The Dragon Heir (A Monster Evolution/Progression LitRPG)

I pressed my hands against the barrier. Even from the Shadow Realm, it felt maddeningly solid—Lysska wasn't exaggerating when she called it a catch-all. The thing was layered like an overcautious sandwich—seven elemental strata, each humming with defensive intent. I gave it a few curious taps with my bladed tentacles—light pokes, nothing aggressive. I wasn't trying to trip an alarm, after all.

Sure, I could probably break it. But between "probably" and "definitely" lies a canyon of consequences. Loud, messy, attract-every-Gold-rank-in-the-area kind of consequences. And seeing as I was here for intel, not to volunteer myself as the daily special on the bounty board, smashing my way in was off the table.

So I slipped down into a nearby alley and reformed into the material plane. The Iron Pact building wasn't hard to spot—it was massive. Not just "big guild hall" massive—this place looked like a miniature town. First came the outer wall, fortress-like and squared off, where the pact barrier looped around the entire compound. Inside, the layout was dense: I spotted what looked like barracks first, followed by a variety of unknown facilities whose exact purposes were anyone's guess.

Honestly, the whole complex gave off the energy of a research facility hastily rebranded as a military outpost. The western quadrant held a sprawling academy, while the east side mirrored it with more of those nondescript facilities. The true core, though, was up north: a hulking central structure that could only be the Iron Pact's headquarters.

Sergiy's presence still pinged clearly through the spell—not cut off, thankfully. I had to drip mana into the mark every now and then to keep the link stable—around 5 per minute, manageable considering my natural regen was much higher without even tapping into Core Regulation. Still, I really needed to train that skill further. My evolution had clearly shuffled the upgrade deck; maybe I'd find a more efficient passive mana regen pathway if I looked again.

I homed in on Sergiy's position—he was holed up in the barracks-like cluster just beside the academy, not far from HQ. At the moment, he was pacing inside his room, visibly stressed and raking his hands through his hair like he was trying to rip out a plan.

I considered giving him a nudge—maybe suggest he infiltrate the prison cell block on his own—but that would've just fast-tracked him to disaster. I'm sneaky, not sadistic. Besides, I wasn't even sure where that idea fell on the Absurdity Rune's "this is okay" scale. Probably on the lower end, but still—too risky. No reason to gamble with a guy already on edge.

Especially since, when I checked in on him, he practically jumped out of his skin again. Poor guy was already carrying enough trauma—I wasn't about to add another surprise scare to the pile.

So I pulled my awareness away, letting him breathe. Focus shifted.

Now came the real problem: how the hell was I supposed to infiltrate this place and, more importantly, get access to the prison system without setting off a parade of alarms?

First visit wasn't going to be flashy. This was recon. Just get the lay of the land, figure out how the system ticks, and then see if I could talk Lysska into working with me on the actual breach.

I did spot a few crows circling overhead—maybe hers, maybe not. The thing with Lysska's magic is you could never tell. Her reach was spooky like that. Only Alice possessed that uncanny knack, spotting which birds were flesh and blood and which were winged surveillance drones reporting live.

I activated Phantom Dragon Dance, and the familiar phantom blur wrapped around me like a second skin. Coupled with my naturally low presence, I practically ghosted forward toward the front gate.

The gate itself was a beast—massive, wide enough for two carriages side by side, and busy enough to warrant its own schedule. Supply carts and carriages rolled in and out like clockwork. Occasionally, I saw enforcers being carried in—wounded ones, slumped on stretchers, escorted by what looked like rapid-response squads. A grim little reminder that the city was still deep in post-chaos mode after yesterday's mess. Varkaigrad wasn't settling down anytime soon.

Riots were flaring up, especially in the lower districts. The people there had always been powerless, and despite the Iron Pact's reputation, not every member was a walking powerhouse. Plenty of Yellow Cores were still dangerously vulnerable, and Gray Cores even more so—basically glass cannons in a powder keg.

That lower district was a festival of delightful anarchy: illegal weapon markets thriving (those enchanted crossbows I'd seen were nasty pieces of work), gang wars flaring, and likely the Vor'akhs whispering poison from the shadows. Undetectable, they could be anyone. In a city of millions, "anyone" was a very large, very dangerous hunting ground.

The Pact was trying to dam a flood with their hands. Admirable effort, perhaps, but hard to appreciate when they'd pinned the blame on me. So, no. No warm feelings here.

I slipped closer to the gate—undetected. Not a single guard gave even a twitch.

