Brule wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Zhao’er. At first, it was just envy—envy that Zhao’er was a pureblood dragon.

After all, though Brule claimed to have half-dragon lineage, and his blood was unusual in its own right, he was only half-human. He didn’t have a dragon form…

In his previous life, the first time Brule saw Zhao’er was at the grand cathedral. Zhao’er was likely sneaking out to play behind Morpheu’s back. Back then, Brule didn’t know it was Zhao’er. He just happened to glance back on the street and saw him.

Zhao’er had been dressed very discreetly at the time, wrapped tightly in a large linen cloak. Only a hint of his hair was visible, and even his face was heavily covered. The only thing exposed was a rare pair of watery pink eyes.

Dangling from his earlobe was a golden feather earring. Brule couldn’t see it clearly, but the color reminded him of a feather from the Golden Crow. Then again, that seemed unlikely.

The Golden Crow was also known as a divine bird, and its feathers were incredibly rare to obtain. Moreover, the Golden Crow’s nests were usually built on steep cliffs—heights unreachable by humans.

—Probably not, he thought.

Apart from this, Brule noticed Zhao’er’s exceptionally beautiful hands: wrists fair, fingers long and slender, and fingertips glowing faintly.

At the time, Brule wasn’t the only one looking at him. Other passersby were also drawn to him. Brule, assuming he was just a noble lady sneaking out for fun, decided to follow him quietly. He watched as Zhao’er entered the cathedral.

And then, Brule witnessed a scene he would never forget.

In the vast emptiness of the cathedral, Zhao’er removed the hood of his cloak.

For the first time, Brule saw his true face. It was far more beautiful than he had imagined—his imagination had been too limited.

The feather earring on his ear was indeed a nearly perfect golden feather. But at that moment, Brule’s gaze wasn’t focused on the invaluable earring.

Sunlight filtered through the cathedral’s enormous stained-glass windows, casting a hazy spectrum of colors over the young man.

How stunning he was. His delicate features were like the Creator’s most exquisite masterpiece. For a moment, Brule forgot to breathe.

---

The androgynous beauty was breathtaking. He wore a uniquely designed white-and-gold robe, clearly favoring gold—his earring was gold, and even the collar and cuffs of his robe were embroidered with gold thread.

But there was one thing that clashed horribly with his refined appearance: his shockingly crude manner of speech.

“Damn it! I was suffocating in there. Felt like a freaking thief!”

He sat down unceremoniously, with no elegance at all. His posture was anything but graceful—he plopped down carelessly and pulled a local Delarburg snack out of his inner pocket to eat.

As he ate, his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. His usually clear, youthful voice was slightly muffled by the food in his mouth. Annoyed, he brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen into his face.

“So annoying. This hair is way too long and such a nuisance…”

Brule noticed that the boy’s hair was extremely long—a very pale shade of pink, with slightly darker tones at the ends, and it reached all the way to his ankles.

It was truly beautiful, but clearly a nightmare to manage.

There were traces of braiding in his hair, suggesting someone had styled it for him. But he’d clearly messed it up, and since he didn’t know how to fix it, it just became even messier.

Seeing the boy tugging irritably at his hair, Brule almost stepped forward to offer his help with braiding. He hesitated for just a second, and in that moment, the boy stretched out his arms and lay straight back, as if embracing something.

The cathedral was surrounded by vast stained-glass windows, with a massive statue of the crucified Jesus in the center, his mournful eyes cast downward. Brule only shifted his gaze for a second or two to study the expression on the statue’s face.

When he looked back, the boy was gone. All that remained was his robe.

In his place was a dragon, pale pink and white, not very large in size. Its scales reflected dazzling light under the glow of the stained-glass windows. The pink dragon had draped itself across the cross, its body hanging there…

The sight was truly breathtaking—stunning in its aesthetic and impact.

Brule clutched his chest, frozen in place. Outwardly, he was a loyal knight who had sworn to the knight’s code. Yet in that moment, the figure in his heart reserved for divinity was replaced.

He had an overwhelming urge to kneel before this being.

He wanted to kiss the top of his feet.

He wanted to kiss the dust of every inch of ground he had walked on.

Just as Brule’s hand began to move, he heard a sound from the dark side door of the cathedral. A familiar voice reached his ears—it was Morpheus.

