“Just sit wherever you like. Today’s session is just for collecting basic external data.”
Raphaëlle followed Fischer into the same room as before. He spoke while picking up a thick stack of papers from the desk—written in characters she couldn’t read.
External data?
Raphaëlle hugged her arms uneasily. The door behind her shut by itself, sealing the room in silence.
This human always used strange terms she didn’t understand—like research or data. Such concepts didn’t exist in the Draconian language. Fischer had to substitute similar terms, and when he couldn’t, he just transliterated them from Naryan.
“Don’t just stand there—sit on that chair behind you.”
“…”
Without a word, Raphaëlle sat in the wooden chair. Then, Fischer tapped several tall black pillars around the room. Instantly, a transparent dome lit up with glowing light—startling her.
Her mother used to say that dragonkin souls glowed brightly—warm beacons that helped lost dragonkin return home each year. She had never seen it for herself, though.
She didn’t realize the light was simply there to help Fischer observe her more clearly during his examination.
He slipped on a monocle that emitted a faint glow. It was a special magical artifact—one that let him see the flow of magical energy inside a living body. Some demi-humans had traits that changed according to their inner mana. He wasn’t sure if dragonkin were the same.
It was rare to find one in the Western Continent. He had scoured the South before finally locating this red-scaled one. According to other dragonkin, her coloration was extremely rare. If she wasn’t the prophesied Crimson Dragon Queen, he’d just have to accept the loss.
“Don’t move from now on.”
He pulled a rolling tray from beside the desk—on it were several tools Raphaëlle didn’t recognize. When she saw the iron instruments glinting under the lamp, she instinctively wondered if they were torture devices.
So this was research?
She clenched her teeth.
Fischer had barely picked up the measuring tape when he saw her close her eyes and assume a brave, martyr-like pose. He blinked, but kept his expression neutral and continued with his task.
The first step was to collect basic physical stats: height, weight, tail length, age, and so on.
“You’re afraid of guns.”
She flinched slightly as something cold touched her leg, and her eyelids fluttered—but his calm, matter-of-fact tone forced her to open her eyes again.
“If you’d ever had one tear through your body, you’d react like a twitchy caterpillar too.”
“Caterpillar?” He looked up as the tape extended, his face serious. “Nice metaphor.”
“…”
Raphaëlle ground her teeth. Her claws clenched. She wanted to rip this disgusting human apart.
Dragonkin didn’t have scales everywhere, but they did cover much of the body. From the knees to the lower belly, she was mostly bare—but with her linen tunic, Fischer couldn’t be certain of the specifics.
When will she try to kill me?
If she fails… I can study her further.
His eyes fell on a patch of paler, round scales on her lower leg—slightly different in color from the rest.
He reached out and gently gripped her calf. Her warm scales and the underlying muscle shape pressed against his palm. Despite their strength, dragonkin scales weren’t sharp—in fact, they were surprisingly smooth, except for the armor-type scales that developed in adulthood.
“Nnh…”
Raphaëlle inhaled sharply, uncomfortable. Her clawed foot curled slightly.
“Beautiful scales… This area was hit by a bullet once. These ones are newly grown.”
“Heh… If not for those cursed guns, those humans wouldn’t have caught me. They’d all be dead.”
She licked her lips, her emerald eyes filled with savage light. To capture her, a dozen human slavers with guns had been sent. She’d killed three-quarters of them. That’s why she received special treatment when captured.
She still remembered how they had beaten her, torn out her scales with pliers, and sliced her skin with blades.
Her pupils narrowed into slits again. If she killed this human, she could go home. She would make humans pay—for all of it.
Her killing intent was so intense that the scales Fischer was touching began to rise.
Every time she became emotional, her scales responded—lifting as if alive. The steam she sometimes released? Another mystery. Something to study later.
He gently smoothed the raised scales back down and reached for a silver knife from the tray. Seeing the weapon, Raphaëlle snarled like a beast. The temperature of the leg in his hand shot up—as if he were holding a boiling kettle.
“ROAR!”
She bared her fangs. But Fischer just sat calmly across from her.
“It hurts more at night, doesn’t it? Especially in the spots where you were shot.”
Her eyes flickered.
“They probably only dug out the bullets. No proper treatment. Whoever patched you up wasn’t a real doctor, let alone one who understands demi-human physiology. That left hidden injuries in your right leg and left arm. When it rains, when you move, when your scales shift—it hurts, doesn’t it?”
“You failed to kill me earlier because your body isn’t aligned. Your right leg can’t keep up with your left, and your left arm lags behind your right. Your movements were slow. I saw the gap. You won’t succeed—not without my help.”
While she was still in a daze, he used the silver knife to lift one of the discolored scales. Beneath it, her skin was an angry black-purple, jarringly different from the healthy white tissue nearby.
“None of your business! I’ll kill you—skin you alive, stain this land with your blood! I swear you’ll die in agony!”
Her scales rose again—but this time no steam followed. Fischer calmly grabbed her leg again and smirked.
“Can you do that, little dragon?”
The silver blade sliced into the rotted flesh beneath the scale. She arched her back in agony, recalling the exact pain from the day the bullet pierced her.
Only this time, it was worse—deep, invasive, marrow-level pain.
Who knew what the slavers had coated their bullets with—likely something designed to cripple even the strongest demi-humans. The muscle inside was practically decayed to the bone.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The silver blade trembled. Raphaëlle’s tail thrashed violently against the floor. But Fischer’s left hand held her leg in a vice-like grip, not allowing even a twitch.
“Kill you!”
“I’ll kill you!”
“K...kill...you…”
“Ugh…”
From her leg to her arm, as the treatment progressed, her threats turned into sobs. Blood trickled down her body, hissing as it hit the ground—producing hot steam.
Fischer winced. His precious flooring…
But at last, the treatment was complete. He wrapped her wounds in clean gauze, layer by layer.
In truth, it hadn’t taken long. The other girls hadn’t even returned yet. But this kind of pain—without anesthesia—made every second feel like an eternity.
“You’ll have your chance… if you can seize it.”
It was his reply to her earlier death threats.
Fischer glanced at her—slumped in the chair, weakened and trembling—and continued measuring her remaining stats with the measuring tape, ignoring her murderous glare.
“Demi-humans heal fast. You’ll be better in no time. I look forward to your next assassination attempt. Tonight’s research is over. You may go.”
He stood, dropped the bloodied knife into a dish, washed his hands in clean water, and switched off the lamps.
Even with the lights out, the colorful afterimages lingered in Raphaëlle’s eyes—along with the image of his retreating back, etched into her memory.
“I’ll… kill you…”
“Mhm. Good luck, little dragon.”