Long, long ago, a dragon suddenly appeared. It kidnapped the princess of the Fairy Tale Kingdom and imprisoned her in a lightless lair.

The king summoned heroes across the land, promising that whoever defeated the dragon and rescued the princess would win her hand—and rightfully claim the throne.

And so, the epic of princess, dragon, and hero began.

…

Jiang Jiu awoke inside the dragon’s lair.

To her surprise, it bore no resemblance to myths or legends—no glittering hoards, no scattered bones. Instead, everything was spotless and orderly. One might even suspect the dragon had obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

Just as Lady Witch had said, the moment Jiang Jiu opened her eyes, she somehow grasped the rules of Witch's Night.

Roleplay.

Witch's Night possessed minimal intelligence, yet could not forge true free will. Instinct rebelled against control—like orcs who’d never bow to slavery—but a deep constraint in its core logic forced it to choose a master.

So it compromised.

It wove a dream, pulling all contenders for Witch's Night into this realm. A selection process would crown the winner.

And that process was roleplay.

In this fairy tale world, each participant received a random role—and had to play it perfectly.

Beggars played beggars. Kings played kings. Princes played princes.

“So… what role was I given?” Jiang Jiu murmured, lifting her skirt hem curiously.

She wore an elaborate gown glittering with gems, delicate tassels, and lace—undeniably cute.

Like a fairy tale princess… No. *She was* the princess.

The “villainess” ran fingers through her glowing magical hair, adjusted the tiny crown on her head, glanced at her white thigh-high socks, and fell into thought.

Oh.

She realized.

Looks like I’m a runaway Disney princess today.

But if she was the princess… why was she in the dragon’s lair?

Only one explanation fit: the story had reached the classic beat—the princess, kidnapped by the evil dragon.

Hence her current location.

In a way, quite the Abyss-level start.

Jiang Jiu smiled faintly, rose from the soft bed, and brushed dust from her socks and skirt.

A beam of light from above enveloped her, glowing brilliantly. Dust motes danced like winged sprites, circling joyfully as if singing.

The “villainess” froze. She reached out; a delicate sprite landed on her fingertip and kissed her hand.

“My princess,” it whispered.

Pure fairy tale magic—even dusting off felt poetic. Jiang Jiu smiled again and waved goodbye.

The sprite shattered into stardust, vanishing. A few glittering fragments drifted into her palm, melting slowly like snowflakes.

Jiang Jiu closed her eyes. A faint smile touched her lips.

When she opened them, sprites and light were gone. Only the lair’s shadows remained, whispering a warning: *The dragon is returning.*

Like a true princess, the world favored Jiang Jiu—dust from her socks, roadside stones, even sunlight—all seemed alive, chattering eagerly to pledge loyalty.

She found this fairy tale world rather charming.

But no time to dwell. Danger was near.

A faint metallic scent filled the air. The ceiling opening darkened. Vast wings, like a sky-swallowing cloud, blotted out the light and landed with a thunderous roar.

Stones, soil, even floating dust trembled under the sudden pressure.

The dragon—the pinnacle of mortal power—had arrived.

It folded its wings mid-plummet, hovered gracefully, and landed as silently as silk.

A gust whipped Jiang Jiu’s hair and skirt. She shielded her face with one hand, held her skirt with the other—the very image of a delicate, graceful princess.

Then silence.

The dragon lowered its head. Vertical pupils, nearly half her height, studied her coldly. Jaws parted slightly, revealing sharp fangs.

“Surprisingly well-behaved,” a deep, almost-human voice rumbled. “I expected you to run.”

Before she could reply, the dragon wore a weary, almost human expression and turned inward.

Jiang Jiu followed. It reached the lair’s deepest hollow, collapsed with a thud, closed its eyes, and breathed heavily.

It was injured.

Lately, human heroes came more often, better armed—some even pierced its scales. Wings, tail, forelimbs bore wounds. Not fatal, but irritating. To dragons, humans were detestable: weak alone, yet cunning, cooperative, terrifyingly swift in progress.

When dragons ruled the continent, humans were primitive. When dragons breathed fire, humans forged metal. When dragons retreated to solitude, humans built magic-tech weapons and conquered races.

Dragons hated humans as humans hated mosquitoes.

It snorted, then glared at the girl standing beside its wing—the princess it had kidnapped, the root of all trouble.

*If she weren’t here… why did I take her?*

Confusion flickered in its eyes. It had forgotten.

A whim. Full after a meal, flying past the kingdom, spotting the princess gazing from her tower—a sudden, overwhelming urge: *I must have her.*

But what use was she? Cute as a vase, mood-lifting, tender… yet too small to eat.

So… not food. Just decoration?

Why risk hero raids for a vase?

…Oh. *I* did it. Never mind.

Melancholy narrowed its eyes. It wanted to sigh—but feared freezing the princess with stray breath.

*Sleep. Heal.*

It turned its long neck toward her, bared teeth in a rough mimicry of speech:

“I will sleep. Human food is stored here. Sensing magic covers the lair. If I detect escape…”

Silence.

*How to threaten her?*

In a thousand years of seclusion, it had never threatened a human.

After a long pause, it glared and growled:

“…I will eat you!”

It reared back and unleashed a long, echoing roar.

The little princess stood mute, seemingly frozen in fear.

*Good,* it thought. *Humans fear dragons. Especially a pampered princess.*

Satisfied, it settled down to sleep.

Then—a timid, sweet voice:

“You… are hurt?”

It opened its eyes. She stood before it, expression fragile, like a rain-drenched puppy abandoned by its owner.

The dragon held her gaze, wary. “Hn.”

She offered a slightly forced smile, placed a hand on its snout.

“Let me help you.”

Her whisper brushed its scales.

Soft light flowed like gentle rain—silent, nurturing. A vibrant life force seeped inward.

A tingling spread through its wounds. Muscle knit. Scales regenerated. Faint floral scents, the breath of new growth.

In moments, all injuries vanished.

Astonished, it turned—only to find the girl asleep on the ground, utterly spent.

Beneath her, lush grass and bright flowers had sprouted, weaving a natural cradle.

…

The dragon fell silent.

It lowered its head, watching her for a long time. Then, with clumsy care, it lifted her gently in its jaws, nestled her against its warm, soft flank, and curled protectively around her.

Only then did it close its eyes.

The dragon guarded the princess it had stolen—and drifted into peaceful slumber.

[To be continued]

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