“Zhao’er, come down.”

His tone was casual, as though speaking to someone he knew well.

“Eh—?”

The boy drew out his response in a long, drawn-out whine, clearly displeased. Yet, despite his protest, he obediently shifted back into his human form and leapt down. Morpheus caught him effortlessly, as if it was a routine occurrence, and promptly wrapped him in his coat.

Morpheus sighed lightly, almost imperceptibly.

“Be more careful next time.”

“I know, I know…”

At that time, Zhao’er looked like a half-grown youth, bursting with youthful energy. He clung affectionately to Morpheus arm, his manner clingy and spoiled, their closeness evident to anyone watching.

“I keep tripping over my hair…”

“It’s okay, I’ll braid it again for you.”

“My feet hurt…”

“It’s okay, I’ll massage them for you…”

Brule thought to himself:

I can do that too.

I can braid your hair too…

I can massage your feet too…

Before Brule and Zhao’er met for the first time, Brule had already heard numerous stories about Zhao’er and Morpheus. It was said they had traveled to many places together. Initially, the rumors described Morpheus being accompanied by a beautiful elf.

At the time, Brule didn’t pay much attention to these tales. He had just ascended to his position and was preoccupied with familiarizing himself with his environment, earning the respect of those who doubted him, and clearing away obstacles.

Looking back, he deeply regretted wasting so much time.

By the time he finally encountered Zhao’er, Zhao’er and Morpheus had already developed a close and unshakable bond, having journeyed together to many places and built a deep sense of mutual understanding over the years.

Zhao’er, with his kind heart, stood apart from other dragons. While most dragons’ abyssal abilities were inherently aggressive, Zhao’er’s unique gift was healing.

Wherever Zhao’er went, he healed numerous critically ill people. Being always in Morpheus company, the latter naturally shared in the glory of Zhao’er’s deeds.

As a result, even though Morphis was no longer the captain of the knights, his reputation far outshone Brule’s, laying a solid foundation for his eventual return.

It was no wonder that uninformed bystanders mistook Zhao’er for an elf. To most, elves were synonymous with beauty, and Zhao’er’s healing elemental magic was as gentle and comforting as a spring breeze.

Brule himself had initially believed Zhao’er to be an elf. However, after witnessing Zhao’er’s true form, he scoffed at such notions.

Their first actual conversation happened by chance.

Before that, Brule had been tailing them like a stalker. Morphis, seemingly aware of something, always concealed their whereabouts skillfully, and Brule lost their trail several times.

Finally, when Brule was worn out from his pursuit, fate brought him face-to-face with his “deity” once more.

At the time, an elderly woman with limited mobility and poor eyesight accidentally bumped into Zhao’er. Watching this unfold, Brule felt a surge of anger, but Zhao’er, the one who was bumped into, didn’t seem the least bit upset. Instead, he gently helped the old woman up and cheerfully picked up her dropped belongings.

“Are you alright?” Zhao’er asked with a kind smile, though the elderly woman couldn’t hear him. Nonetheless, he offered to heal her injuries. He placed his palm lightly on her forehead, his lips moving as he recited what sounded like an incantation.

Even after many years, Brule could still recall Zhao’er’s words:

“In the name of the Abyssal King, I grant you strength.”

And there were others too, phrases like:

“Please heed my will.”

“This world awaits my salvation.”

There were some parts Brule couldn’t quite hear or fully understand. He knew every word but couldn’t grasp their deeper meaning.

Looking back years later, Zhao’er might have cringed at his own dramatic incantations, perhaps wishing he could forget them entirely.

But at that time, Zhao’er didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest. On the contrary, he was proud, giving his spells overly elaborate and theatrical names. Whenever he cast them, he made sure to recite them clearly and with flair.

Fortunately, Zhao’er’s face seemed to justify everything. No matter how cringeworthy his words might have been, they were still well-received. At least in Brule’s eyes, Zhao’er looked breathtakingly beautiful as he chanted his spells with such earnestness.

Under the shimmering pink light, the elderly woman’s long-standing eye condition was miraculously cured. The surrounding crowd gasped in astonishment, and the woman, overcome with emotion, grabbed Zhao’er’s hands, thanking him profusely and even trying to kneel before him.

