DKIE CH6: Group Favorite Novel

Luka spoke with conviction.

The quill finally extracted the key word: pen.

Luka: “Have you heard of ‘a masterful pen that brings words to life’? Even if you haven’t, it doesn’t matter. After all, turning paper people into reality, or creating eight characters in one go, is no problem.”

The dragons were destined to become this world’s Guanyin, the deity of childbirth.

Despite the novel expressions, the quill eventually understood what kind of nonsense Luka was talking about. Simply put, it was storytelling.

Writing requires a pen, yet the quill hadn’t associated itself with that role—after all, who would be bold enough to think so?

The quill found the idea quite intriguing.

What a brilliant way to court death.

Writing a book and presenting it to the dragon clan in hopes of making friends—any respectable powerhouse would find it offensive. Those unaware might even think it was mocking their infertility.

“What do you think?” Luka asked.

The quill answered honestly, “I think it’s brilliant.”

Luka smirked.

If it were the former Alex, he might have sensed something off. But with a malformed heart missing a brainstem, he could only judge things by their surface.

This wasn’t due to the quill’s limited perspective. The races of the Holy Demon Continent had little understanding of entertainment. They couldn’t comprehend the terrifying levels of energy, money, and effort fans could pour into someone they’d never even met.

However, as a transmigrator, Luka lacked historical knowledge.

The original host of this body had read few books, which happened to be the quill’s area of expertise.

“Let’s form another contract. You’ll unconditionally assist in my writing—like recording and providing accurate historical information.”

The quill rejected him without hesitation: “In your dreams.”

Luka was determined to find himself a scribe. But instead of relying on sweet talk, he pretended to ponder, “Fine, I’ll think of other ways to get stronger.”

Seeing him abandon the idea of courting death, the quill instinctively soothed itself.

“…Wait. Let me think about it.”

A few minutes later, the two forged their third contract.

Luka was quite satisfied. One day, he’d stack their contracts so high they’d form a thousand-layer pancake.

Taking a sip of magic bean brew to dispel his drowsiness, Luka pressed the room’s service bell.

With a soft “ding-dong,” Maya entered.

Luka asked directly, “Do you have any paper?”

“One moment.”

A while later, Maya returned with parchment.

Luka was stunned. “No paper?”

Paper had been common for hundreds of years, according to his memory.

Maya replied, “We do, but parchment is better.”

“Better how?” It was obviously harder to write on than paper.

Maya: “It makes the writing look more expensive. The Rhine Trading Company adheres to a principle of luxury in everything.”

“…Fine.”

Maya left.

Although the quill could transcribe words through dictation, Luka preferred holding the pen himself—for the aesthetic experience.

If the target was the dragon clan, he couldn’t write about dragons directly; that would be too obvious.

Luka began by setting the scene and asked, “Are there any nearly extinct dragon species? Preferably ones with a unique appearance.”

“The Wrath Dragon.”

As expected of a living encyclopedia, the quill provided an immediate answer: “The Wrath Dragon is known for its violent nature and was once the pinnacle of the dragon race’s combat power.”

Luka flattened the parchment and made a “please” gesture.

Under the constraints of their third contract and secretly hoping Luka would hurry up and die, the quill began drawing.

With a few swift strokes, it effortlessly sketched a lifelike creature. The scales barely concealed the dragon’s muscular form, and its most distinctive feature was the sharp, thorn-like spines protruding from its back.

Luka stared at it for a few seconds. Using the drawing as a reference, he added a chibi version below.

The quill nearly bent itself into a question mark.

Ugly.
So ugly. Chubby and round.

A bit strange. One more look.

To put it in modern terms, it was ugly in a way that was oddly impressive.

Luka began further adjustments, sketching by imitation.

After pondering for a moment, he made some modifications to the chubby, Q-version dragon.

First, he erased the wings and replaced the noble silver scales with gold.

The quill’s unique ability became apparent—it could extract elemental magic and freely generate any color.

Luka then incorporated features from Eastern dragons, refining the curves until the design became more streamlined and changing from four claws to five.

Quill: “What kind of lizard are you drawing?”

A dragon without wings—can you even call that a dragon?

Luka replied calmly, “Don’t worry, it has invisible wings.”

He explained the reasoning behind this “Frankenstein dragon”:

“This dragon was originally a dead egg, abandoned by its parents on land tainted with dark magic. By some twist of fate, it mutated and hatched.”

