[V6C11] So, I've Decided to Grab that Hand

The interior of the white dragon’s mouth was cold and damp. Monica passed by the slobbery tongue, falling deeper and deeper.

The surroundings were pitch-black, leaving nothing visible. She considered casting fire magic to illuminate her surroundings. However, she hesitated, as provoking the white dragon unnecessarily might put Cyril in danger.

Her fall didn’t last long; Monica promptly landed on something soft. She let out an awkward “fugyah” yelp as she landed on her bottom, before starting to examine her surroundings.

Assuming she did everything correctly, she had reached the white dragon’s stomach. However, it was much different than what she had imagined.

The enclosure, although not spacious, was filled with faintly glowing white threads, weaving in all directions and covering everything.

The ground beneath her feet was similarly covered with threads, and Monica had landed on top of them.

The faintly shining threads resembled spiderwebs, but when touched, they felt silky and smooth, lacking any stickiness.

Monica tried plucking a thread with her fingers, and found it resistant to tearing.

(…Is this mana taking the form of threads?)

Monica had seen dissection diagrams of lesser dragons, but the structure of the white dragon’s body seemed completely different.

(Unlike lesser dragons, the body of greater dragons are mostly made of mana? Maybe they are closer to spirits…)

Veronica had said, “Thule can assimilate the information of what he swallows.”

In that case, Monica might be incorporated if she stayed within the creature’s stomach.

Time was of the essence. Monica pushed aside the threads blocking her view and began searching for Cyril.

She didn’t have to search long because there wasn’t much room to hide.

He was right there in the slightly more spacious area behind Monica. Cyril was leaning against the white threads, sleeping. About half of his body was covered with the threads.

“Cyril-sama!”

Monica rushed over, attempting to peel off the threads covering Cyril. However, the threads stuck tightly to him, and were impossible to remove.

“W-Why?”

The threads did not stick to Monica’s hands, yet they refused to come off Cyril.

Monica created a minute wind blade without an incantation, attempting to cut the binds holding Cyril… but the threads still didn’t budge. They were incredibly sturdy.

(Why? Why do these threads stick only to Cyril-sama and not me?)

Perhaps these threads played a role in absorbing and reading the information of everything Thule swallowed.

In a panic, Monica thought desperately.

The most straightforward and violent solution would be to unleash an offensive spell from inside the white dragon, tear open his belly, and escape.

However, now that Cyril had been partially assimilated into the magical creature’s body, there was no telling what might happen to him if she slew the dragon with a high powered spell. Ideally, she wanted to save that as a last resort.

Moreover, killing the dragon, which was the object of worship for the Hyla Tribe, wouldn’t be politically favorable… Of course, Cyril’s rescue was Monica’s top priority.

(Since he didn’t chew down on Cyril-sama, information can probably only be incorporated from living humans… Complete death is not allowed, but suspended animation is… What else? There must be some conditions…)

After scrutinizing each of Veronica’s statements and actions, Monica recalled the exchange in front of the altar.

When she tried to wake Cyril from a state of suspended animation, that spirit interrupted, saying, “No. If he wakes up, Thule won’t be able to assimilate him.”

(…Could it be that he can only be incorporated if unconscious?)

Indeed, the conscious Monica was not getting assimilated, only the unconscious Cyril.

…This was worth a try.

Monica reached out to touch Cyril’s hand, buried about halfway in the threads, before noticing something and withdrawing. The thorny rose vines had left blood stains on the glove on her right hand.

Instead, Monica removed the glove from her left hand and grasped Cyril’s hand with that.

Then, closing her eyes, she focused her consciousness.

Deeper, deeper, even deeper——until the beautiful world of magical symbols spread before her eyes.

Normally, Monica would lose herself in the ecstasy of that world, but now, she had to discipline herself. She carefully and calmly constructed the magical formulas necessary to awaken Cyril from the state of suspended animation that Veronica had inflicted on him.

Monica’s left hand emitted a faint orange light, and that radiance flowed into Cyril through their connected hands.

This warm mana melted the ice magic, and nothing else.

“Please… please, work…”

Monica felt a tiny bit of warmth returning to Cyril’s hands. Perhaps it was working, or maybe this was only the heat of her own hand transferring over.

She tightened her grasp. Cyril’s fingers, which had lost all their strength, still refused to budge.

