The Dragon Heir (A Monster Evolution LitRPG)

Something about the whole affair rubbed me entirely the wrong way. For starters, Lotte had let slip that the System had all but disowned humanoid species—something about a long-standing grudge against them. Every time I crossed paths with an elf, the System flagged them as thieves. But today, it went a step further: stolen gifts.

The puzzle pieces were falling into place, and the image they formed was anything but pleasant. Had the humanoid races truly wronged the System? Nicked something they shouldn’t have? The question gnawed at me. What exactly were these so-called magic paths? And why, for Thalador’s sake, were they all named after monsters everyone would gladly see torn to bits? The Blood Wyvern Path, Flame Vixen Path, Winter Salamander Path, Nature Hydra Path—it was all a bit too on the nose. There was more to it, I was sure of that.

What if… these paths weren’t just some arbitrary invention? What if they’d been gifts from the System once upon a time?

And then there was the curious case of Delvers. Those brave or foolish enough to go dungeon-crawling seemed to advance along these paths faster than anyone else. Theories abounded, of course. Some claimed that facing death sharpened the mind, a sort of enlightenment born from sheer terror. Others thought the extreme stress forced their bodies into rapid adaptation, a biological knee-jerk reaction to staying alive. The half-forgotten whispers from my dreams came to mind: hormonal cascades, stress-induced resilience, neural plasticity ratcheted up by the thrill of survival. All quite logical.

But what if there was another reason?

What if delvers gained power just like I did? By slaughtering monsters. By draining the very essence of life from their foes. Lotte’s words echoed in my head—think of it more as an archivist, not the true source. The power you wield is a manifestation entirely of your own making. The power was mine, always had been. The System merely facilitated it, a bureaucrat at best. The implications left me cold.

My theory had holes, sure, but it was starting to add up in a rather disquieting way. Too soon to draw any conclusions, though. For now, I had more immediate concerns.

The wolf hadn’t done the job of healing me fully. I cast a glance at my body—scales along my flank had reformed where the burns had seared through earlier, but they were delicate, almost brittle, like the thin layer of skin after a fresh wound. Halfway healed, if that. In some places, the scales hadn’t regrown at all, leaving raw patches of flesh exposed to the elements. My damaged eye had recovered a bit, but everything was still a blur on that side, not quite back to full function.

Macro-trophic sac was doing its damned best to patch itself up, pouring every drop of nutrients and healing into the task. But the speed of it came with a price—the more the healing, the weaker the result. Flesh soft and tender, like fresh skin after a bad burn, still far too fragile for battle. I was barely holding myself together.

Only my hind leg had made a full recovery. Small mercies, I suppose. The rest of me? A patchwork mess. If I wanted to get back to fighting form, I’d need more fuel. Make a full recovery.

I smirked, scanning the forest as my Air Sense flared out. The whole place was positively crawling with scavengers. Now prey. Excellent. Time to hunt.

Slinking through the underbrush, I moved like a shadow—silent, unseen. Stealth at its finest. My breath barely stirred the air, my steps as quiet as a ghost’s whisper. This was my domain, my element. I hid. I prowled. And when the moment struck, I'd descend like a bloody nightmare.

This time, my mark was another wolf-like creature. No baiting games, though. The last one had fallen because I’d looked like death warmed over. Luck—maybe even fate—had played its hand, and I’d won. But I wasn’t about to toss my chips in on luck again.

There’s merit in manipulation, sure. But I wanted something cleaner this time, no mess, no risks.

I saw my mana settle at a whopping 49 after devouring the last wolf's core. Not bad, really, though I’d been half expecting to hit the wall at 50. What a laugh that would’ve been, if the cap had caught me there. Still, I was tearing through those limits faster than I’d planned.

4 points drained, and my fire gland was full—4 charges of burning flames, 5 seconds each. So far, nothing had shown resistance to my tier 3 fire gland. The Flamethrower skill was almost ready to advance as well.

The thought put a wicked smile on my face.

I couldn’t wait.

***

 

I crouched low, eyes locked on my next target. A wolf gnawed on its scavenged meat ahead, blissfully unaware of what lurked just beyond the trees. Perfect.

I could unleash a flamethrower straight into its face—quick, effective. But something about that felt off. It wouldn’t be enough to take it down, not cleanly. Worse, it might agitate the beast, make it raise its guard, or even try to flee. Call its pack. Wolves were said to hunt in groups, after all. And this one? Stage three. I had no idea what skills it had, and frankly, I didn’t care to find out. I had burst damage on my side, enough to cripple it instantly. And if anything went wrong, I could still retreat with Quick Dash.

No, claws would do the trick. The fire? That would come later.

I inched closer, the underbrush rustling ever so slightly, my body coiling, muscles surging with Stamina. Breath shallow, heart steady.

The wolf stopped, sniffing the air. For a second, I tensed. Did it sense me? The last one had been drawn to my scent when I was wounded. But this one… no sensing skill, apparently. Lucky.

One more step… now.

Quick Dash.

I darted forward, legs hitting the ground as they charged again. Close, but not close enough. The wolf’s eyes widened, instinct kicking in. Too late, beastie. I vanished and reappeared, my grin practically inches from its snout, flames licking at my teeth.

Before it could react, its throat was already slashed. Before it could howl, flames had already engulfed it. Before it could understand, the Echo clawed through its core.

The wolf dropped. Its body slumped, charred head nearly severed from the rest. A delectable trophy. Of precision and of sheer force.

Efficient. Clean.

