“You bastard!”
Yiyi threw down her dagger and grabbed Aze’s collar tightly, yanking him out of the prison cell with a sudden jerk.
The iron chains scraped loudly against the floor.
She bent down to pick up the dagger from the ground and threw it hard at Aze’s feet, her voice choked with unbearable sobs, yet filled with unyielding resolve:
“Stand up! Pick up the sword…”
Aze staggered and fell onto the floor, staring blankly at the dagger by his feet.
Then he looked up at Yiyi with a face full of confusion: “What?”
“I said pick up the sword! Fight me! Harlaize!”
Those three words thundered through the damp dungeon like a bolt of lightning, shaking the torch sparks loose as they fell silently to the floor.
Aze’s entire body stiffened.
His murky eyes widened abruptly, the madness and numbness on his face vanishing in an instant, leaving only shock so deep it was almost disbelief.
He even forgot to wipe the blood foam still wet on the corner of his mouth.
He stared blankly at Yiyi, lips trembling, his hoarse voice breaking as he asked, “You… you called me what?!”
“Harlaize.”
Yiyi repeated each syllable deliberately, her voice trembling with suppressed sobs but strikingly firm.
That was Aze’s true name—known only by the brothers of the Holy Spirit Order.
It was the name of the seventeen-year-old boy who had once carried her across the snowy fields, shouting about protecting their home together while holding up a wine pouch.
She released her grip on his collar and took a step back, her gaze locked onto him, emotions swirling in her eyes, a mix of love and hatred.
“Pick up the sword and fight me.”
Yiyi’s voice trembled slightly but was decisively resolute.
“In the way of the Holy Spirit Order knights. Let’s settle this. If you win, I’ll believe everything you say, and together we’ll uncover the high council’s conspiracy and avenge our brothers. If you lose… then go to hell and meet the brothers who have died!”
“Hades—!”
Aze roared, the sound shaking dust from the dungeon ceiling.
His hand gripping the dagger bulged with veins, the blade pointed with a desperate ferocity straight at Yiyi’s chest.
His eyes flooded with crimson, a mix of awakened rage and years of buried guilt.
The sharp whistle of the blade cutting the air was like a thunderclap tearing through the past.
…
Tick—tock—
Drops of blood splattered on the cold stone floor, each sound amplified endlessly in the deathly silent dungeon, hammering heavily on the heart.
Yiyi froze in place, the sharp pain in her chest spreading like wildfire through her nerves and limbs.
She looked down at the dagger lodged deep in her chest; the tip trembled slightly, stained with warm, flowing blood.
Her gaze shifted upward to Aze’s bloodshot eyes—the same eyes that once brimmed with youthful laughter and reckless spirit.
Now they held only overwhelming grief and a fleeting flash of panic.
“W-why didn’t you dodge?”
Aze’s voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable, his hand gripping the hilt trembling violently, knuckles whitening to the point of cracking.
He had thrown everything he had into that strike, determined to die with her.
But seeing Yiyi stand there without flinching, seeing the blood dripping down the blade, his heart felt like a piece was being gouged out.
Yiyi struggled to raise a hand, fingertips brushing Aze’s scarred face, her touch gentle as if caressing a fragile treasure.
A pale smile tugged at her lips, blood spilling from the corner, staining her chin crimson: “I… believe you.”
Those three words were as light as feathers yet crushed Aze’s spirit in an instant.
He suddenly loosened his grip on the dagger, staggering back, hands clutching his head as he let out a beast-like whimper: “Why! Why do you believe me! I’m a traitor! I’ve harmed everyone! I even betrayed you…”
Yiyi coughed violently, blood splattering on Aze’s worn clothes, blooming into dark red stains.
She clenched her teeth, enduring the stabbing pain in her chest, speaking slowly and deliberately: “If you’re a man, then get up and face the crimes you’ve committed! Atone!”
…
The faint glow of magic rippled gently through the room, casting a warm light that failed to dispel the lingering stench of blood and heaviness in the air.
Xiamir’s fingertips hovered, shimmering with pearly white light, slowly passing over the bandages wrapped around Yiyi’s chest.
The bleeding fabric gradually stopped seeping red.
Sweat beaded on his temple as he spoke softly: “The wound has stabilized for now, but you’ve lost too much blood. You’ll need at least three days of rest.”
Yiyi leaned against the sofa, her face still pale but her back straightened, her gaze fixed on Aze lying on the floor.
The shackles around his wrists and ankles were fastened tightly, the metal clinking heavily against the ground, as if demanding atonement for his past sins.
“Avenging, avenging! Why does this grudge fall back on Yibao herself?”
Xiamir looked at Yiyi’s pale face, his tone full of helplessness and pain.
“If it weren’t for your mother arriving in time, this little dragon cub’s life would have been over.”
Yiyi pursed her lips, suppressing the discomfort from her wounds, but her eyes remained defiant: “This is my own grudge. I know it in my heart.”
Aze hung his head, fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.
Listening to their conversation, his chest felt crushed by a thousand-pound weight, guilt and resolve churning within him.
Xiamir turned to look at Aze beside them.
With a slight motion of his finger, a small glass vial appeared from thin air, landing steadily by Aze’s leg.
The bottle contained a pale purple potion, shimmering with tiny flickers of light:
“Drink this and you’ll temporarily become a dragon. Otherwise, moving around the palace will be difficult, and with your current status, the guards might mistake you for an assassin and kill you on the spot.”
“I’ll drink it…” Aze’s voice was hoarse and low, without hesitation.
He slowly lifted his head, eyes sweeping over Yiyi’s pale but resolute face, then down to the potion at his feet.
He bent down, picked up the vial, pulled out the stopper, and tilted his head back, drinking the liquid in one gulp.
Suddenly, a burning heat exploded in his throat, rapidly spreading through his limbs and body.
Then came the excruciating pain of bones breaking and regenerating, like countless dull knives slicing repeatedly inside him.
Aze groaned softly, his body curling involuntarily on the floor, muscles convulsing violently, veins bulging under his skin, as if something was about to break free from within.
His form gradually shrank.
His once tangled, withered black hair began to fade visibly, turning into flowing silver-white locks that cascaded over his shoulders, glowing softly.
A delicate silver-white dragon tail slowly emerged from his back, its scales fine and smooth, gently swaying with his breath.
His previously murky eyes cleared, transforming into dazzling golden irises that radiated dragon majesty but still hid lingering guilt and steadfastness.
“Am I… turning into… a girl? And my body… is getting smaller?”
The clear yet soft female voice came from Aze.
No—she raised a hand to touch her cheek.
The skin felt delicate and soft.
She looked down at her figure, no longer rugged but slender like a young girl.
The silver tail behind her swayed unconsciously, and her golden eyes were filled with shock and helplessness.
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