With my Air Sense stretched thin, I tallied about thirty personnel stationed in and around the gate. All armed—predictably—with enchanted weapons. Most wielded enchanted sabers, which seemed to be the standard-issue flavor of the Pact. A few had crossbows, suspiciously similar to the ones I'd seen in that underground market. Either they had a supply deal, or someone was "reallocating" weapons off the books.

I took a slow, deliberate breath and settled in right behind two guards—close enough to count the flecks in one guy's yawn. But this wasn't a sneak attack. Just recon. I was certain they had some kind of detection ward layered here—if they didn't, Lysska would've already flown her murder of eyes through the gate without issue. She once mentioned her crows just dropped dead the moment they tried to pass the threshold. Always a fun red flag.

I tilted my head up to study the archway from this side. The interior ceiling and pillars were etched with runes, faintly glowing. I recognized a few individually, but as a set, the sequence didn't ring any bells. It was like trying to guess a password from the letters alone—something was missing.

I whispered just barely under my breath, hoping for input from Lotte.

[It certainly does feel like a ward of some kind. Observe some more before doing anything drastic.]

Vague but not useless. That's pretty on-brand for her.

Still, I understood the basics of ward logic: they're built to react to specific triggers. If this one detected disguise magic, glamours, or anything pretending to be something it wasn't, it might purge the illusion—or sound the alarm. And considering the city's current wraith problem, I had a strong hunch this thing wasn't just tuned for the physical plane. There was likely a detection layer targeting the shadow dimension too.

So while anything physical could be scrutinized by the definitely-not-bored eyes of the guards, the rest—the sneaky stuff, illusions, glamours, phantoms—would be either repelled or flagged by the ward. That was the sense I got, and honestly? Pretty solid system. The fact that carriages and people were coming in freely only reinforced it.

I paused. Literally, a heartbeat. Then the idea detonated in my skull like a flashbang.

OH YEAHHHH.

Why hadn't it clicked sooner? When logic fails, embrace the universe's favorite plaything: beautiful, unscripted chaos.

A grin sliced across my face. Casually, almost politely, I extended a tail-tip and delivered a precise, invasive poke to a guard's posterior. The instant his yelp tore the air and he whirled on his bewildered, half-asleep partner like betrayal smelled like cheap leather, I poofed—vanishing into the Shadow Realm.

Air and Air Sense dissolved with me as I slipped into the world's inky negative. And wouldn't you know it? Fortune favors the audacious. My target materialized only after a few minutes of searching.

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A lone wraith. Utterly unsuspecting.

It was "minding its own business"—if you count halfway through unraveling some poor soul's dimensional resonance to hijack their body as casual errands. Standard wraith stuff.

Too bad for it… it had just stumbled across me.

Post-evolution, all my attacks were passively laced with Quantum mana. Which meant even without consciously casting anything, anything I hit—including your usual physical-immune ghosts and ghoulies—just didn't stand a chance.

I lunged and caught it by the throat mid-screech. Stuffed a tentacle down its gullet, wrapped another around its body. Maybe a little too tightly. But let's be honest—it was just that easy now. It couldn't break free, and it sure as hell couldn't hurt me. Its desperate swings and ethereal strikes just bounced off my golden hide like foam darts.

I was the monster monsters feared.

I could taste its terror dripping from its smoky form, and Thalador, it was delicious.

But I wasn't here to eat. Not today.

Back at the barrier entrance, I could still feel that low, oppressive pressure—even from inside the Shadow Realm. A pulse of active warding, waiting for a trigger. So I gave it one.

I folded my claws, lifted a leg for momentum, then grabbed the shrieking wraith by the head and yeeted it straight through the barrier.

All from the safety of the shadow side.

Because technically, I tossed it while still intangible—just a projection from another dimension. It shouldn't have even registered, unless the ward was attuned to something deeper—light-based, maybe dimensionally reactive.

Sure enough, the results were spectacularly predictable.

The moment that poor bastard crossed the perimeter, sirens flared red across the gate. Runes lit up like a festival, and golden chains materialized midair—ripping the wraith straight out of the Shadow Realm like a kid getting dragged out of a toy store.

It screeched the whole way down.

Well, that certainly stirred the hornet's nest.

Guards were on high alert now—shouting, weapons drawn, eyes sweeping the area like their lives depended on it. Which, to be fair, they kind of did. Wraiths were still a serious threat for your average Yellow Core enforcer. Even with all those enchantments strapped to their backs, a single mistake could end with one of them possessed or worse.

And in the middle of all that chaos?

I slipped in.

Right through the perimeter—quiet, invisible, and completely unnoticed. I did feel the ward spike in response when I crossed. The alarm seemed to flare harder, like it sensed something slip through. But no one looked in my direction. No golden chains came for me. No runes lashed out.

