He shouldn’t steal my pendant again, right?

Lilitha stole glances at Rogue, her heart sinking. She couldn’t figure out his motives and feared a repeat of past events.

The pendant glowed. Lilitha knew her father was calling her—back on Dragon Isle, whenever she got lost, he’d always find her through it.

Would it be the same this time?

If she didn’t mess up, she probably wouldn’t be punished, right?

Rogue, meanwhile, was baffled. For days, Lilitha’s “training” had shown zero progress; she couldn’t even focus on learning Draconic. Now, she’d suddenly turned obedient. It caught him off guard.

Torture would’ve worked—break her in a day, and she’d spill everything.

But training?

A little mercy had accidentally steered things right?

Rogue didn’t get it, but he felt relieved. After a week’s effort, progress was finally here.

He stepped closer to wash her. Cold water splashed over Lilitha, making her shiver. It tingled against scabbed wounds, but she clenched her teeth and endured. This was the most obedient she’d ever been under his care.

After the bath, Rogue positioned her in a kneeling posture—back straight, buttocks resting on heels, hands pressed to thighs—like a puppy waiting for food.

Lilitha didn’t resist. If not for her occasional trembling, Rogue might’ve thought she’d fully submitted.

Compared to her past defiance, today she seemed like a different person.

Strange behavior always hides a motive.

Mid-feeding, Rogue’s eyes flickered. He activated his divine blessing.

Lilitha Aurelianus (Juvenile Dragon)

Race: Silver Dragon (Bloodline 100%)

Blessing: Protection of the Silver Dragon God (Dormant)

Current Status: Anxious (Worried the pendant might be stolen again; trying to please him)

Current Needs: Waiting (74%)

Comfort (16%)

Food (7%)

Other Needs: Unknown (3%)

Everything had changed since he first met her a week ago.

*So that’s why she’s so docile—waiting for the Silver Dragon King. The pendant’s glow must be a signal.*

Normally, Rogue would’ve taken this seriously. But Lady Aria had already set out to hunt the gravely wounded Silver Dragon King. Lilitha’s hope was doomed.

After feeding her bread, Rogue didn’t offer water right away. Instead, he crouched close, studying her face.

As he leaned in, Lilitha instinctively arched her back and shifted away. Rogue corrected her posture, pinching her cheeks to force eye contact.

Her gaze was complex—tinged with tension, fear, unease—but surprisingly free of resentment.

*Good sign. I’ve kept punishments measured. If a pet hates its master, training fails.*

He pried open her hand from her chest and pinched her breast. As expected, Lilitha flushed with embarrassment, squirming but not resisting too hard.

Rogue released her cheeks, then scratched under her chin, watching her reaction. She furrowed her brows, squinting in discomfort—just like Rogue years ago, when demons in the Demon Lord Fortress forced him to drink what he thought was water, only to find it was human blood.

Resistant yet obedient.

*Odd. The demon hounds outside love chin scratches.*

Rogue wondered where Lilitha’s limits lay now.

But it didn’t matter. Her change wasn’t for him. The training was still a failure.

After feeding, Rogue ordered Automaton One to tidy up. He left with it, locking the door. Darkness swallowed the warehouse.

Lilitha exhaled deeply. She rushed to dig the pendant from under the straw. *Father’s coming. I’ll go home to Dragon Isle soon.* A sweet, hopeful smile lit her face.

She curled into her favorite corner, wrapping her plump dragon tail around herself. The warehouse was pitch-black and oppressive—the clock’s ticking weighed on her. But this spot had an air vent, letting in a sliver of light and distant wind sounds. It soothed her anxiety.

*Just wait. Father will come.*

Outside, Rogue watched through a peephole. His quill paused. *That smile wasn’t for me. Annoying.*

Lilitha relied too much on that pendant. *What if I really took it?*

He ordered Automaton One to keep watch, then checked the other cells. One prisoner had died overnight. Rogue noted it and sent Automaton Four to handle the body.

Back at his quarters, a purple-faced demon awaited him, clutching his bleeding abdomen. Blood pooled across half the floor.

“Lord Rogue! You’re back—please, save me!” the demon gasped.

Rogue examined him coolly. “Honestly, with your constitution, there’s no saving you.”

The demon brightened. “You mean this wound’s nothing to me?”

“No. I mean you’re beyond saving.”

“Huh?” The demon froze. “I’ve lost blood, but I can still be saved, right?”

Rogue sighed. “I’ll try.”

He fetched his tool—a 1.5-meter Staff woven with vines and leaves, its tip curved like a crescent moon. Classic elven craftsmanship.

His healing was blunt: chant, cast. Leaf-green light flared from the Staff’s tip, like a glowing leaf. It brightened, then dimmed to gray ash—withered.

Rogue wiped his brow, feigning exhaustion. “Done. Check yourself.”

The demon released his stomach. Blood had stopped. His eyes widened. “The flesh grew back!”

*Incredible. Healing magic is demons’ weakest skill—even top mages need complex rituals. Chegos only wanted to stop bleeding, yet full regeneration? Half a minute flat?*

“Thank you, Lord Rogue!” Chegos slapped two gold coins on the table. “I’m Chegos. I’ll patrol outside your estate—call on me anytime!”

Rogue waved him off with a tired smile. Healing demons was just a side gig now.

Outside, Chegos rejoined his buddies, bragging about Rogue’s magic. Only one thing felt off: the new flesh on his belly tingled, almost alive. He checked—nothing unusual.

*Must be my imagination.*