“…No dragon would ever abandon an egg, even a dead one.”

Luka: “Because its parents turned against each other. Plus, this dragon egg was born with a different-colored shell.”

…Why did this backstory feel oddly familiar?

The quill’s gaze unintentionally shifted to Luka’s rare black hair and fell silent.

“Wait… are you drawing inspiration from your own tragic background?”

“Of course,” Luka admitted without hesitation. He raised a slender finger,
“The first rule of writing: Self-insertion.”

A mere sprinkle of personal experience wouldn’t satisfy him.

His true goal was to subtly infuse his own characteristics into this dragon hatchling’s image, laying the groundwork for the dragon clan to project their affection onto the character in the future.

Dragons are not exactly known for their patience.

Luka had no intention of directly revealing the character’s background. He would keep it vague and mysterious, allowing readers to speculate for themselves.

All he needed was to set the tone from the very first scene and let the protagonist make an immediate appearance.

Without further thought, Luka grabbed another piece of parchment and began drafting:

[In the cold, dark cave, a strange egg trembled slightly.
Its surface was covered in chaotic patterns, roughly the size of two ostrich eggs.]

The quill couldn’t tolerate such an obvious factual error and corrected him,
“Dragon eggs have highly symmetrical patterns and are at least five times larger than this.”

“I already told you, it’s a mutation.”
The fact that it managed to hatch at all was already a miracle. Plus, he couldn’t explicitly say it was a dragon.

Luka continued writing:

[A crisp cracking sound broke the silence of the cave.
Crack—
A thin crack appeared on the egg’s surface, followed by faint scratching sounds from within, as if something inside was struggling to break free.
As the cracks spread, the scratching grew louder.]

Since dragons are also born from eggs, this “hatching scene” would naturally trigger an emotional response from the dragon clan.
As long as they read these words, they would subconsciously root for the creature inside to hatch successfully.

Luka then smoothly shifted the perspective to the surrounding environment:

[However, in the shadows of the cave, a terrifying and twisted eye was silently watching the egg about to hatch.
It belonged to a male mutant beast, tainted by dark magic. Its original form was long lost.
The creature was massive, covered in oily black and yellow fur, and the most grotesque part—due to the mutation—was the “pouch” that had grown on its abdomen.]

Luka referenced a kangaroo, known for its combat prowess.

The quill couldn’t help but notice:
This guy really loves forcing male creatures to “give birth.”

[Ever since losing control of its power, the mutant beast had become more savage and violent. It now ruled this island, and other creatures would avoid it at all costs.
At this moment, the terrifying beast was contemplating whether to stash this egg as a future food supply or devour it on the spot.

So tempting.
It had been far too long since it tasted fresh life.]

For once, the quill offered rare praise:
“In ancient times, dark beasts were indeed the nightmare of the Holy Demon Continent. They felt no pain and fought with relentless brutality.”

Since this was only a rough draft, Luka skipped the environmental descriptions and finer details, continuing the story:

[Just as the beast hesitated, a frail little claw finally broke through the eggshell.]

[Thin golden scales covered the fragile paw, and beneath the cracks, faint pink flesh was exposed.
One claw…
Then another…
The two tiny claws clung to the eggshell as a timid little head slowly emerged.]

[Like the other twisted creatures on the island, it looked bizarre. It had a total of five claws.
The newborn creature was starving and lacked any sense of danger. Without fully climbing out of the egg, it simply clung to the shell, opened its tiny mouth—
Ah.
And took a bite.]

The quill stared blankly:
“…Why are you already describing its appearance?”

“…Shouldn’t the beast be pouncing by now? Why hasn’t it attacked?”

Luka replied lazily, “Good things come to those who wait.”

[The hatchling nibbled on the eggshell with a crisp crunch, as if it were the most delicious thing in the world.
—Until a shadow loomed overhead, and it sluggishly raised its head.

Above, gleaming white fangs, sharp as ice spears, hung menacingly.]

“Wrong,” the quill corrected. “A dark beast’s speed is second only to that of the dragon clan. How could a newborn creature possibly catch sight of its fangs before death?”

With a single crunch, life should have ended.

Luka sneered. End the story here? Just like that?

[“A…a…”
The little creature’s voice was still soft and unclear. Its baby-like whimper made the dark beast hesitate slightly.