The once-confident and self-assured young boy suddenly seemed flustered and at a loss. He appeared unaccustomed to handling such situations, his eyes darting around as if searching for something—or someone.

Thankfully, during this scene, Morpheus happened to be elsewhere, leaving Zhao’er to navigate the crowd’s gratitude on his own.

Brule pushed his way through the crowd, silently muttering to himself:

“I really hope that annoying guy dies out there somewhere.”

---

Zhao’er was truly too naive. He believed everything Brule told him. At first, in order to get closer to him, Brule lied, claiming they were from the same place—and Zhao’er believed it.

From Zhao’er, Brule learned how he first met the knight in Red Cliff Valley and how they made their way to the first town together.

Brule wanted to spend more time with his “deity,” but, unfortunately, Morpheus appeared like an unshakable shadow. He was carrying several bags of snacks, apparently having gone to buy them for Zhao’er.

Upon arriving, Morpheus affectionately wiped the sweat from Zhao’er’s brow.

Although Brule had disguised himself to avoid being recognized, he feared Morpheus might see through him. So, he made up an excuse to take his leave.

But despite claiming to leave, Brule didn’t actually go far. He found a slightly hidden spot to conceal himself and continued spying on their every move.

Whether intentionally or not, Morpheus didn’t make it hard to track them this time. Brule successfully followed them all the way out of the town. He couldn’t quite recall the name of the town anymore, but he distinctly remembered the weather being beautiful that day.

Amidst an expansive sea of flowers, Morpheus cupped Zhao’er’s face in his hands and leaned closer to him. Brule couldn’t hear what Morpheus said, but he saw Zhao’er’s pale cheeks gradually flush with red. From the movement of Zhao’er’s lips, it seemed he was whispering something like “Be careful.”

Zhao’er glanced around, seemingly ensuring they were alone. Feeling assured, he naturally closed his eyes, gripping tightly onto Morpheus’s sleeve, tilting his head slightly in a gesture of quiet submission.

They were—!!! Kissing!!!!

Brule could hardly believe his eyes.

In his previous life, Brule deeply hated Morpheus, and after being reborn, that hatred remained unchanged. To achieve rebirth, he had to pay a certain price, but that was insignificant to him.

Now, Brule wouldn’t die—because technically, he wasn’t truly alive.

Though his situation might seem tragic, death was not a concern for him.

“How does it feel? You can never kill me…”

He taunted Morpheus with a mocking smile.

However, his provocation didn’t anger Morpheus in the slightest.

“You might not die, but… you can still feel pain, right?”

With those words, Morpheus casually slid the edge of his sword into Brule’s shoulder again. Twisting his wrist, the blade rotated within the wound, intensifying and prolonging the pain.

Morpheus’s strength pinned Brule down, making it nearly impossible for him to move.

“…Hahaha, you’re angry,” Brule sneered.

Morpheus had always enjoyed a stellar reputation.

Many still remembered him fondly, praising his tenure as the Knight Commander—how no major crimes occurred under his watch, and how he was seen as upright, selfless, and compassionate.

But in reality, he was just an ordinary person, capable of ordinary human emotions. To Brule’s astonishment, even Morpheus could show such an expression.

Was it possible that even a holy knight could experience jealousy and envy—emotions that seemed so out of place for someone of his status?

Just as Morpheus had said, Brule truly couldn’t die. But that didn’t mean he was immune to injury or incapable of feeling pain. Severe injuries could still cause him to lose consciousness.

Morpheus, true to his meticulous nature, wasn’t one to leave such a threat unchecked. But he had to admit Brule was right—he couldn’t kill him.

However, Morpheus could ensure Brule was incapacitated, unable to pose any further threat.

He thought this to himself but kept his composure outwardly.

After all, Zhao’er was watching. Zhao’er wasn’t used to witnessing bloody scenes, and his slight frown at the sight made it obvious. Brule, however, seemed to take pleasure in Zhao’er’s attention, attempting to lure him in with promises of revealing future events.

Zhao’er didn’t react much before another pair of hands lifted him off the ground. Morpheus had scooped him up.

Morpheus didn’t want Zhao’er to have a negative impression of him.

