The Dragon Heir (A Monster Evolution LitRPG)

The carriage jolted along the cobblestone street, its wheels clattering in a most ungentlemanly fashion. There I was, sprawled on the floor, gagged and tied like a poorly wrapped present. Beside me, on a really plush seat that would make even some wealthy green with envy, sat an armoured fellow.

Not exactly the chatty sort, he was. Silent as the grave, no matter how much I squirmed or pleaded with wide, imploring eyes.

Oh, I tried, trust me. I wiggled, I whimpered, hoping he'd at least throw a sneer my way, if only to glean a snippet of information. Useless information? Perhaps. But any morsel was better than nothing.

Or maybe I was simply trying to distract myself from the dread of what had transpired earlier. These men's now-deceased comrade had let slip that they knew more about me than I was comfortable with. And the revelation that old man Jord was in cahoots with these ruffians... well, that was enough to make one's head spin. Sold me out, he had. Why? How? The mind boggled.

I was starting to piece it all together. Even as a functioning member of society, some saw no value in me. A magicless cripple, a half-beast, a freak of nature. Those with scant magic were already treated poorly, but someone like me, with not even a drop to my name? Heavens, it set off all manner of alarm bells.

Ah, but in certain circles, my stock skyrocketed. A rare, magicless specimen, half-beast and all. Truly one-of-a-kind. Perfect for a ritual or some other dastardly deed. No wonder they went to such great lengths, dispatching these formidable warriors to nab me. Even paid a pretty penny for the privilege, considering how old man Jord clutched that tome – must've been some sort of rare [Magic Path] grimoire. Jord, already at a yellow rank core, had trembling hands. Safe to say, my worth was sky-high.

A ghastly feeling churned in my stomach. No, it wasn't just the incessant jolting of the carriage – though, admittedly, a bit more cushioning wouldn't go amiss. But no, the source of my nausea was the impending doom.

I was about to be sacrificed.

Simple as that.

I couldn't quite put my finger on how I knew, but the conclusion was inescapable. Perhaps I was piecing things together too hastily, but I knew how rituals worked. Each one odder and more sinister than the last. Each requirement more outlandish and unsettling. Each ingredient more exotic. This time, I was the ingredient.

It aligned eerily well with Lotte's prediction too. The thread ending in black, signifying death. So, if this played out as expected and Bran didn't exist to swoop in and save the day, I was a goner.

Maybe I was overthinking it, and something else was destined to do me in. But the result remained the same.

Wherever my destination lay, death was sure to be loitering around, twiddling its thumbs. Or it would have been, had Barn not been my protector for a month. I could feel him, a peculiar tickle, scuttling over my wrist. The carriage had been trundling along for what seemed an eternity, so it was fair to assume we were quite a distance from Randall by now. Barn could flatten them in an instant, granting me a hasty escape, but something felt awry with that notion.

A ritual was in the offing. Somewhere nearby, a godforsaken ritual was being performed by a shadowy cabal. Naturally, the real trouble would commence based on the nature of said ritual. As Lotte had elucidated, there were different varieties: invocation, summoning, transfiguration, and the like.

Patience would serve me well. Once we reached the ritual site, I could scrutinise the proceedings and concoct ways to sabotage it. Moreover, it would give me a chance to discern more about these kidnappers of mine.

Yeah, this was reckless—bloody reckless, I knew. I fucking knew it. But it was necessary too, wasn’t it? Sure, I could kill the lot of them, right here, right now! But then I’d be left with fuck all—no clue who they were or why the hell they needed me. And if it’s some bollocks ritual that needed my sacrifice, then what kind of ritual was it anyway? I’ve got fuck all to work with—no info, zilch, nothing! The 'who' was key. If I off them now and there’s a hundred more of these nutjobs lurking about, ready to have another go—say, a month after my deal with Barn expires, when I’d be back home with Father—oh, Thalador, what if they go after him too? If I acted rash and just slaughtered the lot, I’d be proper fucked, up shit creek without a paddle.

Right, calm down, Jade. You’ve got this. You’ve got a gold-rank monster backing you! A fucking gold rank! Not even an army could stop that, if the tales are true.

So, the plan’s simple—head up there, scope out whatever shit they’re plotting. If it’s dangerous? Fucking off the lot of them. No mercy for those bastards who want me dead.

A cunning scheme began to bubble up in my noggin as the carriage lurched and bumped along the forest path. I could hear the clatter of wheels against what I presumed were gnarled roots and the rugged terrain, punctuated by the occasional jolt that made my teeth rattle. I craned my neck and raised my nose ever so slightly, catching a whiff of pine and damp earth. My senses were always keener than most, even those at the grey core. Though others' senses sharpened as their core colour upgraded, mine were still quite the anomaly. These acute senses told me we were deep in the woods, but as to our destination? I was as clueless as a hedgehog in a fog, as blind as I was gagged and voiceless.

Finally, the carriage ground to a halt. I twisted about, straining to hear something, to catch any sound, any hint. Perhaps a chant? An invocation? A spell in a tongue from different plane? But in the end, there was naught but silence. Just the quiet whispers of the wind through the trees.

The chap next to me stood up and flung open the carriage door. Instantly, my eyes drank in the sight outside: gently swaying trees, a thick canopy, and dappled sunlight kissing the mossy floor. The man stared ahead for a moment, a curious blue light reflecting off his polished armour, before he reached out and grabbed me.

Oh blimey, I had completely forgotten to struggle! I immediately started shaking my head, eyes wide as his hands yanked at me. Then, like a fish out of water – or perhaps more like an eel – I began my pitiful wriggling dance.

