The System Arrives: Consequences, page 28
“Girls,” he said softly, not wanting to startle them. Both heads snapped up. Their eyes immediately locked onto the golden bundle nestled in his arm.
“Master Robert, what is that?” Clara asked, her usual composure replaced by a breathless sort of wonder.
Willow said nothing, but her eyes, wide and observant, missed no detail. Robert knelt down, keeping his movements slow. “This is… a new family member,” he said, gently pulling back the cloth. Nitlax stirred, awakened by the movement. He blinked open his molten gold eyes and let out a small, curious chirp that sounded like stones rubbing together.
Willow gasped softly, a hand flying to her mouth. Clara, completely mesmerized, leaned forward. The usual thoughts of profit and shop appeal were momentarily forgotten, replaced by pure awe.
"Is he… real?" she whispered, her gaze locked on the tiny, perfect creature.
“Something more,” Robert said with a small smile. “His name is Nitlax. And he’s my partner.”
Nitlax, now fully awake, stretched his wings and gave a little yawn. He wobbled on unsteady feet, sniffed the air, and fixed his golden gaze on Clara. He took a tentative step towards her. Clara held out her hand, forgetting all about professionalism. The little dragon nudged her fingertips with his snout, his scales surprisingly smooth and warm.
“Wow,” Clara breathed, her eyes shining. "He's so warm! Are his scales... are they magical? Can you use them for enchanting? He's beautiful!"
Seeing her sister's calm demeanor, Willow stepped forward, her initial apprehension replaced by a quiet fascination. Nitlax turned his attention to her, tilting his head. Willow’s gaze was different from her sister’s; she saw not a commodity, but a font of raw, untamed magic. She reached out a hesitant finger and touched the dragon’s tail. “His aura… it’s immense,” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. "It's not like the ambient mana... it's ancient, and warm, like a star."
A few weeks later, Elara and Anya arrived for a scheduled training session. In that time, Nitlax, while he had not grown any larger, had grown more confident in his movement. Robert chose the backyard for this next introduction. He was demonstrating a sword form to Elara while Anya took detailed notes when he sent a mental summons. Nitlax, come on out. A moment later, the golden dragon trotted out, blinked in the sun, and made a direct line for Robert, hopping into his lap.
Silence descended. Elara’s hand, which had been resting on the table, began to glow with soft, curious light, her mage's senses instinctively reaching out to analyze the new presence. Anya leaned forward, her ranger's eyes wide with excitement and a dozen questions.
"Robert," Elara said, her voice filled with wonder. "What is that? I've never felt anything like it."
"Is that a Fire Lizard? Or some kind of Gold-Scaled Wyrm?" Anya whispered excitedly, her gaze fixed on the creature's golden scales and intelligent eyes. "He's gorgeous! Where did you find him? He’s not a local species, I’d know his tracks. Is he friendly?"
Robert chuckled, stroking Nitlax’s head. “His name is Nitlax. And he’s my partner.”
He went on to explain the Dragon Bond, leaving out none of Hal’s details. The glow around Elara’s hand faded, replaced by an expression of pure fascination. Anya scrambled for her journal, ready to document this incredible discovery.
“A bond of equals,” Elara mused, her eyes shining. “Imagine the spells we could weave together! A bond like that... it's the stuff of legends!”
Anya, meanwhile, was buzzing with a different kind of excitement. "A real dragon! We could track together! Imagine hunting with a dragon partner! That's amazing! What does he eat? Does he have a territory yet? This is the best thing ever!"
Nitlax, seeming to sense he was the center of attention, puffed out his chest and blew a perfect, shimmering smoke ring. Anya laughed with delight. "He did a trick! That's so cool!"
Elara just shook her head, a rare, small smile touching her lips. She looked at Robert, her expression softening. “He is a powerful ally. And a great responsibility. You have chosen a difficult, but potent, path.”
A week later, Robert knew he needed the perspective of someone who understood the gears of the world, not just the threads of fate. He made his way to the Adventurer's Guild, making sure that Nitlax was carefully concealed in a specially modified satchel at his side, shielded by a minor illusion spell. He was granted an immediate audience with Lysandra. He was ushered into her office, a practical room filled with maps, bounty notices, and neatly stacked reports. She sat behind a large oak desk, her moss-green eyes sharp and assessing.