That confirmed it—whatever that ward was, it wasn't designed to anchor physical entities. It was strictly tuned for things in the shadow dimension. Shadowforms, like that wraith. Anchor-based containment, most likely—to trap such beings inside once detected, keep them from phasing out again.

Good to know. I mentally filed it away.

Ignoring the ongoing blare of the alarms, I stepped further in.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a crow attempting to dive in during the distraction—bold little thing—but it dropped dead the instant it crossed the threshold. No flare, no glow. Just an invisible force that snuffed the life out of it mid-flight. No doubt one of Lysska's. She couldn't see me, not from where she was, but she had to suspect this was my doing.

Not that it mattered. I'd be checking in with her soon enough.

Now came the main event.

Infiltration: Engaged.

Time to peel back the Iron Pact's armored plating. See what made their gears grind. Hunt for hints about their buried secrets. About Vorak's cage. About the monumental 'how' of springing a prisoner from this fortress. Easy, Jade. Recon first. One layer at a time.

Maybe… savor the peeling.

A slow, predatory grin spread across my draconic face.

After everything they'd orchestrated, the frame job, the bounty… they deserved every meticulously planned ounce of what was coming. And the garnish would be delicious.

***

Zhiva nearly toppled out of her chair the moment the alarms screamed to life.

"By the ancestors' tits—again?!"

She grabbed her saber without missing a beat and stormed out of her office.

Captain of the Guard, Iron Pact—on paper, it sounded noble. Reality was mostly babysitting mouth-breathing incompetents while dumping actual work on the three underlings who possessed brain cells. Useless fucking maggots. But lately her cushy, lazy routine had turned into a non-stop shitshow. Peace and quiet felt like a fever dream from another life.

Ancestor's bleeding claws, what I wouldn't give for one boring, paperwork-filled day.

She might sound like a grizzled war crone, but Zhiva was barely thirty. Post-Red Core body reconstruction left her looking like she'd barely graduated puberty – eighteen tops, judging by the annoyingly flawless skin and dense muscle scans. Not that anyone was stupid enough to treat her like a kid.

The moment she stepped out, a wave of psychic noise hit her—a razor-sharp shriek slicing straight through her thoughts. Her sharp green eyes snapped toward the source.

A wraith. Screaming, bound midair by glowing golden chains. One of the barrier's anchor spells had shot clean through its center, pinning it like a bug in a jar. Contained—for now.

Still, her brow furrowed. This was the first wraith to breach the Pact perimeter in months. Even the dumbest of them usually avoided enclosed spaces like this one. The last intruder turned out to be a necromantic experiment—artificial, sloppy.

Zhiva's eyes narrowed.

Then she moved.

Lightning bloomed around her feet and blade—pure storm-born aggression channeling into muscle and steel. She lunged, one clean blur of motion, and in the space between two blinks, her saber split the shrieking wraith's head from its body.

The chains disintegrated instantly. The ward runes dulled, returning to their dormant state.

The guards on duty just stood there. Not just one or two—all of them. Mouths slightly open. Eyes wide. Wraiths didn't usually die in one strike, not even with enchantments. Zhiva made it look like she was cutting bread.

One guard, however, frowned.

"Are the runes malfunctioning?" he asked, squinting toward the gate. "Why's the alarm still going?"

Oh, for fuck's—these absolute turnips.

She lunged again. Less grace, more rage. Her armored fist smashed into the side of his head hard enough to lift him off his feet. He hit the cobbles with a choked grunt, clutching his skull.

"If your fucking brain's on vacation, maggot, LEAVE IT AT HOME NEXT TIME!" she roared, scowling at the rest. Not one of these oxygen thieves had mentioned the still-blaring alarm. Useless sacks of meat.

"In case your collective heads are lodged so far up your asses you're tasting yesterday's rations—LISTEN! One alert stopped when this spook died! The other one's still shrieking its tits off! So unless you're all collectively hallucinating breakfast steaks—WANNA TAKE A FUCKING GUESS WHY?!"

That finally sparked something resembling awareness. Spines stiffened. Eyes darted nervously. Their blank, panicked stares confirmed it – not a single one had registered the second trigger.

Her gaze snapped back to the dissolving wraith corpse. The smoky dark mana was thinning from its body leaving behind its translucent flesh, but not before she caught it.

Marks. Deep, brutal indentations. Fresh. Not from spells or runes. It looked like the wraith had been half-strangled and manhandled before it ever hit the barrier. Throat crushed. Body compressed.

Zhiva's jaw clenched hard enough to crack stone. Her knuckles whitened on the saber's grip.

"We've got an intruder among us," she hissed. "And it ain't the usual flavor of stupid. Something dangerous… is already fucking inside."