I Received System to Become Dragonborn-Chapter 999: Come Back

The assassin’s breath quickened until it became a frantic rasp. His chest heaving as though he were drowning on dry land.

Sharp and suffocating panic clawed through him. His heart hammered wildly and thundering in his ears as sweat ran cold down his skin.

Worst of all, he could do nothing. His body betrayed him and paralyzed by the emptiness of his Magic energy.

He lay sprawled on the forest floor, every second stretching into agony. His limbs twitched uselessly. The weakness in them was so profound as if it mocked his will to do something.

All he could do was wait for his body to restore even the tiniest spark of Magic. And the waiting itself was like a torment.

Shadows pressed close. Every rustle of leaves and every crack of branches in the dark felt like it made him closer to death in his panicked mind.

Terrifying visions clawed at his thoughts like hunters stumbling upon him, beasts tearing into his helpless body, or worse, his pursuers were somehow able to track him and finish the work they had begun.

His eyes widened in terror and pupils dilating until they seemed almost unnatural, as though he were staring at horrors only he could see.

Ten minutes crawled by like an eternity. Eventually, with great strain, he flexed his fingers then forced his arms to obey.

His body was sluggish and painful but no longer stiff. He could not stand yet but he could move just enough. With trembling hands, he fumbled at his pouch and pulled free a tightly rolled parchment and a quill carved from bone.

He pressed the quill to the parchment and let what little Magic trickle into its nib. The words came slowly and painfully, each stroke of ink draining him again as though carving pieces from his soul.

He could only write one word at a time before collapsing back, panting in torment. Then, after a pause to gather enough of that faint spark again he scrawled another.

It took an eternity but at last, a concise report lay before him:

"The party knows. I was discovered. The girl’s Magic is terrifying. Proceed with caution."

His hand shook violently as he stared at the finished words. The thought of lying and disguising his failure tempted him for a moment. But he remembered the price lying to the organization was worse than death itself.

"Better to be punished now than to lie. If I lie and they discover it, the end will be worse than anything. I’ve seen it."

He had seen members of the organization broken down and their bodies twisted by experiments until they were no longer human. Skin melted into scales, limbs reshaped into claws, and their minds were shredded but still alive enough to know the pain of their existence. Death would have been a mercy.

The assassin shuddered and with a final push, summoned a flicker of flame to his fingers.

The parchment curled and blackened as fire consumed it. The ash rising into the night air.

Exhausted beyond endurance, he let his body collapse back onto the cold earth. His vision blurred.

The sky above stretched vast and indifferent, the stars watching without pity.

"Ahh... what a bad day..." he thought bitterly, before closing his eyes and surrendering himself to weakness.

All he could do now was hope no wild animals caught his scent before dawn.

—

Morning finally came.

In the camp, the chill mist lifted with the first golden rays of light.

Arty stirred awake and blinking blearily. Beside her Annette and Esther were already awake but still lying flat on their backs and gazing silently at the roof of the tent.

"What are you doing?" Arty croaked, her voice rough with sleep.

"Just meditating," Annette replied without turning her head.

Arty frowned and glanced at Esther. "You too?"

"Yes," Esther answered softly. "This is important for us Magic casters. To balance the flow of energy before the day begins."

"Oh... alright." Arty nodded, then folded her legs and closed her eyes, deciding to imitate them.

In the other tents, Hund emerged first and stretching his shoulders with a grunt.

Outside, the faint crackle of fire greeted him. Jan was already there seated on a log, steam rising from the pot balanced over the embers.

He was pouring hot water carefully into cups. The scent of brewed tea drifting in the cool morning air.

There were already four cups lined neatly beside him, steam curling lazily toward the pale early morning sky.

One by one, the rest of the group joined him. The tents were emptying as they gathered around the fire.

Wrapped in blankets against the lingering cold, they sat in a small circle, cradling the warm cups in their hands.

The night had been long and heavy but in that quiet moment, the simple act of drinking Jan’s tea felt like the first breath of calm.

Jan’s voice broke the morning calm as he stared into the steam rising from his cup.

"We move again or come back to the kingdom?" His eyes lingered mostly on Arty, as if waiting for her word to decide the direction of the group.

Arty sipped her tea slowly, letting the warmth steady her thoughts.

Finally, she lowered the cup and answered, "I think we should go back now. I don’t know what else will happen out here. It’s too uncertain."

The others exchanged glances but no one argued. One by one, they nodded in agreement.

Too much had already happened. The wyvern attack, the strange assassins, the eerie sense that unseen eyes followed them.

Unknown factions were moving following them and none of the adventurers had any desire to chase further trouble.

When they pieced together that the wyvern was most likely unleashed by the same forces targeting them their decision hardened. Better to return safely than to be bait for another trap.

They take a quiet breakfast with the crackle of fire and clink of wooden spoons as the only sounds.

When the last bite was finished they doused the embers, packed their tents with practiced ease, and shouldered their gear.

By midmorning, the company was already walking back to the road bent back toward the kingdom.

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