"Robert," she greeted him with a friendly smile. "Good to see you. Pull up a chair. What brings you by? More trouble with the junior adventurers, or did you just come to grace me with your charming presence?"
Robert chuckled, taking the offered seat. "A bit of both, maybe. Actually, something… significant has happened, and I need your advice. The kind of advice that should be kept quiet."
Lysandra leaned back, her fingers steepled, her expression shifting from friendly to professionally curious. "Alright, you have my full attention. What's happened?"
Robert took a deep breath. "I've acquired a new partner," he said carefully. "And it's… complicated." With a subtle gesture, he lowered the illusion on his satchel. Nitlax poked his golden head out, blinked his molten gold eyes, and let out a soft, questioning chirp.
Lysandra froze. For a long second, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of parchment. Her sharp, analytical gaze swept over the small dragon, taking in every detail. Her friendly demeanor vanished, replaced by the focused intensity of a Guild Master assessing a sudden, town-altering threat.
"Robert," she said, her voice low and dangerously calm. "Explain. Now."
Robert recounted everything Hal had told him about the Dragon Bond, the mechanics, the benefits, the equal partnership. Lysandra listened without interruption, her gaze never leaving the small, curious dragon. When he finished, she was silent for a long moment, her mind clearly processing the immense strategic and political implications.
"Okay," she said finally, her voice all business. "Forget the legends. Forget the prophecies. Let's talk practicality. You have, sitting in your lap, an asset of immeasurable value and a political time bomb of catastrophic proportions."
She leaned forward, her expression intensely serious. "A dragon is a symbol of immense power. Noble houses will want to control it. Rival kingdoms will see it as a threat to be eliminated. Powerful adventuring parties will see him as the ultimate prize—imagine the glory, the loot, the fame from slaying a dragon. You haven't just gained a partner; you've painted a target on this entire town."
The weight of her words settled on him, heavier than any physical burden.
"Right now, he's a juvenile. Vulnerable. That makes him the weak point in his security. They won't challenge you to a fair fight, Robert. They'll use assassins, poison, political leverage, anything to get to him. They will see his death or capture as a worthy prize, no matter the cost."
Lysandra’s eyes bored into his. “Your strength is considerable, and your actions over the last year will make people pause, but we both know people are stupid.
“What do I do?” Robert asked, his voice strained.
“You become invisible," Lysandra stated plainly. "He doesn't leave the workshop. No one outside your most trusted circle knows he exists. You train him in secret. You build your power, and his, in the shadows. I'll help you all I can, of course but my first duty is to this town's safety, and a baby dragon is a threat to that safety."
Her tone softened slightly. "I'm not your enemy, Robert. I see the asset this young one can be. But you need to understand the game you've just been forced to play. Keep him secret. Get him strong. When the world finds out—and they will—be ready for the war that will follow. Because there will be a war for him."
He left the Guildhall that day with the joy of his new bond tempered by a cold, hard understanding of the danger it represented. The path ahead was not just one of partnership, but of survival. Lysandra’s words echoed in his mind long after he returned home. The warning had been clear, stripping away the simple joy of his new partnership and replacing it with a grim sense of urgency. The workshop felt too small, too public. Any real training would be impossible here.
Late that night, under the cloak of darkness, Robert slipped out of his workshop. Nitlax was nestled securely in his satchel, a simple illusion making him appear as a mundane bundle. They moved silently through the deserted streets of Oakhaven, making for the White Stone Dungeon. It was the only viable option: an environment where Nitlax could face real enemies and gain experience without risk of exposure.
Inside the familiar, damp stone corridors, Robert set the ground rules. He would weaken the monstrous dungeon rats, but Nitlax had to deliver the final blow to gain the experience. The first few encounters were clumsy. Nitlax, despite his draconic heritage, was still a level one creature. He nipped and clawed at the stunned rats, his attacks barely scratching them. But with each kill, a flicker of understanding grew in his golden eyes. He leveled up quickly, his attacks gaining potency. A small puff of super-heated air, a sharper claw swipe.
