The Dragon Heir (A Monster Evolution LitRPG)

"Barn, don't go killing anyone or even showing yourself. Just keep my vitals intact with that invisible force of yours," I instructed, pausing momentarily. He had saved me from being tossed about and choked, but could he fend off something more sinister? "Could you manage that?" I inquired.

 

Three affirming clacks of his jaw answered me.

 

Splendid. The men were advancing now, likely intent on whisking me away as one of their comrades had done earlier. Barn, in essence, could wipe them out before they even laid a finger on me. He was a veritable gold rank, and these guys were, at best, yellow or maybe red core, but I doubted it. I couldn't gauge their exact strength, but I vividly remembered that iron grip from earlier, the speed at which he moved, and the force with which he hurled me. It was best to err on the side of caution.

 

But even that was child's play compared to what a gold rank could accomplish. Nevertheless, I needed to tread carefully; what had occurred earlier was a mistake. People were milling about the illegal ritual I had orchestrated. What if they knew it was a NetherBeast? Magic made nearly everything possible, so it wouldn't be far-fetched to think they might look for traces of chaos.

 

Every time one casts a spell using mana, it leaves a bit of residue behind. Now, if the same applied to chaos, then when Barn unleashed his power here, it would certainly leave traces of chaos lingering about.

 

There was a popular band of enforcers from the capital, rumoured to be able to sniff out the exact location of a caster just by visiting the site where the spell was cast. They were affectionately dubbed 'The Bloodhounds.'

 

One might call me paranoid, but if someone could trace Barn from these traces of chaos, we'd be in a frightful spot of trouble. Not just me, but Father too. The entire town would turn against us, and let's not forget the whole army lurking about.

 

I, simply, didn't want that to happen. While I doubted they could harm me with Barn around, my life would be turned topsy-turvy with possibilities I didn't even want to fathom.

 

So, when a sword was now pointed directly at my throat, the holder didn't drop dead on the spot. I counted six men, all in the same attire, same imposing figures, and the very same face masks etched with eerie lines. It made me think they belonged to a certain organisation.

 

With my hands held aloft in a gesture of utter surrender, I could feel the cold scrutiny of the man holding me at swordpoint. Everything around us was unnervingly spotless, practically sparkling, but his interest wasn't piqued by the cleanliness. Oh no, it was my tattered attire that caught his eye, with enough of my top shredded to expose my midriff. And, naturally, the cut on my torso.

 

"P-please," I stammered, ensuring my voice quivered convincingly as I stared at the blade mere inches from my throat. Although it posed no real danger—thanks to the invisible shield of energy protecting me—playing the part was crucial. I needed their guards down and suspicions firmly tucked away. "I don't know anything. Just... don't hurt me."

 

The swordsman barely glanced at me, his eyes fixated on the gash across my midsection. He then turned his head slightly, barking at his comrades with a voice as sharp as his blade.

 

"Where is Wren?" he demanded, irritated. "He was supposed to fetch this freak. Now he's vanished."

 

A man standing to his right shrugged with the sort of nonchalance only someone truly clueless could muster. "Probably got lost again, knowing him. Either that or he's off on one of his little detours—something shiny might've caught his eye."

 

The leader growled in frustration, the tip of his sword pressing ever so slightly closer to my skin. "We don't have time for his games. The ritual is already underway, and those blasted dogs from Alcor and the bloody Adventuring Guild are nosing around where they shouldn't be." He growled again, glancing over his shoulder. "You two, spread out and find him. And make sure he hasn't left any mess behind."

 

The two men nodded and vanished—not in the illusory sense, but in that they moved so swiftly it seemed as though they disappeared. The wind from their sudden departure slapped my face. The leader, at least I assumed he was the leader given how he bossed the others around, had mentioned a ritual. A ritual and information about a half-beast, magicless freak had these formidable men chasing after her. My brain was making connections I desperately wished it wouldn't, as a sense of dread twisted my stomach.

 

His gaze found its way back to me, though I couldn't see his eyes behind that infernal mask, and a shiver scuttled down my spine like a chilly spider. Quite understandable, really. Despite Barn's best efforts at protection, I was a nobody—bereft of magic, powerless as a damp sponge. And the chap standing before me? A bona fide predator, the sort who'd dispatch me without batting an eyelid.

 

Then, without much ceremony, they gagged me, tied me up like a Christmas turkey, and one of the fellows slung me over his shoulder as if I were a particularly irritable sack of spuds. Wait, what was Christmas again? Dang these memories from dreams.

 

His armour though, with its odd pointy bits, would have been dreadfully uncomfortable, but I felt a strange force envelop my torso. Ah, bless Barn! A wry smile tugged at my insides.

