Head held high and chest out, the Chameleos strode onto the platform pieced together from decks, proud of this stroke of genius.
Why? Simple!
First, the Research Commission had come here to investigate Elder Dragons. By delivering a juvenile Elder Dragon straight to their doorstep, it was handing them an immeasurably big haul.
Second, by "compensating" with its own hatchling—"loaning" it to the Commission—it could completely offset the mistake it had made this time, successfully save face now (and even the face it might lose again in the future), and directly pocket a wave of goodwill from the Commission.
Third, a juvenile Elder Dragon is still a juvenile. Even if its power ranks at the very top among the young of all living things, that doesn't change the fact that it's a hatchling.
Rather than letting the hatchling fend for itself—living alone in the wild, never sure it would see tomorrow, even going hungry—it was better to "loan" it to the Commission. With Chameleos watching over things, and with the Commission valuing a juvenile Elder Dragon as the rare creature it is, the little Chameleos was sure to grow up well-fed.
Raise your own child on someone else's resources—and they'll even have to thank you for it!
The Chameleos felt it had made an excellent decision!
And lastly, with the Commission accepting this out-of-the-blue "debt," Logan would get the materials he wanted.
So this round? A four-way win!!
Nobody loses!!
Everyone won so hard we're numb!
After a long meeting, when the supplies unit chief—holding the neatly compiled payout list—headed for the warehouse to tally the goods in advance and set aside allocations, he immediately spotted the little Chameleos hanging in midair.
Its small body, less than 1 m long, had been trussed into a ball with rope. Its pale-violet scales were dusted with bright, multicolored powder, and even its tiny wings had been bound down tight to keep it from wriggling free—just in case there was even the slightest chance of escape.
"Th-This is—!!!"
A Wyverian scholar of some years, and an elite of the First Fleet, the supplies unit chief had certainly seen his share. Records on Chameleos were indeed scarce in the Guild, but there were at least a few—among them a description of its appearance and a simple sketch.
So although the little Chameleos looked somewhat different from an adult, its body covered in mottled colors, the supplies unit chief still recognized its true identity at a glance.
"No need to go this far…"
After the initial shock came a helpless smile.
Who else could slip in and out of the warehouse without a sound, and pull something like this off? The supplies chief immediately understood—this was Chameleos's way of making amends for the Commission's losses. But he never expected it would actually bring its own child.
It was a surprise, to be sure. After all, this was a juvenile Elder Dragon.
But once the surprise faded, worry followed. He couldn't help wondering if this "friend" who had always butted heads with him hadn't sacrificed too much this time.
For some reason, at that moment, the supplies chief even had the urge to hide the little Chameleos away, keep anyone else from finding it, and then return it secretly to the parent when the chance arose.
After all, the hatchling looked as though it had only just been born, still at the age where it couldn't be without family… or so it seemed.
He had forgotten the exact ecological habits of Chameleos. Though it was an Elder Dragon, information on it was among the scarcest of its kind. Many scholars outside the Elder Dragon specialty only skimmed through its entries, memorizing the physical traits and moving on.
After a long while of thought, the supplies chief finally made up his mind.
"Let me be selfish this once. These materials alone are more than enough."
On the small platform beneath the little Chameleos lay a pile of scales and claws, along with two large, glittering Elder Dragon tears. In that dim setting, they shone all the more clearly. These were Elder Dragon materials!
Whether for research or for forging equipment, their value far outstripped the payment the Commission had made.
Drawing in a deep breath, the supplies chief steadied his trembling hands and walked toward the little Chameleos.
Meanwhile, Chameleos—who had been lurking near the warehouse—noticed that the chief had gone inside but hadn't made a sound for quite some time. Filled with doubt, it crept stealthily to the doorway and poked its head in.
"What do you think you're doing, gwa!!"
Events had already spun far beyond Chameleos's expectations.
In its plan, whether it was the supplies chief or anyone else, the moment they stepped inside and saw the little Chameleos, they were supposed to cry out in shock and then loudly summon the others.
This way, the little Chameleos would naturally enter the Research Commission's field of view. Together with the pile of materials it had left behind, this would make the Commission understand that Chameleos was still present. In this way, the hatchling's safety could be maximized, while the Commission helped raise it.
Thus, the four-way win could be smoothly achieved!
But who could have guessed?
