Chapter 9: The Devout Young Dragon.

During the time Restel sent someone to fetch clothes, the vast and empty Demon King’s bedchamber fell into profound silence.

The only source of light came from the flickering flames in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the cold obsidian walls.

Rose remained tightly wrapped in the thick wool blanket, cocooned from head to toe.

Outside it was eerily quiet, yet she could clearly sense that dangerous presence—Restel had not truly left. The invisible pressure he exuded made her hold her breath; she didn’t dare let out even the smallest whimper.

Only after confirming she was temporarily safe did she allow her taut nerves to relax slightly beneath the blanket. Cautiously, she began to examine this sudden, utterly unfamiliar body of hers.

Overnight, everything had turned upside down. What exactly had she become now? She desperately needed answers.

From Restel’s arrogant declaration and the tangible changes in her body, there was no doubt: she had been forcibly transformed by that damned Demon Core—

Into a dragon. A juvenile dragon.

With a mixture of fear and curiosity, she looked down.

The sturdy arms and legs that once belonged to an adult human male were gone. In their place were four slender limbs covered in faint, densely packed scales. The scales were silver-white, with the texture of newly formed moon shells; even in the dimness beneath the blanket, they shimmered with a soft, pearl-like glow.

She tentatively brushed her fingertips over the scales on her arm. A faint, delicate prickling sensation followed—like tender shoots breaking through skin—reminding her this was no illusion.

Next, she felt something firm pressing steadily against the blanket above her head, unexpectedly giving her a bit more room to move inside her cocoon.

She reached up and felt her forehead. Her fingers met something cool, hard, and gently curved.

Rose tilted her head slightly and saw… horns?

A pair of small but already solid silver-white horns protruded from between the strands of hair on her forehead, curving gently backward like crescent moons in their infancy.

And behind her came another strange sensation—as though an extension of her body itself was drawing her attention.

On instinct, she willed it to move. A slender tail, likewise covered in fine silver scales and rounded softly at the tip, slipped out from beneath the blanket. It swayed lightly beside her, responding to her unfamiliar will.

Rose reached out in surprise and carefully touched the sensitive junction where her spine met the tail. The skin there was exceptionally tender; a faint ticklish itch spread outward, as though bone and muscle were still adjusting to this entirely new, extra limb.

After taking it all in, an overwhelming wave of powerlessness and dejection crashed over her.

She buried her face in her silver-scaled knees, staring blankly at the small, fragile body beneath the blanket—clearly shrunken several sizes, so slender it seemed it might snap with the slightest force.

Compared to her former male body, it was…

Weak. And powerless.

Those two words ground repeatedly through her mind. Compared to the tall, strong adult male priest’s body that once channeled holy light, this juvenile dragon form was pitifully fragile.

At that moment, Restel’s arrogant words echoed in her ears once more: the Demon Core inside her had not yet fully fused.

Rose furrowed her brows. She couldn’t sense any foreign object within her body.

A simple, crude idea flashed through her mind like lightning: since it was stuffed in there, couldn’t she just find a chance to use the bathroom and… push it out?

The thought had barely formed before she was immediately defeated by her own naivety and the physiological discomfort it implied.

With a mix of grievance and irritation, she subconsciously rubbed the area below her abdomen—the very place she refused to even imagine as an excretory passage.

How could it possibly be that simple!

She flicked her tail in frustration.

Outside the blanket, silence reigned. Yet the prickling sensation of the Demon King’s oppressive aura had not lessened in the slightest.

Rose stubbornly pulled the blanket even tighter around herself, lips pressed thin, determined to stay completely silent and refuse to reveal her presence.

She didn’t know how much time passed—long enough that the fire in the hearth had nearly died out. Exhaustion overtook her. Hugging her knees, she curled into a tight ball in the corner of the enormous bed, consciousness slowly fading.

Knock, knock, knock.

The steady sound of knocking suddenly rang out, jolting Rose from her shallow doze.

She jerked her head up. Her silver hair bristled slightly as she stared warily toward the door.

“Lord Restel, the clothing you requested has been prepared.”

A respectful, emotionless demonic voice came from outside.

“Mm. Bring it in.”

Restel’s familiar, oppressive voice followed—clearly he had been nearby the entire time.

Rose’s heart leaped into her throat. Her body instantly tensed like a fully drawn bow.

