Chapter 1: Who Is Dead?
Three of the streetlights along the national highway were broken, and the remaining two flickered as if suffering from Parkinson's, stretching John shadow first into a noodle, then shrinking it into a potato.
He gripped half a can of Coke in one hand and frantically stabbed at his phone screen with the other. He had just been arguing in the comment section of a Dragon novel for over three hundred floors, debating whether a Red Dragon could truly defeat an Ancient Gold Dragon.
To win, John had written a twelve-thousand-word review, citing everything from 'The Dragonlance Chronicles' to D&D 3rd Edition rules, analyzing ecological niches and combat power formulas, referencing so many sources that even he was starting to believe it.
The opponent's reply was nonchalant:
"You can't even understand the book, yet you're here researching dragons?"
John : "..."
"Damn it."
He instantly crushed the Coke can into a discus.
Having overeaten at the night market, his stomach was bloated like an inflated balloon. He ambled slowly along the national highway toward his rented room in the urban village; home was still two kilometers away.
In the distance, the lights of a large truck bore down on him like searchlights. He paid it no mind and moved further to the roadside.
But the light grew brighter and more blinding.
John squinted, cursing internally: Are you an idiot? Flashing your high beams at whom?
The next second—
A screeching brake sound, sharp enough to tear the night sky, exploded.
When John was sent flying, he was still tightly gripping that half-can of Coke.
The sky, the ground, the guardrail, his own feet—everything spun wildly before his eyes. Finally, the back of his head slammed hard onto the road shoulder with a dull thud, like squashing a ripe watermelon.
There wasn't even a glimpse of the legendary montage of his life.
All he saw before his eyes were novel pages rapidly scrolling—
Smeagol squatting in his cave shouting, "My precious," Smaug lying on a mountain of gold chatting with Bilbo, Dragon Riders flying everywhere, and the alignment chart for the Five-Color Dragons scrolling by like bullet comments.
Only one thought remained in John mind:
So, my whole life wasn't about researching dragons, but being a dedicated book reviewer for them?
Then his vision went black, and he completely blacked out.
[Soul fluctuation detected]
[Matching...]
[Match complete]
[Multi-Child, Multi-Blessing System binding in progress...]
[Host soul frequency detected: High-Intensity Dragon Fantasy Fanatic]
[Compensation mechanism activated: Memory retention rate 100%]
[Target species correction: Red Dragon]
[Coordinate deployment: Prime Material Plane · Ignis's Lair]
[Enjoy your experience]
John immediately wanted to curse.
But he couldn't.
Because his entire body was curled up, encased in a hard shell, hot as a sauna, and so stuffy he was nearly suffocating.
He tried to stretch his legs—he couldn't.
He tried to wave his hands—he didn't know where they were.
Damn.
It.
A Dragon Egg.
Did I turn into a hatchling inside a dragon egg?
The sound of massive breathing came from outside, like a high-powered ventilation fan; every inhale and exhale shook the entire space.
John calmed down inside the egg for three minutes.
After three minutes, he calmly accepted reality.
In his past life, he was nineteen, a dropout from a third-rate university, a tenant in an urban village constantly being chased for rent by his landlord. In this life, he was reincarnated directly as a Red Dragon.
Not bad; at least he didn't have to write a graduation thesis anymore.
A line of text was carved on the inner wall of the eggshell. He couldn't see it, but it was imprinted in his soul as clearly as a factory stamp:
Livia Kelsina Novati
John froze instantly.
Who? Me? My name is this long?
Suddenly, a crisp cracking sound came from outside.
The sound of bones shattering, the sound of liquid being swallowed, and the short, pitiful screams of hatchlings.
John—no, Livia—instantly curled into a ball.
He violently recalled a classic dragon lore setting—
When the Dragon Mother lays her clutch, only those who can cry out their true names are considered dragons; those who cannot are dragon-beasts, mere snacks for the Dragon Mother.
That scream just now was the first egg.
Another scream, the second egg.
Then, an extremely abrupt and jarring sound came from outside:
"Meow?"
Two seconds of silence.
Crack—a crunching bite.
Livia: "..."
Fine, even dragon eggs that meow don't escape death, do they?
He took a deep breath—though whether there was air in the egg was a mystery—and frantically rummaged through that ridiculously long name in his soul: Livia Kelsina Novati.
He tried to pronounce it.
His throat wasn't a throat, his vocal cords weren't vocal cords; they were all unfamiliar draconic muscles. He mustered all his strength to squeeze out the first syllable:
"Li—"
The massive breathing outside stopped instantly.
The entire lair fell deathly silent.
"Vi—"
Something was approaching; the sound of scales scraping against the rock was as grating as metal scratching glass.
"A—"
Livia used all the strength of this life to connect the three syllables and roar them out, his voice as sharp as a chicken being slaughtered:
"Livia Kelsina Novati!"
The eggshell shattered.
It wasn't broken open by him; it was pried open directly from the outside.
Blinding light stabbed in, a wave of heat surged in, and the stench of sulfur nearly caused him to die as a dragon on the spot.
A gigantic face looked down at him.
To be precise, a dragon head.
A body eighty meters long was coiled on a giant rock in the center of a lava lake. Its scales looked like flowing magma, and every breath sprayed sparks from its nostrils.
Its eyes were vertical slits, golden, with a black line down the middle, staring fixedly at him.
