As the protagonist of The Dragonblood Rose and Her Poem of Fate, Eserina’s life had been a crucible of hardship.
A half-breed abandoned by the dragon clans, her childhood was a tapestry woven with trials far beyond her years.
Among those threads was her encounter with the demons—a race that had stolen her dearest childhood companion, igniting a hatred in her heart that burned fiercer than most.
To be discovered with demonic aura by anyone else might mean imprisonment, a trial, and eventual execution.
But to be found by Eserina?
If you couldn’t best her in combat, death was certain—and swift.
In the original novel, she showed no mercy to demons, cutting them down without a second thought, sparing them no chance for a cell.
The sound of Eserina’s approaching footsteps sent Iana’s heart into her throat.
She held her breath, every muscle taut, praying for silence.
But it was a futile gesture.
Her demonic aura seeped from her like a tide, saturating the room, with the wardrobe as its epicenter.
“This orb—how do I use it? No instructions, nothing! How am I supposed to make it work?” Iana fumbled with the jade-green treasure, desperation clawing at her.
She tried everything—channeling magic, attempting a mental bond—but the orb remained inert, a lifeless trinket in her hands.
Doubt crept in.
Had the system tricked her?
Was this even the right artifact?
A sharp shing sliced through her thoughts—the unmistakable sound of a sword drawn from its sheath.
Iana’s panic surged.
She was found.
Any second now, Eserina’s blade would pierce the wardrobe, ending her life in a single strike.
Her dragon form was a treasure trove—scales for armor, blood to enhance lineages, teeth and saliva for potions.
A demon-tainted dragon like her, slain without disrupting the fragile dragon-human alliance, would fetch a fortune.
Trembling, Iana burrowed deeper into the wardrobe’s shadows, as if the darkness could shield her from the inevitable.
“My dorm’s been visited by a thief,” Eserina’s melodic voice rang out, deceptively light. To Iana, it was the whisper of a demon from the deepest hells, promising torment.
“Don’t see me, don’t see me,” Iana chanted in her mind, her eyes locked on the wardrobe door, willing it to stay shut.
“Is it behind the curtains?” Eserina’s sword flicked the fabric aside, letting sunlight spill into the room. “Oh, my mistake. Not there.”
Eserina knew exactly where the demonic aura originated.
The wardrobe practically pulsed with it.
But killing the intruder outright?
Too easy.
She relished the game, savoring the fear she could sense radiating from her prey.
Her strength was absolute; no demon hiding in a wardrobe could challenge her.
If they were powerful, they’d have confronted her already, not cowered behind a veil of dark energy.
Were they baiting her?
Unlikely.
A direct strike would end any such ploy.
The truth was clear: the demon was weak.
And given the intensity of the aura, likely high-ranking among its kind.
For such a creature, Eserina had a plan—let them stew in terror, confess their sins in dread, and then meet their end.
“Under the bed, perhaps?” Eserina’s voice was playful, teasing, as she checked another spot. “No, not there either. This is getting tricky.”
She sat on the bed, her gaze fixed on the wardrobe, sword in hand, its tip aimed at the wooden doors.
Her confidence was unshakable, her movements deliberate.
“She hasn’t found me?” Iana’s heart lifted, a flicker of hope amidst the fear. “The great Proud Dragon, missing something so obvious? Maybe she’s not as formidable as I thought.”
But Eserina’s next words shattered that illusion. “Could it be… in the wardrobe?” she mused, her tone almost whimsical. “No, surely not. Who’d hide in a wardrobe?”
Iana nodded frantically from within, clinging to the faint hope.
Yes, exactly!
No one hides in a wardrobe, so don’t check here!
But Eserina had no intention of letting her off. “Still, better make sure. What if a demon did slip into my wardrobe? I’d be a poor host to let them linger.”
She rose, her small heeled boots clicking deliberately on the floor, each step louder than the last.
The sound was a drumbeat of doom, growing closer, more oppressive.
Iana froze, her breath shallow, her body rigid.
Should she fight?
Could she lash out with her dragon claws the moment the door opened, show Eserina she wasn’t helpless?
But reality crushed that fantasy.
Eserina, the novel’s peerless heroine, wielded unmatched power for her age.
Even the other heroines paled in comparison, let alone Iana, a fledgling dragon with soft, untested claws.
She glanced at her delicate, underdeveloped talons, despair sinking in.
Even if Eserina stood still, Iana doubted she could leave a scratch.
“So, what now? Just wait to die?” she whispered, desperation clawing at her. “System, come on, save me!”
Silence.
“Don’t play dead on me now!” she pleaded. “This is your fault I’m in this mess!”
No response.
“Answer me, system!” Iana’s mental shouts grew frantic. “You’re dead? Then come back to life, damn it!”
Finally, as if worn down by her barrage, the system stirred.
[System Notification: Host is in crisis. Recommendation: Purchase a teleportation talisman from the System Shop to escape.]
“A System Shop?” Iana’s eyes darted to the panel, spotting a small label in the bottom right corner: System Shop. “You had this all along and didn’t tell me?”
Elated, she opened the shop, typing “teleportation talisman” with trembling excitement.
But the response was a gut punch.
[Insufficient Balance.]
Iana checked her profile.
Emotion Points: 0.
“Are you kidding me?” she raged. “You suggest the shop when I have no points?”
The system, unfazed, responded instantly. [Ding! Insufficient balance detected. Recommendation: Take a loan of 1,000 Emotion Points, repayable within three months for only 3,000 points.]
[Note: Host can earn Emotion Points by assisting Lillian in winning Eserina’s affection.]
Iana stared at the panel, dumbfounded. “Three times repayment in three months? That’s outright usury, you wretched system!”
[If the host declines, this service will be terminated.]
As Iana argued with the system, Eserina reached the wardrobe.
She’d toyed with her prey long enough, savoring the mounting dread.
Now, it was time for action.
Her pale hand gripped the sword’s hilt, raising the blade.
With a single, decisive thrust, she drove it through the wardrobe door, the wood splintering like paper under her full strength.
Iana hadn’t anticipated such ruthlessness.
The blade pierced her left shoulder, pain exploding through her.
Her invisible scales strained to block the assault, but they wouldn’t hold for long.
“It hurts!” she cried, the agony searing.
If the sword broke through, even a teleportation talisman wouldn’t save her—she’d bleed out before she could escape.
“I’ll take the loan!” she shouted. “Get me the talisman, now, system!”