She pricked her ears, catching every faint sound. The door opened and closed. Then came the soft rustle of fabric—something was gently placed on the bed.

Restel’s voice carried a casual note, almost like he was teasing a pet:

“I’ve found clothes for you. See if they fit.”

Rose didn’t move immediately. She nervously peered through a tiny gap in the blanket. Only after confirming Restel wasn’t approaching did she cautiously poke half her head out.

Her gaze fell on several garments scattered across the luxurious black silk bedsheets.

Rough linen fabric. Simple, plain design. Dull, ashen color.

Completely unlike the battle attire she remembered seeing on demon soldiers—armor inlaid with metal plates, radiating waves of dark mana.

A bad premonition rose in her heart.

Suppressing her fear, she forced her voice to sound calm—though a faint tremor still slipped through:

“Where did you get these clothes?”

She had carefully studied the fallen demon soldiers on the battlefield. Their equipment was always infused with dark mana—never this ordinary. These garments were so plain they could only belong to… humans.

Restel seemed not to notice the strangeness in her tone. He simply listened as the demon outside explained:

“We searched a nearby abandoned slave camp. These were salvaged from the belongings left behind by human slaves before they died. They’re barely usable.”

“Slave clothing…”

The two words clamped around Rose’s heart like iron chains, bringing a suffocating pain and bone-deep chill.

Though she was no longer in a human body, the soul of Priest Perth trembled violently in that moment.

What lay before her eyes was no longer mere clothing.

They were relics bearing the final traces of countless humble lives.

Human sweat, tears, perhaps even desperate bloodstains had all soaked into the coarse weave of the fabric.

It was an instinctive reaction etched deep into her soul. She even forgot her current monstrous form.

Rose unconsciously lowered her head, crossing her small silver-scaled hands over her chest. She closed her eyes and silently offered the most sincere and solemn prayer for these unknown, tragically fated souls:

“May these afflicted souls find peace. May their spirits rest in tranquility and return to their homeland. May Your holy light illuminate their path to eternal serenity…”

When she finished, a profound sense of irony washed over her like ice water.

She—a former priest forcibly twisted into the form of a juvenile dragon, a prisoner in the Demon King’s lair—was now praying for dead human slaves inside the very chamber where a tyrannical Demon King was preparing for his wedding.

It was the greatest desecration and mockery of everything her past faith had stood for.

Yet tragically, now that she had lost her power and was trapped in this frail dragon body, the only thing she could still grasp was this small, unextinguished core of conviction born from her true self—

She had once been Perth. She had once been a priest who spread light and offered comfort.

Even if her body had changed, even if she was in hell itself, she would hold fast to that essence. It was her frail weapon against this absurd fate, the final anchor of her soul.

“Dead people’s clothes?”

Restel’s voice—tinged with faint disgust—interrupted Rose’s thoughts.

He glanced at the dull gray garments on the bed and frowned slightly, as though looking at something unclean.

“Too ominous. Isn’t there anything better? Or new ones?”

The respectful voice from outside answered with a hint of difficulty:

“Reporting to my lord, acquiring brand-new human clothing would require traveling to border towns or markets under human kingdom control. That takes time… and carries risks.”

Restel waved his hand impatiently.

“Fine, fine. You’re dismissed.”

He turned toward the little lump beneath the blanket and spoke in a tone as though deciding for her:

“Forget it. Don’t wear these rags. I’ll have my subordinates bring new ones.”

“No.”

Before Restel could finish, a firm, unprecedentedly resolute shout rang out from beneath the blanket.

In the next instant, a small hand covered in fine silver scales shot out from the edge of the blanket with lightning speed. It seized the nearest gray garment in a death grip. Her tiny nails even scraped faintly against the rough fabric from the sheer force.

Rose clutched the dust-stained, time-worn clothing as though it were not merely cloth—but the last fragile thread connecting her to her crumbling past and self.

She lifted her head. Through the gap in the blanket, her silver eyes met Restel’s faintly surprised crimson gaze with abnormal firmness:

“I want these.”

Only these garments—carrying the lingering scent of humanity, bearing witness to human suffering—could anchor her in this abyss of loss and remind her—

She had once been Perth.

She had once been a human with dignity and faith!

This faint connection was the last thing she had to cling to in this absurd draconic existence.