"That is a secret for another day."
Blizzarion shook his head, flatly refusing to answer Pallas's question. After spending the last fortnight fighting side-by-side, the White Dragon and the Giant had developed a rapport that bordered on friendship—or at least, a healthy, competitive rivalry.
"Oh, come on, don't give me that mysterious act," Pallas scoffed. "You're definitely using some kind of artifact."
He crossed his arms, staring accusingly at his companion. "My old man told me that pure-blooded Dragons can't usually shift into human form until they hit the Legendary Tier. You're holding out on me. You've got some high-level gear stashed away, don't you?"
Pallas was convinced. Over the last few days of their kill-count competition, Blizzarion hadn't just kept up; he'd matched the ferocity of Pallas's Black Dragon mount, Akdir, kill for kill. That alone proved his bloodline was top-tier, but the early shapeshifting was a dead giveaway of external help.