Using precise but gentle force, he managed to knock Zhao’er unconscious.

“He’s not dead,” Morpheus said pointedly, clearly directing the comment at Brule.

---

Zhao’er, being oblivious as ever, failed to grasp the deeper meaning behind Morpheus words. He simply responded with an “Oh.”

Of course, Zhao’er already knew Brule wouldn’t die. He had intended to ask how to deal with him, but before he could, Morpheus skillfully diverted the conversation.

Zhao’er recalled how, back in Red Cliff Valley, he used to talk constantly about places he wanted to visit.

Strangely, many of those places were ones Morpheus had already been to. At the time, Morpheus hadn’t thought much of them, finding them all fairly similar. But after hearing Zhao’er’s enthusiastic descriptions, he began to see them in a different light.

The coastal region of Kalaria in the east, with its humid climate due to its proximity to the sea, stood out in his memory. Its scenic beauty and salty sea breeze were something Morpheus had experienced before, but Zhao’er’s mention of it made him think it might be worth revisiting.

There were other locations, too—the Beryl Plains and the Gru Swamp. Places Morpheus had once considered unremarkable now seemed far more appealing with Zhao’er’s presence in mind.

“…I’m fine with anything, really,” Morpheus said.

Zhao’er, however, remained oblivious to Morpheus shifting emotions.

After reading the new script centered on Brule’s perspective, Zhao’er couldn’t believe it—was there really such a complicated entanglement of emotions between him and Morpheus in the future?

“But aren’t we both men?” he thought.

“What’s with the kissing part?!”

Unable to continue reading, Zhao’er skipped over large sections of the script. It was filled with negativity and elaborate descriptions of Brule’s ridiculous fantasies about him. It was evident that Zhao’er held a high place in Brule’s mind, but that didn’t make Zhao’er feel any less embarrassed.

He couldn’t bear to look too closely, only skimming through bits of it. His conclusion? Brule was undoubtedly a lunatic—and a complete maniac. Choosing not to side with him had clearly been the right decision.

When the system asked Zhao’er whether to stick with the original protagonist or switch to the new one, it had warned him that his choice would influence the story’s progression.

Zhao’er still chose the original protagonist—not because he felt some profound loyalty or love for Morphis, but simply because he knew him better after spending time together.

As for Brule, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere…

He was just too creepy; the first impression he gave was terrible.

Morphis was gently wiping the dust off Zhao’er’s paws.

“Alright, Zhao’er, we should leave now.” He lowered his gaze. “It’s not worth wasting good emotions on trash.”

As he said this, his hands didn’t stop moving. The soft pink paw pads were meticulously cleaned, and he even took care to clean between each toe. Once finished, he gave the paw a small squeeze.

This was something he used to do frequently. The Zhao’er from before had never thought there was anything odd about it. Back then, when they bathed together, he’d even tell Morpheus to help him wash the places he couldn’t reach.

But now… after seeing everything from Brule’s perspective…

“Oh… oh… oh… oh…,” Zhao’er absentmindedly responded to Morpheus.

Before this, he’d never considered there could be anything between him and Morpheus, nor did he think there should be. But now, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

---

Zhao’er’s subtle unease was magnified infinitely in Morpheus’s eyes. He tried his best to ignore the discomfort gnawing at him, but such feelings weren’t easily dismissed.

He’d held Zhao’er like this many times before, but never had Zhao’er been so stiff, or so subtly evasive when touched, as if wanting to pull away.

Could it be… was Zhao’er regretting his choice?

Was he regretting choosing him?

Morpheus didn’t particularly care whether he was the protagonist or not. He didn’t think all his past achievements could simply be attributed to the label of “protagonist.”

As a young man, he’d never stopped training, often repeating a single sword movement tens of thousands of times. At the academy, he never took a single day off. To summarize all his efforts with just the word “protagonist” was nothing short of absurd.

He didn’t care about that for himself, but… what about Zhao’er? Did Zhap’er care? Would he leave him just because he wasn’t the protagonist anymore?

And that mysterious “mission” Zhao’er mentioned—did it have anything to do with the affectionate gestures from before? What was Zhao’er trying to gain from him?

Did he… still hold any value to Zhao’er?

