Old Gold-Tooth pursed his lips and did not answer immediately.

  In the silence of the wait, Tars thought of the images that had flickered in his mind—kobolds covered in shimmering scales. Those, undoubtedly, were the true Dragon-kin. He briefly considered the half-man. Since that immobile, broken-headed wizard had claimed he could break the shackles of a "short-lived race," it was reasonable to guess that the half-man possessed some treasure capable of inducing a Dragon-kin transformation.

  A powerful wizard wouldn't offer mere junk. If there was something with the best possible effect, it had to be dragon blood. According to Karyu's diary, wizards loved brewing strange potions almost as much as they loved tinkering with scrolls. It was possible the half-man had a potion refined from dragon blood. To a wizard, consuming raw materials was a mark of shame—a stupid, monumental waste. Only through the refinement of intellect to achieve the optimal effect could a choice be considered truly superior.

  A commotion broke out among the kobolds in the distance. Aiskin immediately stood up to investigate. Knowing that Old Gold-Tooth wasn't going to die just yet, her face lost its look of gloom.

  To Tars, these two kobolds shared a bond akin to a father and daughter, or a grandfather and grandson. Naturally, in the loose family structure of normal kobolds, such a specific emotional tie shouldn't exist; they clustered together as a tribe only because they were weak. Before Tars arrived, Aiskin and Old Gold-Tooth might have been the only ones who could truly speak to each other. In their eyes, the rest of the tribe likely seemed more like beasts than kin.

  Aiskin strode back quickly. She looked first at Old Gold-Tooth, then turned to Tars.

  "Holy Lord Gray-Long-Neck has returned!" she gasped. "And... and they found out that Master Black-Claw is gone! There is blood everywhere! So much blood... right outside the sacred cave, it covers the ground..."

  She waved her arms as she spoke, and with every sentence, the broad shoulders of Humph trembled. After the initial shock passed, the return of Gray-Long-Neck didn't seem to impact the small group.

  After a long silence, Old Gold-Tooth finally spoke. "The tastes... they were too similar." The old kobold's words seemed to drain the last of his energy.

  "I am not like you and Aiskin; most 'clever' kobolds aren't like that. We became clever during the process of trying to turn into Dragon-kin... Though I failed to transform, I at least grew a bit taller. Before that, I was the smallest and stupidest in the tribe. Everyone bullied me. I never had enough to eat. Then one day, they gave me food. They watched me eat. I was happy. I ate greedily... when it was gone, they gave me another piece. It was the fullest meal of my life. I kept eating... until my stomach felt like it would burst."

  The old man's tone didn't change, but the light-threads on his body shook violently as he spoke. "It wasn't until much later, when the transformation... when my mind suddenly grew sharp... I looked back on that meal. Only then did I realize that, bite by bite, I had eaten my Chrysalis-folk friend. My friend had been cut into many pieces, and in my idiocy, I hadn't recognized him."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Old Gold-Tooth curled his lip as if telling a boring story.

  A dozen thoughts flashed through Tars's mind. He had hoped the old man would know the secret of those fat meat-grubs. Now it seemed that hope was in vain. However, the old man mentioned that the grubs tasted like the Chrysalis-folk, which made Tars think of the little "crybaby bug" who had fled without a name. And Aiskin—she was the truly rare, naturally clever kobold. He himself was likely just a fraud.

  "I'll tell you another interesting thing," Old Gold-Tooth said with a strange, half-smiling expression. "I might be of kobold royalty." He paused to gauge their reactions before continuing. "Legends say that long, long ago—longer than anyone knows—kobolds were clever. They were clean, wore beautiful clothes, had massive cities, and possessed their own civilization. They were even stronger than those point-ears. But they did something wrong and were cursed. In the blink of an eye, their civilization vanished, their kingdom collapsed, and they became what we are now. The thicker the royal blood in a kobold, the more dim-witted they become." He glanced at Humph. "Especially this one. Tall and stupid—that fits the royal legend perfectly. The ones who were less brave or strong back then—the weak, common kobolds—didn't carry as much of the curse. Their descendants are the ones more likely to produce someone clever."

  As they talked, the kobolds in the distance prepared to go out and hunt for Gray-Long-Neck. Aiskin glanced at Old Gold-Tooth, looking restless. Tars knew she didn't want the old man to eat anything dangerous again, but since he refused grub meat, he would have to follow the tribe to hunt.

  "No need to hunt. Let Old Gold-Tooth eat this. I only want a claw-tip for a weapon." Tars produced the massive black claw. He managed to make a small cut with the tooth dagger and then began tearing it apart with sheer brute force. "If you and Humph get hungry, catch some bugs nearby. Don't go too far for now."

  Aiskin nodded. By now, she realized whose claw it was. Seeing Tars butcher a piece of a Holy Lord right in front of her sent her through a flurry of emotions. Humph, living up to his "royal" heritage, cowered back in terror.

  Tars left the meat and departed, warning Aiskin not to stay too close to Old Gold-Tooth even if she kept her distance. He planned to find the old man again later to talk about other things.

  He navigated the winding paths back to his secluded little nest. Away from his noisy kin, staying alone and maintaining Fetid Skin actually gave him a greater sense of security. He pulled out the black book to study new runes. The changes around him provided plenty of motivation, as did the map in his head. He believed the legacy of those wizards wouldn't disappoint him—provided he could reach them safely. Of course, all of this was based on the word of a little Bugfolk; it wouldn't be real until he saw it with his own eyes.

  Suddenly, drowsiness hit him. Before he could even eat, he closed the book and fell into a deep sleep.

  It was an exceptionally heavy slumber. In a half-dreaming state, he saw the tree again—that holy, snow-white tree he had glimpsed when solidifying Fetid Skin. Before, it had felt like a distant view across an immense distance. This time, he was floating around it like a piece of lint that would never land.

  Suddenly, he realized it wasn't a tree at all. Once the thought formed, the image shifted. It was a hand. A hand buried from the wrist down, with five thick branches serving as five fingers. Its pristine whiteness was because it had no flesh—it was a skeletal palm of bone. A bone hand that exuded a sense of pure, divine holiness.

  As the realization dawned on him, the vision shuddered and collapsed. He snapped awake.

  The moment he opened his eyes, he realized that his Fetid Skin spell had changed.