The Dragon of the Fallen Demon Master Sister in a Book - Chapter 28

The enemies moved swiftly, giving Chris no time to react. Two towering tree spirits brandished gleaming curved blades as they charged toward her, closing the distance in mere moments before striking down.

One tree spirit, crowned with a small red flower, leaped forward and swung its blade straight at her face. Meanwhile, another adorned with tiny leafy grass dashed behind her, trapping Chris in a pincer attack meant to finish her off.

Chris’s pupils contracted—their speed was overwhelming. She steeled herself inwardly: Stay calm, stay calm. There has to be a way.

She realized her juvenile dragon body simply couldn’t match their agility. Even hurling fireballs required precision—one missed shot, and she’d be mincemeat under their relentless slashes.

Chris lacked combat experience, and there was no one to guide her now. With nothing to rely on, she resorted to a desperate gambit.

She conjured a thin shield of dragonfire around herself, enveloping her entire body.

Generating dragonfire took time, and at her current level, she couldn’t sustain elaborate techniques. Worse, their movements were too fast for her eyes to track. Compressing the flames until they clung to her scales, Chris used the fiery barrier to block incoming strikes—a crude tactic, but its unpredictability was its strength.

The dragonfire shield burned fiercely. When the flower-crowned tree spirit’s blade made contact, the metal ignited instantly. Flames raced along the weapon, setting its arm—woven from dead branches, green leaves, and white blossoms—ablaze as if doused in gasoline.

Panicked, the spirit tried to smother the flames engulfing its hand, only to find Chris’s dragonfire impossible to extinguish. With a grimace, it discarded the burning blade and drew a fresh one from nowhere. After a brief hesitation, it severed its own right arm entirely.

That momentary delay cost it dearly. Chris’s fist was already upon them.

“Damn it all!” Chris cursed under her breath. Bursting through her own Fire Shield, the pitch-black juvenile dragon emerged from the inferno. Her right claw lashed out, flipping the flower-crowned spirit onto its back in one brutal motion.

Without pause, she spewed another gout of dragonfire directly at its head, pinning the creature beneath her claws until its struggles ceased.

One down.

Chris raised her paw, lifting the still-burning little flower tree spirit from the ground, intending to talk things over. After all, she hadn’t meant any harm—they were the ones who’d come charging at her with knives first. But just as Chris lifted the creature, another small grass tree spirit’s scimitar was already swinging toward her face.

“Hey hey hey, I didn’t mean to…” Chris had just raised the unconscious flower tree spirit with both paws, ready to make peace, when she saw the grass tree spirit’s blade nearly take her head off.

“Damn it!” Startled, Chris hurled the flower tree spirit she’d just picked up straight at her attacker. “You little punk! That’s not how honorable fighters behave!!”

Chris’s sudden movement caught the grass tree spirit off guard, and it numbly reached out to catch its burning companion—who was probably down to its last breath—in its arms.

This shock actually woke the unconscious flower tree spirit. The two plant spirits locked eyes, their expressions changing dramatically. They began jabbering excitedly in some incomprehensible language, their faces contorted with rage as they pointed their blades at each other and started arguing fiercely.

Chris naturally couldn’t understand their language. She watched as the grass tree spirit ran off carrying the flower tree spirit, both elegant plant creatures still aflame, presumably heading to find water to put themselves out.

“I told you to keep it down,” Chris muttered, standing up and scratching her head as she watched them go. “Couldn’t we have just talked things out peacefully? Why all the violence…”

“Are you okay?” Chris turned her attention to a small puppet lying on the ground that had clearly been mistreated.

The puppet was carved into the likeness of an extraordinarily beautiful woman—delicate features meticulously crafted, with movements that exuded nobility. But its clothes were disheveled, covered in dust, its little face dirty. It wore human-like garments and had human-like features. If not for its half-torn clothing exposing wooden joints, Chris might have mistaken it for a real person.

The puppet chattered animatedly on the ground, waving its hands at Chris in some frantic pantomime. Its deep red eyes sparkled with increasing excitement as Chris approached, as if it wanted to rush forward and embrace her—like she was its savior.

