Luge followed the method described in the book, leaving his arcane mark on the eggshell and covering it with his hand. Beneath his hand lay that contract stone, which likewise bore his arcane mark.
Then, through the arcane mark, he reached out to it. As he constructed a simple contract rune within his mental-power space, it was as if a door had opened through the closely pressed arcane marks, and he sensed a familiar, joyous soul stirring. He made contact and soothed it, and once its emotions had settled, he sent the companion-familiar contract rune and a newly formed arcane mark across that faint, tenuous connection. A companion familiar was all about mutual willingness—the slightest resistance and it would fail.
When the rune and arcane mark truly passed through that nonexistent door, the effort of sustaining them began to climb sharply. But the joyous soul did not resist, and that was the greatest guarantee of success. In fact, the soul even crept closer on tiptoe and wrapped itself around the rune and arcane mark of its own accord. The contract was completed in an instant.
Luge smiled and tossed the contract stone in his hand. The other's mental power was already considerable, and he hadn't expected the contract to go so smoothly.
"Don't be impatient. In the future, even after you hatch, you can live in the dragon blood pit..."
He began to expand it, widening the egg pit by two more rings, then brought over that pool of clean dragon blood and started pouring it down from above.
In an instant, the eggshell was dyed red and soaked through with dragon blood.
It was absorbing it on its own.
It trembled, like a foolish child who had been thirsty for ten thousand years.
Luge watched from the side, beaming, not the least bit worried that it might overstuff itself. He simply scooped dragon blood with an emptied storage pouch and poured it over the eggshell. The tiny pool simply couldn't be filled. The dragon blood poured at the start vanished before it could even flow down. Now, after two pouches' worth had gone in, the absorption finally slowed somewhat, and a pool slowly gathered at the bottom.
He watched for a good while, until the absorption rate had completely slowed, then added a little more dragon blood to the pool before finally walking out of the Abyssal bedroom space.
With an impressive familiar secured, the pure dragon blood from the Half-Man's side had also been accounted for, and for the moment he was in high spirits.
He took out a waterskin filled with Crying Mushroom Wine and drank as he walked, then stuffed a piece of roast meat into his mouth.
The pity was, he knew, that happiness was bound to be short-lived. He did not want to be a carefree, simple little kobold. He did not want to live out his whole life in some Great Cave, lording over others as a king—even if a few little kobolds waited on him, pounding his legs and rubbing his shoulders. That was Old Gold Tooth's pleasure, not his, and it never would be.
Of course, the happiness of the present still had to be enjoyed, and he poured another mouthful of Crying Mushroom Wine down his throat.
He was going to become a powerful wizard—a wizard who could make sure tragedy never befell him.
As he passed by a rather nice spot, there happened to be a shallow pit.
He stopped, took out the succubus scholar's remains, and set them in the shallow pit. He looked at them silently for a moment, then gave them a simple burial, and finally poured out a mouthful of Crying Mushroom Wine over them.
Who would have thought that in this ordinary little corner lay buried a special succubus—a guest from another world, no less?
The thought struck him as a little funny: that it would turn out to be an educated succubus. How truly strange—and strange that he of all people should be the one to run into her.
He took another mouthful of Crying Mushroom Wine, turned, and slowly walked back.
Since he already had one soaking, he might as well go back and finish Aisjin's and Big Dumb Hum's transformation into dragonborn kobolds today as well.
Drinking one mouthful of the little sweet water after another, he suddenly felt a bit tipsy, so he put away the waterskin and hurriedly refreshed a Boiling Spirit on himself.
As he walked along, he noticed that some kobolds would bow to him in salute. There was no need to think about it—this was surely Old Gold Tooth being bored again.
He found Aisjin and Big Dumb Hum and led them to a secluded spot.
"In a moment, do everything as I say. Soon you'll become smarter," Luge said as he opened a spatial door. "Don't be afraid, don't panic."
The two kobolds nodded nervously.
Aisjin was clearly very frightened, but out of trust in Luge he didn't thrash about, and under Luge's guidance he worked up the courage to step through the invisible spatial door.
As for Big Dumb Hum, he feared Luge more than he feared anything else, so he looked even more obedient than Aisjin.
Once the two pits, one large and one small, were ready—Big Dumb Hum's made by expanding the one Old Gold Tooth had used last time, and a new one for Aisjin—the dragon blood was simply divided up, and the two kobolds lay down inside them. He also needed to set aside some dragon blood for himself and for his companion familiar, which was in the midst of its transformation, in case something unexpected happened on the Half-Man's side.
Soon, all three fellows in the pits had quieted down.
He watched from a distance, and after a while he began his meditation practice.
At present, he still had one compatible spell left to learn, which he had already placed at the top of his list, ahead of practicing the Demonic Mark Meditation Method. It was a zero-ring spell he'd received as payment from Baonte—Demonic Form. Although Baonte didn't rate it highly, he had come to place great trust in the notion of compatibility and in the spiritual guidance of the unseen.
Since there was a high-compatibility spell, naturally he had to learn it. He had even already planned to make it the occupant of the temporary spell slot once the third demonic mark was born.
His three rounds of meditation—never quite enough to satisfy—came to an end, and he was just about to take out the Demonic Form spell for a first quick read.
Noise came from Big Dumb Hum and Aisjin's side. This was much faster than it had been for Old Gold Tooth back then.
He glanced over at the two fellows who had begun to convulse in their sleep, then lowered his head to keep reading. This was a very interesting spell. It seemed quite comprehensive, but as Baonte had put it, comprehensively weak.
Demonic Form, a zero-ring spell.
A minor spell created by transmuting demonized flesh and blood. The deviser envisioned it well at the start, and it had a certain value, which was why it was collected. But as one of the collectors, I must add a word: even if it costs me two magic stones, I would still ask to leave this note.
The value of this spell lies more in comparison and inspiration. It is a decent reference for anyone wishing to modify related spells. But if you truly intend to learn it, or to solidify it into a precious zero-ring spell slot, then I must counsel you, apprentice: unless spiritual guidance is upon you, unless a very high compatibility has grabbed you by the neck and twisted it around, do not do this. Don't let your career as an apprentice wizard fall into hardship. Cherish your zero-ring spell slot.
This spell can grant the caster a measure of resistance to most toxins based on demonic traits, but it isn't strong enough. It can make the caster's body grow strong in the space of a breath, but it's inferior to Bull's Strength, and it wastes a piece of clothing or requires wearing something loose. It can also lower the caster's sense of pain, but the caster will still feel it. It can make the caster more resistant to beatings, but it's far inferior to Demonskin.
When casting, Demonic Form has an additional restriction: it requires an item carrying a demonic aura as a catalyst. But different materials have no effect on the spell's potency—on this point as well, it is inferior to Demonskin.
The more Luge read, the more interesting he found it.
He had read nearly the entire opening amid the recorder's teasing and mockery. He could even imagine that this enthusiastic recorder must have a story of his own—perhaps that in his youth he'd become obsessed with some spell, and in the end was left with a regret he could never erase.
Chapter 65