“Please wake up… Cyril-sama…”

＊　＊　＊

(…Someone is crying.)

Cyril had heard something similar before.

The suppressed sobs, the pitiful whimpers. It was a girl crying with her head downcast, lowering her voice to avoid being heard.

That girl was shy, timid, and, above all, awful at relying on others.

She couldn’t say the word “help”, and thus faced everything alone. To tell the truth, Cyril sympathized with that feeling a bit.

Because Cyril too, had been a child who was bad at relying on others.

He had been afraid of causing trouble, of being ridiculed, of no longer being relied on… and unable to say the word “help”. The strain eventually caught up to him, resulting in the onset of mana hyperabsorption.

So if that girl were to reach out for his help… He wanted to take her hand.

——”P-Please… don’t hate me.”

The girl had said that while grabbing at the hem of his clothes.

Cyril understood that it was the best the timid girl could do, but even so, it was frustrating.

He intended only to grab her hand, but he ended up hugging her instead. That made him want to punch himself…

“Cyril-sama… Ugh… Uwah… Waaaah…”

The girl was still crying.

Feeling a faint warmth at the tips of his fingers, Cyril instinctively squeezed her hand back.

“I said… I would never hate you…”

As he spoke, Cyril was surprised by how terribly hoarse his voice was. It sounded as if he had forgotten how to speak for several years.

He cleared his throat a few times and lifted his eyelids, seeing round eyes peering at him.

Tears spilled from those eyes, and the droplets rolled down Cyril’s cheeks.

“Cyril-sama! You’re back! Ugh, waah, waaaaaaah…! Ugh… sniff.”

“…? Moni…”

“You’re okay… wah, heheh…”

Monica’s face was hard to read. It seemed to be both crying and smiling at the same time.

Finally, Cyril noticed a white thread-like substance covering him.

He raised his upper body, and the threads fell down on their own. What on earth was this? And where exactly was this place?

Cyril waited a little bit for Monica to settle down before questioning her.

“Where is this exactly?”

“Inside the white dragon’s stomach.”

Cyril froze for about three seconds and pressed his temple with his finger.

“Sorry, but could you say that again?”

“Inside the white dragon’s stomach. Um, Cyril-sama, you got eaten…”

Cyril’s last memory was the night in Sazandol, chasing after Monica when she entered a dubious establishment, about to scold her in a private room. He vaguely recalled Raul’s voice saying, “Here I go!” but that part probably wasn’t important.

At any rate, he should have been in Sazandol. Why was he in a dragon’s belly? And a white dragon at that. Wasn’t that a legendary creature?

To the perplexed Cyril, Monica continued with a troubled expression.

“Um, an ice spirit kidnapped you and fed you to the weakened white dragon in order to save him.”

Monica’s rough explanation left Cyril completely clueless, but the word “ice spirit” caught his attention.

He vaguely remembered someone speaking to him inside a moving carriage.

Cyril noticed an uncomfortable feeling on his left hand and raised it up. An unfamiliar silver bracelet had been placed on his wrist.

The bracelet, somewhat wide with a handcuff-like impression, had a violet-colored stone embedded in the center. This stone was a spirit stone for forming a contract with a spirit.

As Cyril observed the spirit stone, the ground under their feet shook violently. Simultaneously, a bestial noise echoed from above. Was this the white dragon’s roar?

Monica raised her left arm, wiped her tear-streaked face, and looked up.

It was only then that Cyril noticed it. White fabric was wrapped around Monica’s right arm, and green vines extended upwards from her palm.

Her gloved right hand was holding onto those vines with a firm grip.

“…? What are those vines…?”

“Oh, yes, the lifeline. Let’s escape right away. Uh, sorry… e-excuse me.”

Saying that, Monica hugged Cyril… or rather, clutched onto Cyril’s body.

That’s when he realized it. The “lifeline” Monica mentioned was a rose vine. Upon closer inspection, it was covered in sharp thorns. Despite that, Monica had wrapped it around her arm and gripped it tightly.

The right arm Monica had wrapped about Cyril was covered a white cloth with red stains seeping through. Cyril tried to comment on it.

“Wait, what is…”

“Here we go.”

Monica pulled on the vine of her right hand, and it promptly went taut. Someone outside was pulling on it.

Activating her flight magic, Monica lightly kicked the ground, and the two soared upward with great momentum.

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