The puppet’s enthusiasm made Chris uncomfortable. Even if she had saved it, this level of excitement seemed excessive. Moreover, Chris was wary of potential deception or danger, so she maintained a safe distance.

When the puppet realized Chris wouldn’t come closer to help it up, it suddenly waved its arm. The jungle rustled ominously. Chris tensed, scanning her surroundings for potential ambushes—only to discover numerous other tree spirits emerging from the foliage.

These spirits sported various plants atop their heads—flowers, grass, leaves, fruits… and even one with a cactus crowning its skull.

Chris’s eyes were filled with shock. She couldn’t comprehend what kind of creature she had just saved. Was that truly an interspecies bullying incident earlier? Or perhaps…

Suddenly raising her gaze, Chris accidentally caught sight of the two treants she’d previously scorched with dragonfire—one with a small flower on its head, the other with grass. Now standing together with curved blades at their waists, they wore serious expressions and practical guard uniforms, though their appearances were somewhat disheveled. The distinct smell of char lingered about them, especially noticeable on their singed floral crowns and grassy tufts. Their slightly bowed heads gave them the appearance of… defeated underdogs?

Unconsciously, these words surfaced in Chris’s mind, making her heart skip a beat. She began to vaguely understand what these treants had been doing earlier. When she noticed the others holding paper, writing tools, and making revisions to their notes, her suspicions grew stronger.

Wait… were they actually performing? Good heavens, were these creatures writing a script?

Does that mean I’ve become part of their play?

The surrounding treants conversed among themselves with grave expressions, resembling scholars engaged in academic discussion—sometimes frowning, sometimes excited.

As for their actual words… Chris couldn’t comprehend a single syllable. Anxiety crept in as she struggled to grasp what kind of situation she’d stumbled into. The small wooden puppet remained steadfast by her side, its cold wooden hands resting on her shoulders, sending shivers down her spine.

Panic set in. Earlier, dealing with just the two tall, bluish-gray treants (the flower-crowned and grass-topped ones) had exhausted her. Now surrounded by an entire group? Fighting was clearly not an option.

Chris could only console herself internally: Communication, dialogue—that’s the bridge between people…

Alternatively, perhaps she should wait—for her dragon spirit to awaken, or for A-Zhuo and the others to rescue her… They would come, wouldn’t they? As these thoughts swirled, Chris suddenly noticed the surroundings had fallen silent again.

Peering around cautiously, she saw the previously animated treants now standing with bowed heads. The once-grubby wooden puppet had undergone a startling transformation—now clad in a white gown with a crown, its left hand on Chris’s shoulder while its right grasped a wooden scepter, embodying the very image of a Treant Queen.

“Holy sh1t! So, you’re the final boss all along!!!” Chris’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. “What kind of ridiculous play were you guys performing anyway?! Some ‘Prince kidnaps Princess only for Dragon to steal her’ nonsense? Tell me who wrote this script—I’ll assassinate them!!!”

Then… Chris watched as the treants parted ways, clearing a path. Four towering treants marched forward proudly, carrying an ornate red palanquin between them.

The wedding sedan was adorned with fluttering colorful banners, embroidered all around with golden dragon patterns. At the very front stood two little tree spirits with apples growing from their heads, scattering petals as they walked in jubilant spirits. Other tree spirits surrounded them, playing musical instruments, creating a scene of bustling festivity.

Chris was stunned. She simply couldn’t comprehend how she’d ended up in this situation.

She was just an underage dragon hatchling—how had she been carried onto this wedding sedan by these tree spirits?

No matter how much Chris refused to believe or accept it, the situation had already reached this point. The two little flower and grass spirits she had just set on fire were now handing wreaths and a crown to the wooden puppet with displeased expressions.

The puppet personally placed the colorful wreath and exquisite crown upon the young black dragon hatchling. Chris could only passively accept it, her sole act of resistance being lowering her head as the wreath and crown were placed upon her. Then, she was lifted onto the flower carriage—no, it was more accurate to call it a bridal sedan—by the tree spirits with flowers and grass atop their heads.

The sedan, both inside and out, was decked in vibrant red and gold, radiating joyous celebration. The interior was piled high with various flowers, their overwhelming fragrance making the young dragon want to sneeze. Chris could hardly bear such a heavy scent—she preferred lighter, fresher aromas—but the tree spirits seemed to adore it, continuously bringing in more blossoms.

