Chapter 10: The Troubled Young Dragon.

Rose huddled deep inside her massive blanket fortress, finally beginning to confront the real trouble this reshaped body had brought her: getting dressed.

She cautiously stood up, attempting to pull the dull gray linen shirt—salvaged from some slave’s abandoned pack—over her head.

The moment she straightened, her center of gravity unconsciously shifted backward. The extra weight from the pair of wings on her back and the heavy tail dragged her off balance without warning. Completely unprepared, she toppled straight backward.

Thud!

Her head struck the cold bedpost with a solid, muffled impact. Stars exploded across her vision. Then her entire small back slammed against the hard bedframe. The violent jolt forced a pained cry from her lips. Her body sprawled across the luxurious yet freezing bed like a flattened doll. Her silver wings instinctively fluttered a few times from the shock, stirring a faint breeze. In a panic, she grabbed the blanket again and wrapped herself up tightly once more.

It hurt so much…

Rose winced, clutching the back of her head. She had been sitting on the bed ever since waking up; she never imagined the wings and tail weren’t just inconvenient—they carried such significant, impossible-to-ignore weight.

Did dragons… all walk around this clumsily?

She rubbed her throbbing head, brows knotted in frustration, staring up at the ferocious relief carvings on the ceiling. She felt unprecedented annoyance and disgust toward these extra appendages on her body. Every step felt like moving under heavy weights—pure hindrance.

“You alright?”

The concerned voice beside her snapped her back to reality. She immediately steadied her tone—trying to sound calm yet unmistakably angry—and replied:

“I’m fine.”

“Hiss—”

Rose sucked in a sharp breath. To think Restel had witnessed such a clumsy, embarrassing moment—it was mortifying.

No—right now, it was humiliating her dragon face.

She glanced at the clothes. Her wings were folded behind her, soft and delicate like a fledgling bird’s yet already structured with bone—silver-white and utterly obstructive.

No matter how she twisted or reached back to adjust, the rough fabric kept getting caught on the protruding wing bones. It refused to cover her back properly.

And that tail—flexible, constantly trying to “help” yet always making things worse—kept snagging the cloth or sweeping it aside at the worst moments.

Frustration surged through Rose in an instant. She irritably flicked her tail inside the blanket. Her silver brows furrowed tightly; her silver eyes filled with annoyance at this overly accessorized body of hers.

But then—a thought flashed through her mind.

Wait… that bastard Restel was also a dragon, right? Yet he had no horns on his head, no tail behind him, and no cumbersome wings on his back. His form was far closer to human.

Which meant…

A possibility suddenly dawned on her. Could she… perhaps retract her tail and wings too?!

The realization made Rose’s heart leap. A faint spark of hope ignited amid the despair.

She immediately closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down. Her slender, scale-covered little hands spread open tensely.

She began to focus her mind, trying to sense the lingering power within her body. The sacred holy light that once belonged to her priest self felt buried under thick sludge—faint to the point of almost undetectable. But soon, she locked onto another presence: far stronger, far more glaring.

Deep in her chest, near her heart, a sharply faceted object radiated dark mana. It sat there coldly, embedded like an alien stone forced into living flesh. It exuded an aura completely at odds with the surrounding life force, bringing waves of dull, dragging pain.

Rose bit her lower lip hard. Since Restel could control his form, the key to that control had to lie within this Demon Core.

She took a deep breath and gathered what little willpower she had. Carefully, she tried to guide the mana originating from the core—directing it toward her wings and tail—imagining them vanishing, retracting, merging back into her body.

But the instant she began to draw on that power, a violent, electric-shock-like paralysis exploded along her spine.

Her arms felt pierced by countless icy steel needles. Intense pain and numbness made her convulse sharply. A stifled groan escaped her; the attempt cut off immediately.

Her hands fell limply to her sides. Her fingertips still trembled uncontrollably, the residual shock sending heart-palpitating tingles through her.

Just as that bastard Restel had casually mentioned—this juvenile dragon body simply couldn’t withstand the strain of controlling such power. It couldn’t reconcile the violent clash between her lingering holy light and the newly born Demon Core. Forcing it only invited agonizing backlash.

Rose pressed her lips together. Her silver eyes glared unwillingly at the dull gray garment on the bed, then at her still-prominent wings and tail. Frustration and humiliation twisted together inside her. She took several deep breaths before managing to suppress the irritation and resentment boiling in her chest.

Finally, extremely reluctantly, she muttered toward the nearby presence in a muffled, low voice thick with awkwardness and disgust:

“Hey…”

“Didn’t I already tell you my name?”

Restel responded casually the moment he heard the small sound from inside the blanket.

Call him Restel? Just thinking about it felt like polluting her own tongue!

Her lips twisted in revulsion. Ignoring whatever complaint he might have, she went straight to the point, raising her voice slightly with suppressed irritation:

“Can you help me retract my tail and wings? Otherwise… I can’t get these clothes on at all…”

“Help you? Sure.”

He drew out the word, voice low and laced with temptation.

“But I have one small condition.”

He leaned down, bringing his handsome yet wickedly charming face closer to the edge of the blanket. The smile on his lips deepened as he spoke each word clearly:

“You obediently call me ‘husband’ once, and I’ll help you.”

Buzz—!

A rush of blood surged straight to Rose’s head.

The earlier embarrassment, pain, and frustration ignited instantly under those utterly shameless words, transforming into towering rage. Her silver eyes widened in fury, blazing with shame and humiliation.

“Husband your ass!”

She shouted in anger. Her small body trembled slightly from sheer fury; her tail lashed out and smacked the bed with a sharp crack.

Call this damned Demon King—the kidnapper who had destroyed everything she was—“husband”?!

Absolutely not!

Rose dropped the clothes and yanked the blanket even tighter around herself, wrapping up into an impenetrable cocoon that blocked out that infuriating face.

Her voice came out muffled from inside the blanket, yet carried unprecedented resolve:

“Then I’ll just stay in this blanket forever! Starve to death in here! I will never call you that!”

Every word dripped with rejection and protest toward the very idea of that title!

She paused, then—remembering the word “husband” again—gritted her teeth in fury and added through the blanket:

“We’re not even married yet! Stop taking advantage of me!”

Her tone was filled with righteous indignation and absolute refusal.