Arknightcraft Modpack

“A dragon?”

The girl who called herself Talulah frowned and instinctively reached for the longsword she had set aside.

The identity of the Draco race was sensitive, and the fact that someone could identify her lineage just by seeing her horns suggested the person might know something significant.

Talulah had never hidden her horns deliberately; it was a form of confidence in her identity. In all her encounters in Ursus so far, she hadn’t met anyone who could directly recognize her race.

Yet here was Steven, bluntly asking this crucial question. It was hard not to suspect that his objective was her.

Since that person’s death, no one had come looking for her. She had hoped the upper echelons of Ursus had forgotten about the matter. But now, it seemed they had indeed sent someone after her.

Instinctively categorizing Steven as someone sent to investigate her, Talulah tightened her grip on the sword. If she were captured, she could accept it, but she couldn’t allow harm to come to Alina or the peaceful village nearby.

“Yes—oh, I remember now. To be precise, your kind should be called Draco, right? Something like this.”

Steven thought for a moment and pulled a picture of an Ender Dragon from his bag, pointing to the creature depicted. His expression was almost as if he wanted to shove the image in Talulah’s face and demand confirmation.

“Um, is this what you think a Draco looks like?”

Talulah, who had been on the verge of a defensive outburst, was taken aback by the image in Steven’s hands. Her wary expression shifted to one of confusion.

Does this guy have some fundamental misunderstanding about Dracos? The dragon in the picture did resemble characteristics associated with the divine beings of the Draco race, but creatures like that might not even exist anymore.

“Isn’t that how they should look? You can’t transform into this form?”

Scratching his head, Steven had assumed that being based on a legendary dragon meant they could transform into their “original” form. But now it seemed their appearance was fixed from the start—no dramatic transformations after all.

It was probably fortunate Kal’tsit wasn’t present to hear this. She would have lectured this foolish man about how normal creatures couldn’t defy evolutionary logic to “transform” at will, let alone turn into such an obviously fantastical being.

“I may be from the Draco race, but the thing you’re describing? I don’t think anyone could possibly do that.”

Talulah’s gaze toward Steven grew increasingly puzzled. But because of that, her earlier vigilance against him eased.

Everything he said was so unexpected, yet he asked each question with genuine sincerity. It wasn’t a distraction tactic—he truly wanted answers.

And most importantly, Steven showed no hostility toward her from beginning to end.

Would Ursus really send someone so unreliable to deal with her?

Beginning to doubt her earlier judgment, Talulah continued to scrutinize Steven with curiosity.

“Why are you asking about this, Mr. Steve? Is my race that important to you?”

Half-closing her silver eyes, Talulah directly voiced her question. Instead of guessing, it was better to ask outright.

“Huh? Not really. I just wanted to see if you could help me with something. But it’s not urgent—I was just curious. A friend told me Dracos are rare these days.”

Still caught up in his disappointment over the lack of cool dragon transformations, Steven finally snapped back to reality. Flashing Talulah a friendly smile, he walked to the brewing station behind him and retrieved three bottles of steaming water.

“That’s all I wanted to ask. Now, Miss Talulah, why don’t you tell me your purpose here? Surely you didn’t come just to apologize, right?”

Placing the hot glass bottles in front of Talulah and Alina, Steven picked one up and held it contentedly. In such cold weather, drinking warm water was truly comforting.

“It’s the most important reason, but I won’t deny I have other things to confirm as well.”

Glancing at the strange glass bottles radiating heat, Talulah showed no intention of picking one up. Instead, Alina took one, mimicking Steven as she absorbed the warmth it offered.

“Confirm what? Does it involve me?”

Taking a small sip of the still-hot water, Steven tilted his head, looking somewhat puzzled as to why someone would have anything to confirm with him, an outsider.

They were worlds apart in every sense. Could it be that Alina had fallen for him at first sight?

Exchanging a glance with the quiet, gentle Elafia girl who had been silently watching their conversation, Steven dismissed the thought. His charm couldn’t possibly be that overwhelming.

“Yes. After all, having a neighbor with a glowing pumpkin for a head makes it hard not to think of the legend of the headless wraiths on the tundra. But now it seems I may have been overthinking it.”

Talulah glanced at Steven’s face, which, though a bit disheveled and poorly groomed, still exuded undeniable handsomeness. She smiled before responding.

From what she could tell, Steven was just a quirky guy with a peculiar way of talking. There wasn’t a trace of the sinister aura she’d expected from the stories, nor was there any sign of the glowing pumpkin head Alina had mentioned.

‘Well, who would actually have such a bizarre taste as to wear something like…’

Talulah’s thought trailed off as she watched Steven scratch his head. In an instant, without any visible movement, the handsome young man before her suddenly had his head replaced by a bizarre glowing pumpkin.

The pumpkin had an eerie smile carved into it, emitting a warm yellow light from within.

“Is this what you mean?”

The pumpkin tilted slightly, and Steven’s voice came from within the glowing smile.

“This…”

Talulah was completely dumbfounded. Stiffly, she turned her head to exchange a glance with Alina.

“See? I told you it was weird, but you wouldn’t believe me,” Alina shrugged, her expression one of resigned acceptance.

She had already come to terms with the fact that Steven’s glowing pumpkin head was unnervingly strange. Not only was the source of the light within the pumpkin a mystery, but the way it seemed to grow naturally from his neck—even capable of subtle facial expressions—was baffling.

It sounded absurd, but it was the truth.

“This is just a helmet, you know. When you’re out and about, you need some disguise and protection. Gotta keep a low profile, right? You’ll get used to it.”

Steven tapped the pumpkin on his head, producing a crisp “dong dong” sound. Smiling, he casually explained, thinking they were just worried about whether he was human.

On second thought, Steven could understand their concern. His appearance didn’t exactly scream “ordinary human.”

“…”

Faced with Steven’s seemingly joking explanation, Talulah was at a loss for words. The most baffling part was that he genuinely seemed to believe in what he was saying.

Having been trained for years as a successor by the so-called “Deathless Black Snake,” Talulah prided herself on her ability to judge people’s intentions.

Yet, even with her experience, she couldn’t fathom what was going on in Steven’s mind.

If he truly wanted to conceal his identity and stay low-key, wouldn’t a simple hood and mask suffice?

Wearing such an eye-catching pumpkin helmet—how was that low-profile?

“So, is this all you wanted to ask me? Nothing else?”

Knowing the conversation would only grow more awkward if it continued, Steven decisively changed the topic.

“Actually, there’s one more thing. I wanted to ask if you’re truly not planning to sell those potatoes. Compared to the villagers, I can offer far better terms.”

Clearing her throat to ease the awkwardness, Talulah didn’t forget her main purpose. She understood better than Alina and the old man what a crop that could thrive in such harsh conditions meant. It could transform the lives of Ursus’ struggling farmers.

When she had stood at the entrance, she’d noticed the vibrant green potato plants thriving despite the wind and snow. They seemed almost magical—nothing like ordinary crops.

“Huh? You’re here for that too? I already said no. You might as well assume the potatoes grow so well because of my Originium arts. It’s not something that can be easily mass-produced.”

Steven, a master of casual lies, didn’t feel the slightest guilt. In a way, he wasn’t entirely lying—without his involvement, mass-producing and distributing these potatoes wouldn’t be simple.

“Of course, if you want them cooked, I’ve got plenty to offer,” he added with a grin.