The Silver Dragon King was destined to die, and the pendant would inevitably stop glowing one day. Yet, abruptly severing Lilitha’s attachment to it was unrealistic.
As long as the pendant remained by her side, the day it dimmed might extinguish her will to live. Roge needed her to adapt to its fading light.
To shift her longing from the pendant itself… to waiting for him, its bearer, to arrive each day.
Roge granted her ten minutes with the pendant. He leaned against the wall, watching silently, taking no action.
Discipline wasn’t absent—just tempered. When she disobeyed, spankings still came.
The moment the ten minutes ended, Roge approached. Lilitha’s eyes widened in terror.
Sensing he’d snatch the pendant, she bared her tiny fangs, coiled her tail protectively over her chest, and glared with forced ferocity.
Like a pup guarding its meal.
Roge rarely saw Lilitha act on pure instinct like this. Far from frightening, it was oddly endearing. That little fang made him want to reach out and stroke it.
A single motion, and the pendant was in his hand. When she lunged to reclaim it, he flicked his leg, sending her tumbling onto the straw bed. Setting the clock for 2 p.m., Roge left the warehouse.
Darkness swallowed the room again as the small window shuttered. Lilitha still struggled by the door.
*Let her make noise. Better than that lifeless silence.*
After watching her settle back into her corner, Roge planned to inspect other cells—until a special visitor arrived at the manor.
It was a demon’s corpse. He’d apparently sought Roge’s aid but died upon arrival.
The demon who delivered him sighed, "Bad luck. He brawled at a tavern, killed his opponent, but took fatal wounds. Barely made it here."
Puppet No. 2 was tasked with disposing of the body. But Roge hadn’t expected a letter tucked on the corpse—a parchment from the tavern.
*"To Lord Roge, forgive my presumption. A warning demands your attention: On the 14th at dawn, the Dragon Clan may strike your manor again. Stay vigilant—Your friend, Wely of the Tavern."*
The letter burst into flames in Roge’s palm. He fell silent. The source of Wely’s intel mattered less than the certainty: the dragons *would* return.
How could those Dragon Clan vermin breach a manor guarded by Germok—a Legendary—and the Demon Lord Army?
The Demon Lord Fortress had activated its arrays yet found no trace. Where could they hide to launch a surprise attack?
*Someone’s aiding them.*
What gain was there in rescuing Lilitha?
If it were Demon Lord Army traitors, any reward would be worthless once Lady Aria discovered them. No one would risk that… unless their target wasn’t just Lilitha—
"Eris?"
Roge recalled the demon who’d recently returned—a fanatic obsessed with Aria. To earn her favor, he’d do anything. Among the Four Generals, Roge had the worst rapport with him.
Because Aria’s "favor" rested on Roge, not Eris.
He’d long wanted Roge dead but held back only for Aria’s sake.
*What if they want me dead in the chaos too?*
Caution was essential.
The 14th was the day after tomorrow. Two days to prepare.
Roge glanced back at Lilitha, smiling wryly. *This little dragon’s brought quite the storm. My quiet life’s shattered.*
Yet… three years had passed since he arrived at the Demon Lord Fortress. The sealed reports, the fabricated lies, her gentle treatment—
*"Lady Aria… what exactly do you seek from me?"*
He shook his head, gazing at the sky.
*Enough. Once I raise this hatchling into a pet and send her off, peace will return.*
*But… some debts must still be settled.*
Ice flooded Roge’s eyes as he strode from the warehouse to Germok’s quarters.
"What do you need mana-suppressing stone for? It’s strategic material. Without Lady Aria’s approval, I can’t grant it. Leave." Germok refused flatly.
Roge waved a hand. "Just powder. To modify the manor’s array—ward off those vermin if they return."
He planned to weave mana suppression into the manor’s defenses. Not total nullification like the cells, but enough to cripple invaders.
Germok studied him intently, as if probing his thoughts.
*With me guarding the perimeter, what’s he still worried about?*
Seeing Germok hesitate, Roge pressed, "Better safe than sorry. And with a suppression array, your soldiers might suffer fewer casualties."
"Fine." Germok relented. A little powder was harmless.
*Foolishness,* he thought. *No array stops a Legendary. Especially not one built by a mere high-rank Priest.*
At noon, Roge returned to his makeshift quarters outside the warehouse. When the clock chimed, he pushed the door open with food.
Lilitha stirred in her corner. The light revived her slightly. Unlike that morning, her gaze now darted over Roge’s form.
Only when he produced the pendant did she *shoot* to her feet, scrambling toward him—only to trip over her own tail. She sprang up instantly, crashing against Roge’s legs.
He held the pendant high. She jumped repeatedly, straining, but couldn’t reach.
Roge stood 180cm tall; Lilitha barely topped 140cm.
He hung the pendant on the wall, then presented the food. His meaning was clear: *Be good, and you can touch it.*
She resisted fiercely again. Roge stayed patient. Two or three times more, and she’d learn obedience earned her the pendant.
That evening, he lingered longer after feeding her. The manor’s array needed modification—and the warehouse required special reinforcement.
By the second day, Lilitha’s spirit lifted. She still fought, but with less fury.
On the third morning, after breakfast, Roge pushed the warehouse door open—and froze.
Lilitha sat in her corner, cradling the clock. Faint light filtering through the wall vent illuminated her face as she watched the hands inch toward his arrival time.
She was waiting for Roge to come feed her.