As they cleared the first floor, a thought struck Robert. "Hal," he projected, "I know Nitlax is a System user, but will he get classes? Is it the same for bonds?"
Of course, Robert, I told you, he is a full System user. He will be offered classes at level 10 and professions later on, just like anyone else. His draconic nature will heavily influence the options, but he still needs to perform certain actions and develop skills to unlock specific paths, should he choose to.
The grinding continued for hours. Robert would injure a rat, and Nitlax, growing stronger and more confident with each level, would finish it. By the time dawn threatened to break, they had cleared the dungeon's first two floors. A final, triumphant chirp from Nitlax confirmed it. He had reached level 10. Exhausted but satisfied, Robert carefully concealed his partner once more and began the journey back to Oakhaven, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what classes a young dragon might be offered. The secret training had begun.
Robert took a look at Nitla's status and looked at his skills
Skill Name Rank Level Desc
General - Combat - Claw Attack 1 1 A basic slashing attack with foreclaws.
General - Combat - Tail Swipe 1 1 A sweeping attack with the tail to knock opponents off balance.
General - Combat - Bite 1 1 A piercing bite attack, think kitten.
General - Combat - Lesser Flame Breath 1 1 Exhales a short cone of weak flame, well smoke really.
Magic - Sphere Elemental Fire 1 1
Magic - Sphere Elemental Water 1 1
Magic - Sphere of Nature 1 1
Magic - Sphere of Elemental Light 1 1
Magic - Sphere of Gravity 1 1
System 1 - General skill in the knowledge of the system
System UI Learned - System Subskill
System Storage Learned 1 System Subskill
System Map Learned 1 System Subskill
System Logs Learned - System Subskill
System Quests Learned - System Subskill
System Skills Learned - System Subskill
System Status Learned - System Subskill
System Party Menu Learned - System Subskill
Robert also took a look at the young dragon's abilities.
Ability Name Ability Type Ability Description
Draconic Might Passive Increases physical strength.
Draconic Scale Armor Passive Hardened scales provide natural physical resistance.
Draconic Senses Passive Enhanced sight, smell, and hearing.
Draconic Flight Active Currently allows for short, clumsy glides which are really falls.
Book Three: Chapter 31: The Stagnation of Peace
"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for. The horizon calls, with its promise of storms and stars, and a true captain must answer."
— Mariner's Saying
“Don’t pick a class, Nitlax. Not yet.” Robert’s hand, calloused from the forge and the hilt of his sword, rested on the dragon’s neck. The scales felt like a palmful of warm, polished river stones. “Promise me.”
You need not worry, while the bond allows him to gain experience early, the System itself holds the age rule firm when it comes to full access. Until he hits the age of majority for his race, he will not be able to select a class.
“And what would that be for a dragon?” Robert asked aloud, his thumb gently rubbing behind one of Nitlax’s delicate horns. The little dragon let out a contented puff of silver smoke.
Two years old is the normal age for a dragon of his lineage. Not even the bond can override that rule. So we have time to help him earn a great class.
“Okay, so we have some time to work with him, that’s good news,” Robert mused, a wave of relief washing over him. The thought of this tiny, innocent creature being thrust into the rigid confines of a class, with all the expectations and dangers that entailed, was a weight he wasn’t ready to bear. “We’ll make sure he gets the best one possible.”
The first year after Vheridian’s visit passed not in a blur, but in a string of distinct moments that stitched themselves into the fabric of their new life. Time in Oakhaven began to flow like water instead of grinding like stone. Nitlax grew at a rate that was frankly unsettling. He went from wobbling around the workshop like an oversized, clumsy cat to moving with the liquid grace of a predator that just happened to be the size of a wolfhound.
His constant, gleaming, golden form became a familiar tripping hazard. His curiosity was boundless and often destructive; more than one half-finished project, hours of painstaking work, had been sent clattering to the floor by a swipe of an overly enthusiastic tail or a misplaced, inquisitive snout. Each crash was a small price to pay for the life he brought to the workshop’s quiet corners.