Another wolf down. Another core for the taking.

I grinned, my tail writhing like a ribbon in the wind. I licked my choppers, savoring the taste of the kill. The smell of charred flesh in the air.

Time for another meal.

***

 

This time, I was fully restored. The scales toughened as I devoured more, the once smooth flesh hardened, and my right eye—ah, it was back to sharp, full use. I was, without a doubt, in prime fighting shape again.

Thank bloody heavens for the Macro-tropic sac. I’d thought my first evolution might end up being a cursed trade, but good God, no. I could now gorge far beyond what was once possible, and heal at a damn near miraculous rate—stamina bouncing back as quick as a fox in a henhouse. No matter how brutal the hunt left me, I knew I’d recover after just one proper meal.

It made all the sense in the world to pump some morphogen into advancing this beauty of an organ, didn’t it? And lucky for me, I’d stockpiled enough. Forty-four of the stuff; I only needed forty to push the next step. But now wasn’t the time for that.

No, I’d cooled off a bit—and the anger surged right back. I still hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on. Was this some monster's turf war? Or was it something else entirely? I couldn’t tell, but there was no doubt—I was seething. And those elves... oh, those bastards. The moment I laid eyes on them, everything screamed wrong. They were out of place, like a rotten tooth in a smile, disrupting the natural order of this dungeon’s ecosystem. Bloody invaders. And I was livid.

I pulled up the screen again, staring at the mission. I hadn’t accepted or declined, but seeing those elves stirred something fierce. I had to act. Were they just farming resources? Growing stronger by hunting the monsters here? I didn’t know much about Lithrindel or Delver culture, for that matter. Maybe they understood the situation better than I did.

Whatever it was, I’d see for myself. Their magic, powerful as it was, didn’t scare me. It was fire magic, clear as day. I recognised the spell too, from Flame Vixen path, yellow core. A spell that took time to channel, draining the caster in the process. But hell, it packed such a punch, the drawbacks were laughable. Two mages, at least, had to be in that group—there were two distinct spells that had hit.

Ah, fuck it. My wings bristled. I couldn’t let those wretches walk away with it, now could I?

I once again found myself on the outskirts of the battlefield. And, by all the gods, it was getting foggy in here. The fight was still raging—more bodies littering the ground, and scavengers were starting to creep in, scavenging for scraps like vultures. I scrambled up the tallest tree nearby, scanning the carnage from above.

Another blast echoed from the centre, followed by a bone-shaking boom. That colossal serpent and the behemoth were still locked in combat, but the steam and mist had thickened, making it impossible to see the details. Still, the sounds of battle were unmistakable.

But then—there, through the haze—I spotted them. Four silhouettes. They fancied themselves hidden, but my Air Sense and the faintest shadows betrayed them. My eyes narrowed as I focused on the figure in front, holding a staff. An elven woman. She was chanting. There wasn’t any visible matrix around her until I caught a flicker at the staff’s tip—something glowing.

I’d never seen a mage from the Flame Vixen path actually cast a spell. I’d read about it, sure, obsessing over magic in my usual fashion, but this? Seeing it? This was something else entirely.

My gaze drifted back over the battlefield, and through the fog—holy shit! I could just make out glowing red lines and runes. A massive matrix was taking shape right over another monster group. These bastards had been using the chaos to slaughter their way through, picking off monsters while everyone else was distracted.

I glanced back to the mage, and there it was—a grin. Two warriors flanked her, big brutes in leather armour, swords out, standing guard. But they were relaxed, laughing like this was all a joke. Their eyes locked onto the forming matrix above the battlefield, and they chuckled like the filthy cowards they were.

They laughed.

A massive fireball took shape.

They laughed.

It descended, and I heard the anguished screams as it tore through the dungeon’s creatures. The air was filled with the stench of burning flesh, and they DARED to laugh again?

These vile invaders, corrupting the natural order, attacking monsters in their own territory, on sacred hunting grounds. And they had the sheer gall to laugh while they slaughtered?

I felt something snap, like a taut string inside my head. A window popped up in my vision.

Mission Accepted!

They would’ve walked away unscathed—if it weren’t for me. Their smug little display, their arrogance in the face of slaughter, would’ve carried on unchecked. But I’d caught them. And perhaps they knew, just as well as I did, that once they’d set foot in this place, they’d joined the dungeon’s twisted game. They weren’t just intruders anymore; they were players. No different from me, no different from the beasts they hunted. Prey, just waiting for their turn.

This place wasn’t just a pit for survival of the fittest—it was a forge. A crucible where power was hammered out of blood, bone, and desperation. Every kill was a step toward something greater. Growth. Evolution.

Seize every fucking chance, because they’d vanish faster than a rabbit in a hawk’s shadow. Every little opportunity dangling in front of you—take it. That was the rule.

And I didn’t need the System flashing its little reminders to know it. This time, the moment was mine, no puppet strings forcing me to act. I wanted this. I wanted to turn the tables, to make them the prey for once.

I’d had enough of whatever game was being played. Now, I’d be playing it on my terms. No more standing idly by, letting fate have its way. No, I’d be seizing it, shoving it, until the only outcome was the one I fucking wanted.

Something shifted, cold as a dagger to the spine. Perhaps that close brush with death had opened my eyes. I’d stared down the void and seen something lurking in the depths of my mind, something sinister that had been biding its time, waiting.

My gaze locked on the mage, a grin stretched across my face, almost painful in its hunger.

And I wasn’t about to deny it. Not anymore.