Ignis the Flame-Wielder.
The Dragon Mother.
Livia realized belatedly—
He was being watched by an Ancient Red Dragon.
In the Dragon Mother's vertical pupils, he saw his own reflection: a newly hatched hatchling, scales slick and wet, wings wrinkled like pickled vegetables, four small, stubby legs planted on the ground, and his tail whipping wildly behind him.
He looked exactly like a scorched lizard.
The Dragon Mother ignored him and turned to scan the eggs beside him.
The third egg exploded, and a hatchling charged out with brute force, smashing half the lair wall upon emerging. Stones fell into the lava lake, splashing fire sparks.
The fourth egg cracked simultaneously. A female dragon's eyes darted around faster than her tail. The moment she landed, she began frantically assessing how much gold and silver was in the lair.
Carlos.
Sephira.
Livia silently noted those two names in his little book.
The Dragon Mother lowered her head, bringing her massive nostrils close to take a deep sniff. The hot wind made Livia unable to open his eyes.
"It survived."
The Dragon Mother's voice was like a volcanic eruption, deep and brain-shaking. "Three."
She straightened up and glanced at the crushed eggshells at the edge of the lair, her tone as flat as if discussing today's weather:
"This clutch had four eggs. Not a single dragon-beast was produced. Not bad."
Livia looked down at his own claws.
Four fingers, tipped with hooks, capable of grasping things.
He tried to wiggle his toes, silently grumbling in his mind: A dragon-beast is one that can't shout its true name, right? Then what species was the one that meowed just now?
The Dragon Mother was too lazy to bother with the three small ones. She turned and crawled back to the giant rock in the center of the lava lake, causing the entire lair to shake three times with her movement.
She lay down on the rock, letting her tail hang directly into the magma, and closed her eyes to sleep.
The three hatchlings were abandoned at the edge of the lair, instantly becoming latchkey children.
Carlos was already aggressively gnawing on an eggshell, chewing with great relish.
Sephira was frantically scraping at the eggshell fragments with her claws, piling the largest pieces in front of her, looking ready to fight anyone who dared approach.
Livia was also hungry.
So hungry his stomach cramped—if dragons even had such a thing as a stomach.
He lowered his head and bit into an eggshell.
The texture was crispy, somewhat like caramel, with a faint sulfurous smell.
After chewing a couple of times, he inexplicably recalled the burnt toast from a night market stall in his past life, except this toast was spread with volcanic ash instead of condensed milk.
Bite after bite, he completely devoured his own eggshell.
Carlos was inhaling the shells beside him like a vacuum cleaner.
Sephira was chewing while secretly stashing fragments behind her.
Livia licked his claws and looked up to survey the entire lair.
The lair was so large he couldn't see the ceiling.
In the center was a churning lava lake, orange-red magma bubbling and spitting sparks when it burst. The Dragon Mother lay on the central rock like a living volcano.
The surrounding lair was piled up like a garbage dump—mountains of gold coins, armor and weapons scattered everywhere, several complete skeletons leaning against the rock walls—human, elf, and a few skulls of unknown creatures.
The temperature was insanely high.
Livia felt like he was about to be roasted, but his body felt more and more comfortable, even slightly addicted.
Carlos finished the eggshell and started gnawing on rocks, crunching loudly.
Sephira squatted by the treasure pile, her eyes gleaming at the gold coins, frantically digging pits in the ground with her claws.
Livia simply lay down.
Tired.
Hatching was truly exhausting.
He rested his chin on his front claws, his tail swinging unconsciously, accepting his fate in his heart:
Fine, this is how my life will be.
A huge bubble rose in the lava lake and burst, splashing sparks onto the edge of the lair, landing on Carlos's back.
The hatchling glanced over his shoulder, then continued gnawing the rock.
Livia closed his eyes.
In his ears were the sounds of rolling magma, the Dragon Mother's breathing, and the rustling sound of Sephira digging pits.
He silently recited that long name again in his mind: Livia Kelsina Novati.
Remembered, unforgettable.
Then, he suddenly recalled a fatal question:
Did I become a female dragon?
A Red Dragon, no less?
Livia quietly lay down.
Bubbles burst in the lava lake, and the fire sparks illuminated the dense, ancient runes covering the lair's ceiling.
She stared at them for a while, drowsiness washing over her.
Before falling asleep, she muttered to herself: This Dragon Mother's temper seems... actually quite good.
Then she fell into a deep sleep.
Her dreams were filled with mountains of gold. She was climbing and climbing, unable to move further. She looked down—her four legs had turned into two, then she looked again—her legs were gone, only a tail remained.
She woke up with a start.
The lair was quiet, only the sound of bubbling lava.
Sephira had crept over at some point and was staring at her, her eyeballs reflecting light in the darkness like two rubies.
"What were you shouting just now?" she asked.
Livia was stunned: "I shouted?"
"You shouted," Sephira imitated his sleepy mutterings, "'Coke, my Coke'—what is Coke?"
Livia was silent for two seconds:
"Nothing, just a... treasure from my past life."
Sephira stared at her for two more seconds, then turned and crawled back to her spot, flicking her tail.
Livia lay down again.
He thought of the can of Coke he had been gripping.
The moment he was hit, he was still holding it.
In this life, he probably would never get to drink it again.