In the dim bedroom, Aerin sat half-upright on the edge of her bed, gently stroking the Holy Sword in her hands.
"Lulu," she murmured, "can you sense who that child truly is?"
At Aerin’s question, the Holy Sword Gungnir flickered faintly. Its glow swiftly coalesced into a floating orb of light beside her.
As the radiance faded, a tiny figure emerged from within.
Barely four feet tall, she wore a sheer white gown that swayed without wind.
Her porcelain-smooth arms and slightly chubby legs were sheathed in lace-trimmed white stockings.
The simple, pure attire made her look like an exquisite doll.
She was the spirit of the Holy Sword Gungnir—
Aerin had named her Lulu.
"Hmm..."
Hovering like a wraith, Lulu frowned slightly, rubbing her chin.
"I can feel the dragon king’s aura on her, but it’s too faint to identify who she is."
"I see."
Aerin mirrored her gesture, tapping her own chin.
"Then memorize her scent. If she tries to flee, drag her to the basement for... strict discipline. If she stays, I’ll test her slowly."
"Mhm."
Lulu gave a tiny nod, accepting her master’s plan.
"By the way," Aerin propped her head on her palm, "are you certain Rigmore became... a girl?"
If she recalled correctly, Rigmore had been a shamelessly mischievous dragon in her last life—
And male.
Yet this time, when she’d shown Lulu a scale from Rigmore provided by the legion commander, Lulu insisted Rigmore was female.
How bizarre.
Reborn once, and even the gender changed?
Aerin fell silent for a moment.
Though... perhaps it was for the best.
She gazed at her slender fingers, a strange glint flickering in her eyes.
If that wicked, troublesome dragon was now female, she could torment it without a shred of guilt.
"Alright, I’ll go check on the child."
"Okay! I’m going back to sleep~"
Lulu stretched, yawned, and dissolved into light, retreating into the Holy Sword Gungnir.
Aerin rose, changed clothes, deactivated the room’s soundproofing, and smoothed her expression into gentle warmth before entering the dining room.
At the table, Rayelle stared raptly at the feast before her, drooling with soft "ahh... ahh..." sounds.
A glistening puddle had already formed beneath her chair.
After all, she’d eaten nothing since her defeat, and healing her wounds had drained her strength.
If not for worrying about Aerin’s impression, Rayelle would’ve devoured the entire table—table included.
"Little one, what’s your name?"
Aerin sat across from her, cradling the Holy Sword Gungnir with a tender smile. Steam from the dishes blurred her features, making her seem even kinder.
(Truthfully, the food smelled heavenly.
And since Aerin had cooked it all, Rayelle’s fondness for her soared.)
"Ah... my name?"
"Mhm."
Aerin nodded lightly, polishing the sword’s blade with a cloth until it gleamed—like an executioner pampering his favorite tool.
A shiver prickled Rayelle’s neck.
W-wait...
Why was she bringing a holy sword to the dining table!?
Staring at Gungnir nestled in Aerin’s arms, Rayelle’s appetite plummeted.
The feast suddenly felt like a last meal—lavish before the blade fell.
She stole a glance at Aerin.
*At this point in time, Aerin was still a kind, naive Hero...*
*Surely she meant no harm?*
Though unease coiled in Rayelle’s gut—like being watched by a hungry wolf.
*Impossible. Someone so gentle couldn’t have such eyes.*
*Yeah. Must be my imagination.*
"R-Rayelle..." she whispered after a deep breath.
"Hmm?"
At the familiar syllables, Aerin’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. She held Rayelle’s gaze.
Those lovely pale-blue eyes held no draconic slit pupils, no regal amber glow.
Yet her sixth sense thrummed with unease.
*An illusion?*
*This child looked like a soft, clueless loli—probably an unawakened dragon king.*
*Nothing like that despicable dragon.*
"Rayelle?"
"Mhm."
"I’m Aerin."
Though a bit slow, Rayelle sensed something off.
*Why does Aerin keep studying me like this?*
*What’s so interesting?*
She tilted her head, glancing down at herself.
Dirt and dried blood caked her small frame—a stark contrast to the clean shirt Aerin had lent her.
(Though "shirt" was generous: on Rayelle’s tiny body, it hung like a knee-length dress.)
*This... this is way too childish!*
Her cheeks flushed.
This form was accidental—she hadn’t expected to be *this* small.
*Why did Aerin react to "Rayelle"?*
*Did she know someone with a similar name?*
Rayelle searched her memory. Nothing.
*Surely she doesn’t know Rigmore...?*
"Alright, Rayelle," Aerin’s voice softened, "you must be starving. I made all this for you. Eat slowly."
"Yay!"
Rayelle’s hunger drowned all doubts. *Food first, thoughts later.*
Eyes sparkling, she devoured the feast at astonishing speed.
*She really was famished.*
Aerin watched quietly, stroking Gungnir’s hilt while her gaze drifted to specific dishes.
Those were her test meals—laced with a rare, fragrant herb Rigmore had feared for millennia. Its effects were cruel: sterility, extreme weakness, and heightened sensitivity. A decades-long torment for a lustful dragon.
In her past life, Aerin had used it to scare Rigmore off repeatedly.
Amid her feast, Rayelle caught the herb’s peculiar aroma.
*So fragrant!*
Cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s, she blinked curiously at the source.
*What’s this? Smells amazing—must be healthy!*
*Probably some exotic spice I’ve never seen...*
*No way Aerin would poison me, right?*
Within minutes, Rayelle had scraped every dish clean—even licking the plates dry.