It was almost laughable. Morpheus found himself feeling a hint of fear. Everyone has a sense of possessiveness, but for Morphis, this was the first time he’d ever truly experienced it.

“Zhao’er…,” he began hesitantly.

“Your mission…,”

Hearing this, Zhao’er instantly froze, his breathing slowing as if he were holding his breath, waiting for what Morpheus would say next. At the same time, he was already drafting possible responses in his head, wondering if this was where their paths would diverge.

Although he felt a bit reluctant to part ways with Morpheus—after all, Morpheus cooked so well, knew so much about life, and traveling with him would undoubtedly save him a lot of trouble in the future—Zhao’er prepared himself for the possibility.

But instead of questioning him, Morpheus, with a hint of concern, asked:

“If your mission fails… will there be any punishment?”

“Huh??????”

Zhao’er hadn’t expected that to be Morphis’s first concern.

In truth, Zhao’er wasn’t particularly invested in the mission itself. Ever since arriving in this otherworld, his thoughts had been more preoccupied with where to explore and what to enjoy rather than completing any tasks.

Now, even though Morpheus clearly understood that Zhao’er had approached him because of the mission, his concern wasn’t about the mission’s nature or Zhao’er’s intentions—it was whether Zhao’er would face any punishment if he failed.

“If it’s my fault that you fail, and there has to be a punishment…” Morpheus lowered his gaze, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. “…then let it be transferred to me instead.”

The atmosphere grew tense for a moment.

“…What… what the hell are you talking about?!”

Maybe Zhao’er was overthinking it, but he felt that something about Morpheus was off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was definitely a subtle difference from before.

By then, they had traveled far from the isolated village they were in earlier and had arrived in a bustling town. What intrigued Zhao’er most about the place was the vast field of flowers nearby.

Their quick arrival was thanks to a spatial marker Morpheus had previously set in the area. By reconnecting to it, they had achieved what was essentially instantaneous teleportation.

Although Morpheus had called it the most basic form of spatial magic, Zhao’er was still amazed, exclaiming how convenient it was. He marveled at the possibility of traveling between continents in an instant and going anywhere he pleased.

Morpheus merely smiled without replying to Zhao’er’s innocent remarks.

It was true that spatial magic was convenient, but its effectiveness depended heavily on the caster’s abilities. For most people, even short-distance teleportation was extremely difficult, let alone crossing continents.

Someone as skilled as Morphis was rare among humans. Building a precise and stable connection point was an even greater challenge.

But Zhao’er didn’t need to know any of that.

---

The bustling streets were filled with lively chatter in languages unfamiliar to Zhao’er. He couldn’t help but want to poke his head out and see the vibrant scenes outside.

Hiding inside Morpheus oversized coat, Zhao’er stealthily peeked his head out, observing the tall building ahead, which stood out significantly from the surrounding structures. Its entrance was guarded by stationed sentries.

“Are we staying here tonight?”

“I said we could stay anywhere… isn’t this place too expensive?”

Because Morpheus always kept a low profile, Zhao’er had gotten the impression that he must be poor.

In reality, Morpheus wasn’t nearly as financially strained as Zhao’er imagined.

On the contrary, he was quite wealthy.

His years as the knight captain had allowed him to save a considerable fortune, as he had few expenses. Even after leaving the capital and traveling extensively, he had taken on numerous commissions, amassing a significant sum over time.

“Ah… then what should we do…”

Morpheus deliberately posed the question.

“Maybe we should just stay outside…”

Zhao’er started seriously considering the idea. After all, he had slept outdoors before. “It’s just that eating might be a bit of an issue… I wonder if there are any mountains nearby where hunting is allowed… Oh, good thing I brought some extra food when we left.”

“I actually don’t eat that much…”

Zhao’er said this with a guilty conscience—he knew his appetite was anything but small.

Perhaps it was because Zhao’er wasn’t behaving himself even while tucked inside Morpheus coat. His tiny claws pawed at the fabric, making Morpheus chest feel a bit ticklish. Morpheus chuckled softly.

The dragon and the man seemed unaware that the previously tense atmosphere had softened, as if the events from earlier had never happened.

However, upon closer inspection, there was a subtle difference compared to before.

“But I can’t bear to see you suffer, Xiao Zhao’er…”