His first word wasn't 'Father'. It wasn't 'Robert'. It was a perfectly articulated “More,” aimed with laser focus at a strip of peppered jerky Clara was about to eat. She’d frozen, the savory meat halfway to her mouth, and stared. Then a laugh had burst out of her, loud and sharp. Willow joined in from her workbench, a sound like peeling bells that was quickly becoming the shop’s new anthem.
After that, the floodgates of his vocabulary opened. He became a shadow at their heels, his golden head cocked, absorbing every conversation, every transaction with an unnerving intensity. One afternoon, Willow was hunched over a silver armband, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she guided a thread of mana into an etching. It was a delicate, frustrating process, and she’d been at it for hours.
Nitlax, who had been watching silently from his warm spot by the forge, let out a soft hum. “Shiny,” he rumbled, tapping a claw near a rune that pulsed with a slightly brighter light than the others. Willow jumped, startled, but then looked closer. A slow, wondrous smile spread across her face as she saw the subtle resonance he’d pointed out, a flaw in the mana flow she had completely missed.
His observations weren't always so benign. “Clara,” he announced from his spot by the hearth as a nervous-looking man tried to haggle over a warding amulet. “That one smells of cheap ale and desperation. Charge him extra.” Clara nearly choked on a laugh, the customer went the color of old parchment, and the sale was made at a thirty percent markup. His blunt assessments, delivered with innocent gravity, often proved unnervingly accurate.
The first winter snows came, dusting the gabled roofs of Oakhaven and muffling the world in a blanket of quiet. The shop became a beacon of warmth and light against the gray chill, its enchanted lamps casting a cheerful, buttery glow onto the cobblestones. Inside, business was a roaring fire. The gate to Ironheart Keep, a strategic investment Robert had made, had become an artery of commerce, pumping a steady stream of soldiers and merchants into their little corner of the world.
Clara had risen to the occasion with a ferocity and natural talent that Robert had never anticipated. She wasn't just selling his wares; she was building an enterprise. She managed the inventory with meticulous care, her ledgers a work of art. She negotiated with suppliers with a disarming smile and a will of iron, and handled even the most belligerent customers with a firm, unshakable charm that left them feeling like they’d gotten a good deal.
She was establishing a reputation for Williams’ Wares & Wonders, one of fairness and uncompromising quality. The shop's coffers, once managed solely by Robert's dungeon spoils, began to swell on their own merit, a testament to her sharp mind and tireless effort. Robert found himself retreating to the upstairs workshop more and more, leaving the front of the shop to her capable hands.
He was there, sanding a new axe handle, when a man who carried himself with an air of unearned superiority entered the shop. Factor Corvus of the Gilded Compass Consortium. Robert had heard of them. Vultures in fine clothing, known for strong-arming small businesses and absorbing them into their massive, faceless corporation. He set the axe handle down, listening.
"I'm interested in your warming stones," the man declared, his tone suggesting he was bestowing a great honor upon them. "My consortium could move hundreds of these. What's your bulk price for a gross?"
Robert heard the faint scrape of a stool as Clara stood. "The stones are fifty-seven silver pieces each, sir."
Corvus scoffed, a wet, unpleasant sound that grated on Robert’s nerves. "Nonsense. Every business has a bulk rate. The Gilded Compass doesn't deal in trinkets. I'm asking for your bulk rate, girl."
"I understand," Clara’s voice was as smooth as polished wood, without a hint of deference. "And we don't currently offer one. Each stone is handcrafted by Master Williams and enchanted individually by his apprentice. We prioritize unique craftsmanship over mass production. Our prices are based on the quality and the Master Enchanter's time, not volume."
Robert paused his work, a slow, proud smile touching his lips. He could picture the Factor’s face, the disbelief turning to indignation. The man, clearly unaccustomed to being refused by a mere shopkeeper, stared at her for a long, silent moment. He eventually huffed and purchased a single stone at full price. "A sample," he'd stated, his voice tight with irritation, "to see if this 'craftsmanship' is worth the exorbitant cost."