I was getting quite good at it.

But he didn't hoist me over his shoulder like last time. No, he simply grabbed the ropes binding me and started dragging me towards... well, I had to do a double take.

In the middle of this lush forest opening lay something straight from those stories told about the fae kind. Flowers in all manner of hues gently swayed in the breeze, and a path cut through them, leading to the centre. There stood a massive stone formation, each stone a long hexagon. I counted six, connected in such a way that they formed a larger hexagon at the centre. Each stone bore patterns etched in a strange tongue, glowing bright blue.

That wasn't what made me do a double take, but the gaping void inside this hexagonal rock formation. It looked like a tarry curtain draped over the fabric of reality, something my mind immediately dismissed as a cheap illusion. A fake. It felt as unreal as the first time Barn appeared before me, his psyche like a rogue brushstroke on the canvas of existence.

I also noticed other armoured men around, each sporting the same mask and armour. This only confirmed my suspicion of it being an organised operation. Watching me being dragged along must have been their cue, for they immediately began to scuttle towards the tarry curtain. A set of stone stairs led up to it, and each man climbed up and vanished into the curtain.

A bloody portal? In the middle of this godforsaken forest? I knew the concept – every enchanter worth their salt dreamt of creating one. There must be some contraption on the other side where this curtain led.

The tar-like curtain constantly rippled and bubbled, absorbing every single one of them. My breathing hitched as I approached it. Was it too late to have Barn kill them and make a dash for it? No. I needed to get a grip. Here I was, deluding myself into thinking I could halt a ritual I knew nothing about, relying on Barn to do all the heavy lifting, with no clue what awaited me on the other side.

This little pep talk wasn't going as planned. Perhaps it was time to stop thinking altogether and brace myself.

I felt a wee scuttle on my wrist. Perhaps Barn sensed my jittery state, for he scurried closer, leaving his bony tail for me to clutch.

While it did naught to calm my nerves, I gripped it tightly as Barn coiled further around my wrist, repeating the gesture. Odd, but I could feel a smile creeping onto my face, a little twirl of the lips as the man stepped through the tar curtain portal, dragging me in with him.

We emerged into an enormous... room? No, it was more of a grand hall, really. Rather spacious. The ceiling stretched so high it could almost touch the clouds, if it were outdoors. I'd liken it to one of those grand rooms in Thalador's Cathedral in Alcor, if it weren't for the peculiar carvings adorning the walls. Faces and monstrous figures, eerily human in form, stared back at us. Featureless faces, blank slates, skin like wings, and wolves with sharp teeth sprouting from every inch of their bodies, cracked and grotesque. Torches flickered along the walls, casting ghostly shadows over these strange carvings. The air, as it filled my lungs, was thick with an ancient mustiness.

Expectations? Not a clue. But what I didn't foresee was a gaggle of robed figures standing at attention, clearly awaiting our arrival. They stood, almost statuesque, clad in voluminous black robes adorned with intricate golden embroidery. Symbols and runes shimmered in their golden splendour, suggesting these were no mere decorative stitches. Enchanted, no doubt. While they might not turn away a sharp blade, they surely offered protection against magical assaults.

My ears pricked up at the sound of distant murmurs. An exit loomed behind the robed figures, and from beyond it, the echo of many voices reached us. A chant, unmistakably. A ritual was underway.

One of the robed figures stepped forward, holding a peculiar device. It was a contraption with a massive core inscribed with Vel' Tan script. Or at least, that's what it seemed like. The empire's official enchanting script, but with some curious …deviations. The script was unusually curvy, with some symbols I couldn't quite place, suggesting it was either a modified version or an entirely different one. I could decipher about half of it, but the rest was a baffling puzzle.

Concentric rings of gold-like metal enveloped the core, etched with similarly bizarre symbols, with a single, shiny needle sticking out of the front.

No time for further inspection, though, as the armoured brutes flanking me roughly prised my hands from their bonds.

I heaved a sigh of relief. My hands had been bound so tightly that the blood flow had practically stopped. I raised them, attempting to flex and rid myself of this bizarre numbness that made my fingers feel like pins and needles.

Huh.

My hand was caught mid-flex. I glanced up, deadpan, to find one of the chaps grabbing my wrist with a grip like iron, forcing my hand toward the needle. Seriously?

But just as the needle was about to pierce my skin, it stopped. Oh, bugger! I'd nearly forgotten about it. Barn! Lowering my head, I gave a subtle shake towards my wrist, hoping he'd catch my drift. If Barn kept this up, my cover would be blown. He scuttled across my skin but, mercifully, refrained from clacking his jaws.

The man holding my hand now scowled, pressing the needle even harder against my skin with more force than necessary.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. Take it easy, big guy.

Pain surged through my hand as I cursed inwardly. Yet, beneath it all, I was silently thanking Barn for letting the needle do its worst. It would have been rather calamitous if they realized I wasn't as helpless as I appeared.

No one paid me the slightest bit of attention as the crystal attached to the needle glowed a brilliant gold before dimming. The robed figures immediately erupted into a hubbub, whispering in a language that eluded me. One of them sauntered forward, giving the chap holding me a hearty pat on the shoulder and uttering something to him.

What in blazes was that language they were speaking? Were they celebrating? Though I couldn't fathom their words, it certainly seemed that way. Perhaps they were delighted that I was precisely the sort of "good" they required. How delightful. This was becoming rather irksome.

The robed men moved en masse towards the exit where the chanting was emanating. And I, predictably, wasn't afforded the dignity of walking. Instead, I was unceremoniously dragged along like a sack of spuds.