 

But I kept up the charade. Muffled cries, pitiful struggles, crocodile tears streaming down my face—had to keep the act convincing. Not that my porter gave two figs. He had the grip of an iron vice, and escape was a pipe dream.

 

We traipsed through alleyways I never knew existed, a veritable warren of the Randall's underbelly. At the alley's end, one of the blokes fiddled with a lamp, and lo and behold, a wall gave way to reveal stone stairs spiralling downward. They hustled us inside with unseemly haste.

 

The place was something else entirely. The walls, dank and dripping, closed in around us as we descended. It reeked of wet earth. Flickering torchlight cast shadows that seemed almost eerie, playing tricks on my eyes. Perhaps it was the nervousness and sense of dread, making the mundane seem horrifying.

 

There's something truly unsettling about uncovering things hidden right under your nose, things you had no inkling of. Peeling back the veneer of reality to find another world lurking beneath, waiting to be discovered. I never knew Randall. Just a normal village under the jurisdiction of Alcor? Bah! A rather unnerving revelation, that. One wonders what else might be lying just out of sight, waiting to pounce when least expected.

 

Ah, but there I was, left with naught but my own musings for company. My tear-brimmed eyes darted about like jittery sparrows, searching for... well, something. A sign, perhaps? Some clue in their behavior? Any inkling as to our destination? Likely none of the above.

 

No time for further rumination, though, as I felt the stairs incline beneath me. Were we finally leaving that stifling tunnel? Oh, thank heavens, the air down there was getting quite stuffy.

 

We emerged into a building that seemed to smell of soil and musty old pages. Hold on a tick—this was the Randall's Library basement! I craned my neck, a tad awkward in my current position, but managed nonetheless. Yes, indeed, this was the basement where old librarian Jord squirreled away all the books in need of some tender loving care. I'd been down here before, back in the days when I'd help the him with his task of mending torn pages and re-gluing bindings. I further craned my neck as I passed an aisle, ah, yes, there it was, still at the same spot, the old red covered volume on the history of enchantments.

 

The men hoisted me up as if I were nothing more than a sack of potatoes, my faux protests stifled by the gag. Bound and at their mercy—or rather, their lack thereof—I was a prisoner to their whims. Up the all-too-familiar stairs we went.

 

As we reached the ground floor, there was old librarian Jord, stationed behind his usual counter, a soft smile on his lips as he leafed through the pages of a book. Jord was a tall, wiry old man with an untamed mane of white hair. Spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, reflecting the contents of book he was holding. The library was deserted, save for the closed sign dangling by the door.

 

Blast it all, was Jord in peril now? He seemed utterly oblivious, his attention absorbed by the pages, while these ruffians looked the sort who'd silence any witness without batting an eyelid.

 

I squirmed against my restraints, desperate to catch his eye, to warn him of the impending danger. At last, Jord glanced my way. He was close to the door, a quick dash and he'd be out. But he didn't budge. Huh? My mind reeled, my struggles momentarily forgotten as he turned my way, simply smiled, a calm, almost knowing look directed at the strangers emerging from the basement of his library.

 

"Our cooperation ends here," the leader declared, tapping a ring on his finger. From thin air, a colossal tome materialized, landing with a thud on the counter and sending a cloud of dust into the air. Jord's eyes widened, hands trembling as he reached out to touch it gently.

 

"Your generosity is much appreciated," Jord said, his voice was rather unwavering even as his trembling hands betrayed his nerves. With painstaking care, he slid the tome beneath the counter.

 

Generosity? Collaboration? The words felt foreign. I even momentarily forgot everything else, my gaze locked on him, my eyes brimming with unshed tears, carrying a singular, burning question. Why?

 

Jord was an old friend of my father's, a figure from my childhood. He was like the grandfather I never had, the one who taught me to craft letters and spin tales. the afternoons spent in this very library, learning to mend tattered books and tenderly placing them under the golden sunlight streaming through the windows. There were other children too, but he always said I was his favourite, that I reminded him of his daughter in the capital.

 

But the man before me, wearing Jord's face with an unsettling smile, felt like an imposter. This wasn't Jord. I couldn't believe it. It had to be someone else, someone who'd quaffed a potion of transformation to don his visage. My mind screamed the truth at me, but my heart refused to listen.

 

Why?

 

The question was constant in my head, even as the man tightened his grip on my frozen frame, dragging me along with his leader. They flung open the library door and unceremoniously tossed me into a waiting carriage outside. A force cushioned my fall, but my thoughts were elsewhere, lost in a daze as I stared back at the library's open gate.

 

One of the armoured men sat beside me. The last thing I saw before the carriage door slammed shut was Jord, standing at the library door, smiling that same old smile. It had never seemed so cruel.