Turns out it isn't just people—dragons are plenty malleable, too.
With Gauss playing matchmaker, the red drake quickly made peace with the animal companions.
"Look on the bright side—these are your coworkers, got it?" Gauss patted the chocobo and addressed the dragon. "The more it works, the less you have to."
At bottom, there wasn't much difference between a chocobo and a drake: both were mounts. The drake was just "Chocobo Pro Max"—better hardware, bigger frame. Still, for rarity and optics, the chocobo remained indispensable transport.
"Rr~"
The drake grumbled. With a wolf and a raven at its elbow showing no fear, the fight went out of it. Fine—lie flat.
Come to think of it, its head had been itching the last few days—as if something were sprouting. It also felt… a little smarter than before. It didn't probe too deeply—thinking about why you can think better is a high-AP action.
It rubbed its crown against a trunk to scratch the itch and felt much better—then shut its eyes. Out of sight, out of mind—if it didn't see the little creatures scurrying around, they didn't exist.
Besides, it needed its strength. Every night, Gauss took it out on patrol; find monsters, land, go to work. Its body clock had flipped to night mode; by day, the spirit flagged.
Or maybe dragons were just lazy by nature—sleep was etched into their blood. Their race is so privileged—sleep and grow; who would bother grinding?
It had enjoyed that life—until Gauss. No matter how it pined, the days of playing god in the kobold nest were over. It shook its head—work tonight—and slipped back to sleep.
Gauss didn't wake it. He wasn't a brute. Most of the time, he could be reasonable. The punches were a last resort—with beasts like this, gentleness is weakness; strength is authority.
He looked at the sleeping hulk and the ring of Ulfen and the others, and he and Alia both breathed easier. They left them be and went to practice.
Flush with coin, Gauss had bought two more Level 3 spells—Counterspell and Haste—far easier to learn at Level 5 than at Level 4. He'd wanted Vampiric Touch too, but a backwater had slim stock. Counterspell was common enough to find.
He reviewed it in his head. Unlike Fireball or Magic Missile, Counterspell is more like a high-end exchange of blows—most often in "mage duels."
It lets you interrupt and nullify a spell as it's being cast—catch an enemy "channeling," cut the cast, and the spell fizzles and backfires.
Usually mild—often fatal in a fight. Of course, it isn't guaranteed—it depends on level, relative power, timing, state—messy considerations. But in a fight among peers, the side with Counterspell holds initiative—even the threat makes foes hesitate.
As for someone using it on him? He wasn't worried. His stats were far above the average caster's; to cut his casting you had to bridge that gulf.
On top of that, [Master of Stable Casting] made him hard to interrupt. If someone was strong enough to walk through all that, they didn't need Counterspell to beat him.
So—he would learn it. Poor effect on him, great effect for him? Perfect.
Two days later, his model was built. But it's not a spell you can drill alone. He scanned the camp—and went to Alia.
"Alia, want some special training? I've got a program for anti-interrupt casting—really improves combat steadiness."
"Ha?"
…
Whump!
Nature's power blew out in front of her; dust rain-coated Alia's head.
Cough, cough… She waved grit away. Counterspell's casting difficulty was lower than Fireball or Fly; he came online faster than expected. And because of the gap between them, it landed easily. After a string of misses, he found the rhythm—then chopped her spells again and again.
Alia shot him a baleful look. "Special training," huh? This was clearly for his practice. Once he had it, she almost never got a cast off under his pressure. A master-level caster caught off-guard would probably still get cut.
"Can't do it—just can't," she sighed, dropping onto a boulder, fanning her flushed, sweaty face. "Gauss, this is bullying. How am I supposed to stand up to your Counterspell?"
She was "the little support." His goals for her felt impossible.
"Ahem." He'd used her as a dummy for a while; seeing her drenched in sweat, he felt a twinge of guilt. "Try one more cast?" he said, winking.
She took a breather; with nature energy settled, she raised her hand. "Faerie Fire!"
A patch of shimmering light blossomed midair—so bright it shone even by day.
"Eh?"
She wasn't surprised by the light—she knew the spell—but by the feel. It flowed—cleaner than before. The cast was smoother.
"It… actually helped?"
"Of course—would I lie?" Gauss breathed out. Weighted training always works. Slogging through unpleasant reps builds deep familiarity.
Feeling the shift, Alia's gloom faded; she felt bad for snapping. "Then—after a little rest, let's keep going?" She wanted to run her other spells through the grinder too. Gauss was happy to oblige; he needed repetitions for Counterspell himself.
Off to the side, Albena watched with a sigh. As a warrior, she couldn't join a duel like that.
…
Night fell. The day's heat bled off; a cool breath ran over the woods. A red shape winged through the clouds. If you looked close, a young man sat a saddle on its back—monocle glinting—scanning the vast land below.
It was Gauss. Using a dragon's vantage and the [Eagle-Eye Monocle], he could scout far for threats. Every night he did this—ride, find, kill, police the field. Busy and happy.
"Head that way—we haven't flown there yet." His rapport with the drake grew by the day. "Goblin or kobold for dinner?"
"Rrr—"
Neither. Eat the same thing over and over, anyone gets sick of it; goblin and kobold flesh wasn't good, either.
Back in the nest, he'd eaten them to make a point, not because he liked the dry, stinking stuff.
"No—you do want it." With a hand on its neck, Gauss could catch a sense of its thoughts. "Eat bitter, become the dragon on high. You started behind your true-dragon kin—if you want to catch up, you work harder. Hephaestus—do you want your dam and siblings laughing at you?"
Drakes don't have "true names" like true dragons; "Hephaestus" was Gauss's gift—after Hephaestus, Greek God of Fire. He meant "may you rise to godhood."
Especially now, seeing the drake start to take a path—he believed under his hand it would go far. The one hitch was its own drive—too lazy.
Violent, proud, insecure, timid, lazy—a knot of contradictions—but "lazy" was the truest. That's how it had sat in a mine for years.
He had to jab it now and then—give it something to fight for. Among dragons, it was still a child—too soon to be "NEET."
At the mention of dam and siblings, Hephaestus's emotions surged under Gauss's palm. He was right—it had been driven out. As its mind slowly sharpened, memories of hatching grew clearer—humiliation, anger, fear, longing—an iceberg rising. Don't expect a red dragon dam and brood to treat a dull drake kindly.
"Rr!" Flame fumed from its nose—hate is a fine motivator.
"With my help, you can pass them—brothers, sisters, even your dam," Gauss said smoothly—painting a grand picture.
In its mind's eye, Hephaestus stomped his dam and toyed with his true-dragon brothers—its breath grew heavier.
"So—will you train? Will you eat?"
"Rr!" The drake roared—wings beating stronger. And Gauss wasn't all talk—he'd watched its growth. This regimen was good for it.
With Gauss, it would be stronger than other drakes. Could it, as a drake, face a true dragon? He didn't know; it was his first dragon, after all. But he knew one thing: try hard and see.
"There—goblins. Full speed!"
WHUMP—
Hephaestus beat hard and crossed miles in moments. Over the camp, it roared, snapped its wings shut, and dove. The night tore open—red light and chaos shredded the quiet; a cone of fire turned the heart of the camp to ash—venting the anger Gauss had stoked.
Gauss looked down at the sea of flame without much feeling. Whatever pact bound them, the drake's kills counted toward him—like the clay constructs. Less work for him. "Mind the fire—if it's burnt, you still eat it," he called. Waste not, want not—past life or present, that was gospel.
~~~
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