The supplies unit chief didn't follow the script at all. His expression clearly showed he intended to secretly release the little Chameleos!
"No wonder you're my lifelong rival, gwa!!"
Such an absurd, illogical choice—if Chameleos hadn't sensed something was wrong and rushed over in time, the entire plan would have been ruined!
It immediately opened its jaws, spewing a cloud of poison mist laced with faint neurostimulants. As the fog obscured the supplies chief's vision, a swift, powerful tongue lash shot out and struck the little Chameleos square on the nose.
With a sharp twinge of pain, the hatchling instinctively sucked in a deep breath.
The neurotoxin-laced mist successfully triggered the hatchling's internal venom system, jolting it awake from its stupor.
The fog soon dispersed. The little Chameleos slowly opened its wide, shimmering eyes, staring blankly ahead in confusion.
Its gaze was vacant, as though still trying to process fragments of memory.
At that moment, the supplies chief's large face filled its vision.
"Gwa!!!"
Startled out of its wits, the little Chameleos let out a panicked cry.
Its entire tiny body strained with all its might, struggling so fiercely that the ropes around it wobbled and swayed.
The sudden clearing of the mist and the hatchling's abrupt awakening caught the supplies chief off guard. Flustered, he reached out, trying to calm it down.
But the little one was not the parent. It couldn't understand his words. Its body instinctively slipped into invisibility.
Yet, covered in pigments, it couldn't achieve a perfect camouflage. It could only keep struggling, eyes wide with fear as it watched the supplies chief approach.
"Gwa! Gwa!" (No, don't come any closer, gwa!)
Heaven bear witness—this was only a half-month-old baby Chameleos!
Just a few days ago it had still been relying on its camouflage, carefully searching for bugs to eat, never daring to stray far from its shabby little nest.
At long last, once its venom glands had finished their initial development and it could spit poison, it had been planning to try hunting beetles. But to the young dragon's surprise, its mother, moved by a sudden flicker of conscience, actually came back to check whether her eggs had all perished.
And so, in a muddled daze, after sharing a meal with the mother who had suddenly remembered a trace of maternal love, it had been coaxed into following her here.
She had said this was a place perfectly suited for their kind to loaf about and survive—but the hatchling soon realized it had overestimated its mother's affection.
Now, watching the two-legged beast drawing closer, it thrashed helplessly against its bonds.
In panic, it opened its jaws and spat a mouthful of purple venom straight ahead.
[Crack!]
That was the sound of an herbal antidote pill being bitten through.
The Quartermaster calmly tore off a strip of cloth and wiped the venom from his face. With such powerful antidote medicine on hand, the trace of poison in the baby Chameleos's spit wasn't even enough to make him feel ill.
This was, after all, the New World Elder Dragon Research Commission's vital supply depot, stocked with enough provisions for the Commission to weather most crises. The Quartermaster knew the location of every single item. Here, he embodied endless logistical support. A mere baby Chameleos couldn't possibly harm him!
"Don't be scared, don't be scared. I'll have you down in a moment."
Like some shady uncle, he spread his hands and cautiously reached toward the little dragon.
The baby's pupils dilated, its body trembling with fear.
"Gwaa!" (Stay back, gwaa!)
It struggled all the harder.
"Don't thrash around—you'll hurt yourself! Hold still and let me see… what kind of knot is this? A dead knot?!"
The Quartermaster pressed the hatchling down, dodging its tiny bites while trying to undo the rope.
But the dragon refused to cooperate, forcing him to pin it with one hand while probing for the knot with the other.
From the outside, the posture was ambiguous—like some creep abducting a disobedient Elder Dragon hatchling.
"Gwaa! Gwaa! Gwaa!"
"Stop yelling! I can't understand you! Quiet down or I can't untie it!"
Irritated by the little one's resistance, the Quartermaster actually gave its head a light smack—then belatedly realized what he'd just done.
'Wait… did I just attack an Elder Dragon?'
Damn. The Quartermaster thought, maybe he could brag about this for the rest of his life.
Perhaps that smack really did have an effect. The baby Chameleos began to settle, slowly realizing what the two-legged beast was doing, and even started cooperating.
At that sight, however, the mother Chameleos outside was not having it.
She hadn't roused her hatchling just to see it cooperate with a human!
So, if nothing else—she might as well blow this whole thing wide open!
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