The wind blew against her, causing her clothes to flutter backward, accentuating her slender figure. Her face was gentle and beautiful, with wide, delicate features.
That dandelion-colored hair was exceptionally lovely too.
Gazing at the reflection of herself in the princess's sky-blue eyes, Celia couldn't help but hold her breath.
No, no—her heart didn't race that much.
It was just that the sight was so breathtaking, even she, as a fellow woman, felt her heart skip a beat.
"I can't say for sure," Celia finally spoke.
Patunasankus's expression cycled through curiosity, confusion, bewilderment, and finally disdain in just a second.
"Is that all you have to say?" She frowned, her face clearly showing a sharp drop in favorability.
"Mmm... that's all." Celia nodded, then suddenly added as if remembering something, "Oh, since you're already in Taurant, you must try the local fine wine. You'll love it. Legend has it, it's so intoxicating even dragons can't resist. Especially now, during the wine festival. Then, I shall take my leave."
Celia clasped her hands before her waist and bowed deeply, her golden hair beneath the hood swaying gently with the motion. For a fleeting moment, puppet-like strings seemed to coil around her face, but upon closer inspection, they vanished like an illusion.
Patunasankus tilted her head and blinked, then furrowed her brows as if sensing something amiss—something she had overlooked.
She pinched her chin in thought, and after a moment, decisively clapped her hands together and called out to Celia:
"Wait, one more thing."
"What is it?"
Celia stopped in her tracks and turned back. The sunlight at the door, fragmented by willow branches, outlined the princess's figure in golden threads.
"Who are you?" Patunasankus pointed out the issue.
"..."
○
Patunasankus had no interest in some saintess of the White Faith, and the little goodwill she had was entirely squandered by the cryptic remark.
If Celia had been a princess, Patunasankus might have perked up a bit. But clearly, this year's Evil Dragon Yearbook showed no signs of any saintess-princess, and the so-called warning went in one of the evil dragon's ears and out the other.
Not a single word stuck.
"Wine so intoxicating even dragons can't resist?"
Recalling Celia's parting words, Patunasankus scoffed.
"Not many acquaintances, but quite the bold talk."
Evil dragons didn't drink, and there were few spirits in the world potent enough to intoxicate dragonkind. Even if one occasionally saw a dragon acting drunk, it was likely just pretending.
But the boast had piqued Patunasankus's interest, if only slightly.
'Might as well keep an eye out for it while searching for Elaphia's whereabouts.'
With that thought, Patunasankus stretched lazily like a cat, yawned, and slowly descended the stairs.The wooden stairs had barely creaked a few times when Patunasankus heard waves of commotion from downstairs. The shouts of the patrons were audible even upstairs—it was the lively atmosphere of revelry.
An atmosphere that had nothing to do with Patunasankus.
But Loranhir seemed to be having quite a bit of fun here.
"…I doubt you can pull it out, anyway."
Loranhir wagged her index finger, smirking as she sized up the overconfident dwarf attempting to draw the holy sword.
The dwarf was clearly exerting all his strength, veins bulging along his entire arm like a gathering mob.
In the end, the dwarf's efforts collapsed, and he reluctantly set the holy sword down, shaking his head. "(#Dwarven expletive), this thing's denser than the anvil of the Goddess of Steel and Forging herself. What a beast."
"Overestimating yourself has its limits," Loranhir crossed her arms and shook her head theatrically. "One silver galleon, and it's mine. Anyone else want to try?"
"One silver galleon per attempt? Might as well rob us!" a drunken patron grumbled.
"Take it or leave it. Once this chance is gone, you'll never get another."
Loranhir ran her hand over the freshly polished scabbard of the holy sword, which had once been covered in soot—it had taken her quite some effort to clean it.
"Like you could pull it out yourself. Maybe there isn't even a blade inside—just a solid hunk of rock," someone taunted.
"Impossible!" Loranhir instantly retorted, raising her voice as if flustered. Her pale golden eyes glared, an invisible authority instantly silencing the crowd. No one dared to challenge her again.
"Hmph. Aside from me, this fire poker—" Loranhir coughed, nearly misspeaking, then continued, "Aside from me, only my beloved would have the strength to draw this holy sword."
"Beloved… Really?"
Loranhir heard an exceptionally pleasant voice beside her—ethereal, clear, and faintly elegant.
"Absolutely."
Loranhir lied without batting an eye, then suddenly realized something and turned around.
Princess Latifa stood behind her, having appeared at some unknown moment, tilting her head slightly as she regarded Loranhir with a sidelong glance.
"What are you up to?" Patunasankus asked.
"Uh... just an old trick from when I was short on money…" Loranhir whispered into Patunasankus' ear, her voice hushed.
"What do you mean?"
Patunasankus blinked in confusion, her tone casual.
Whether teasing or melancholic, her words always carried a careless lightness, as if they could slip away unnoticed, soft and sticky like glutinous rice.
"Back when we first tried to pull the holy sword, attempts weren't free. So I thought, since the sword is mine now, why not try it myself…"
The princess's beautiful profile filled Loranhir's vision, and she nervously wiped away a bead of sweat.
"The old priest did it too," she added, squirming slightly as if guilty.
"Beloved?"
Patunasankus murmured the word, then without another word, lifted Loranhir's holy sword.Her fingers lightly brushed against the hilt, feeling the cold metallic texture of the scabbard before firmly grasping it.
As if waiting to see the princess's reaction to drawing the sword, Loranhir stared intently, her expression slightly tense.
Patunasankus cautiously applied a bit of force—dragon strength.
Good.
It didn't budge an inch.
"…Stop dawdling, let's go." Patunasankus tossed the holy sword directly into Loranhir's arms and strode outside without hesitation.
"Go? Now?" Loranhir caught the holy sword and glanced back at the rowdy tavern patrons, reluctant. "But business is booming right now."
"To find Elaphia. And maybe grab some wine along the way." Patunasankus turned her head, her long hair flowing in the air.   "Of course, if you'd rather stay here waiting for your sweetheart, I won’t stop you."
Mischief glinted in her eyes, rippling through Loranhir like a fish’s tail flick, as she grinned at her.
"…Let’s not." She shook her head vigorously.
Loranhir downed the last of her drink, slung the holy sword over her shoulder, and followed Patunasankus out of the tavern.
The two vanished into the bustling crowd under the morning sun.
The golden light of dawn slowly filled the town as the streets grew livelier—ordinary townsfolk, armored knights, beastfolk with all manner of ears, robed figures in dark cloaks…
Early markets were important, after all.