Truthfully, it wasn’t that Chris didn’t want to escape. But as an underage hatchling, she was weak, pitiful, and helpless. Facing dozens of burly tree spirits surrounding her, cracking their knuckles with fierce expressions and brandishing gleaming curved blades, Chris had to admit—she chickened out and obediently complied.

Unlike traditional customs, the wooden puppet didn’t place a red bridal veil over the “bride” (the dragon hatchling) nor restrict her movements. The only downside was that it sat right beside her—inside the sedan, a puppet on the right and a dragon hatchling on the left.

Chris desperately scooted to the far left, pressing herself against the side. For some reason, she absolutely didn’t want to sit near the puppet, but it seemed oblivious, persistently inching closer until Chris was thoroughly uncomfortable.

If there was one worst part of this, it was definitely this.

Using her claws, Chris lifted the curtain, its glass beads tinkling softly. She didn’t struggle or scream. Perhaps the puppet took a liking to her docile behavior, granting her considerable freedom. One might say Chris was now a dragon deeply favored by the Puppet Queen.

Peeking through the red curtain, Chris surveyed her surroundings, trying to discern where she was being taken. But the moment she stuck her head out, she locked eyes with the very flower and grass spirits she had burned earlier.

The two spirits stood on either side of the sedan. Chris scratched her head awkwardly, but the eye contact had already been made—now it was even more uncomfortable.

So, Chris dared not peek out again. She withdrew her head and listened to the clamor of gongs and drums outside, forced to remain in the palanquin alone with the little wooden puppet. Silently, she lowered her head.

Chris wondered to herself: Where are they taking me?

If I scream my lungs out, will anyone come to save me?

Surely I’m not really going to marry a puppet…

–

Compared to Chris’ bizarre predicament—being carried off in a bridal sedan by a group of tree spirits and their puppet queen the moment she landed, nearly becoming the puppet queen’s beloved dragon—Feng Qingzhuo’s situation was far more ordinary.

The map she held led to the eastern part of the secret realm. Upon arrival, she found herself in an endless desert. The temperature difference between day and night was extreme. Coming from Beixiang Kingdom, a land of mountains, rivers, and snow—but never deserts—Feng Qingzhuo knew very little about such terrain. Her only knowledge came from books in the royal archives.

Feng Qingzhuo lifted her head. The sunlight was blinding, the scorching sand threatening to roast her alive. She retrieved a headscarf from her storage pouch and wrapped it around her head. The sun’s rays were deadly. As a Qi Refining cultivator, she wasn’t much stronger than an ordinary martial artist. If she didn’t find the right direction before her spiritual energy ran out, she would surely perish here.

She lowered her gaze to the dragon-scale map in her right palm. The bl00d on her hand had long dried, staining the map a dark crimson. At its center was drawn a vast lake, surrounded by desert and shrubs.

Feng Qingzhuo made her decision. She had to head toward the heart of the desert—to find water first. Only by locating water could she find life, and only by finding life could she hope to meet others. In a secret realm of this level, being alone was far from ideal. Her low cultivation was, after all, her greatest weakness.

Her dragon…

Feng Qingzhuo’s left hand brushed over the golden dragon-scale map in her right palm. Her fingers curled slightly, and when she closed her eyes, she could still recall the sensation of the young dragon’s claws slipping from her fingertips.

Her clenched fists abruptly loosened. Summoning her sword, she soared upward. With limited spiritual energy, she needed to find her path quickly—this was no place to linger.

–

Meanwhile, Wen Qian and the cat had landed in vastly different locations—one in the northernmost snowfields, the other in the endless southern mountain ranges.

As they explored, Wen Qian—who couldn’t read the map but had always been lucky—discovered that the center of the snowfields seemed to hold a massive hot spring lake. The cat, who at least understood the map in its right paw, realized the mountains’ heart concealed an enormous lake.

Both Wen Qian and the cat chose to head toward the central hot spring lake/mysterious lake marked on their maps.

At the same time, the human and the feline thought: Since the map highlights this spot, there must be something special about it!

Wen Qian: There’s something good here!

The cat: Treasure is guaranteed!