In panic, the hatchling awkwardly grabbed a piece of eggshell and held it out with both paws:
“A…”
You eat this. Just don’t eat me.

Its golden, vertical pupils conveyed its plea.]

[The dark beast stared blankly at the piece of eggshell, momentarily dazed.]

“…Is this beast an idiot?”

Dazed once, dazed twice!

The quill’s edges nearly frayed in frustration. “And since when would a dark beast, having already bared its fangs, stop for a mere piece of eggshell? It should’ve devoured the thing by now!”

What kind of nonsense was this?

In the modern world, the quill would be classified as suffering from severe “idiocy intolerance.”

It couldn’t bear witnessing such blatant logical errors, yet the author insisted on proceeding.

[The hatchling’s hunger grew unbearable. Seeing the dark beast refuse to take the eggshell, it struggled to keep holding it up with its sore little claws.

But it was too hungry.

Unable to endure, the hatchling sneakily pierced a tiny piece of eggshell with its tail and quickly fed it into its mouth.

…You can’t see me stealing bites. You can’t see me stealing bites.]

The quill: “?”

[The first bite succeeded. The fangs did not strike down.

Emboldened, the hatchling went for a second piece.

The eggshell contained faint traces of energy, with a subtle milky flavor.
Driven by instinct, the newborn creature couldn’t stop after the first bite and secretly devoured three pieces in a row, its tiny belly swelling slightly.

“Hic.”

The little creature let out a soft milk hiccup and, in panic, covered its mouth with its claws.]

[This innocent reaction fell into the eyes of the dark beast, whose long-dead emotions softened ever so slightly.]

Scarlet ink bled across the parchment.

Luka paused. “Why is the ink smudging?”

In the Holy Demon Continent, the law of survival was “the strong devour the weak.”
Even though Luka’s missing memories and unstable magic core had already softened his once ruthless nature, he still upheld the principle of strength.

Turning a fierce dragon hatchling into a fragile baby was one thing, but…
What the hell was that milk hiccup?!

And that dark beast, supposedly the most brutal creature on the island, actually had its heart softened?
Was its heart made of mud or what?

As a quill that naturally visualized everything it wrote, the scene in its mind was even more unbearable.
This was worse than swallowing dwarf spit.

The last line was ruined.

Luka had no choice but to rewrite it.

[“Hic.”
The little creature let out a milk hiccup…]

Bound by the blood contract to assist with writing, the quill had no choice but to obey.
However, the moment those words were written, the ink once again bled across the page.

Luka tried again.

[“Hic.”
The little creature let out a milk hiccup…]

History repeated itself.

If the quill had done this on purpose, the blood contract would have immediately punished it.
But this was clearly not intentional.

“…What’s wrong with you?” Luka asked, pen in hand.

The quill hovered in midair, trembling, as two drops of blood slowly dripped from its nib.

“Y-You couldn’t be…”

Writer’s block, huh?!

Luka disdainfully changed the paper and thought to himself, “Such weak mental fortitude. Isn’t it perfectly normal for a baby to burp after overeating?”

“If you can’t handle this now, what will you do when the little one grows up, takes on human form, and starts drinking milk?”

The quill pen, like some creature from a story, froze in shock.

“Human form… milk?”

“Of course,” Luka replied. “Most races on the continent can transform into human form. It’s necessary to smuggle in more personal goods, after all.”

Luka continued, “Because dragon hatchlings consume eggshells with a faint milky taste, when they later take on human form, they can’t quit dairy products. But our protagonist is too embarrassed to drink milk in front of others, so he secretly indulges in private. Eventually, when the clan elder catches him, he’s still barefoot and burping milk in panic.”

The quill pen fell silent for a long time before asking, “When you say ‘growing up,’ how old are we talking about?”

Luka patted his chest, “About my age.”

The character prototype… was himself.

Otherwise, how else could he get the dragons to empathize?

The quill pen quietly stared at Luka, and a vivid scene emerged in its mind:

In the dead of night, Luka dangled his feet off the edge of the bed, holding a cup of milk in both hands. He took a sip. Suddenly, a ferocious dragon appeared. Luka, startled, guiltily hid the milk cup and let out a tiny milk burp.

The dragon thought: “So adorable.”

Drop by drop… Blood beads merged into a small stream, trickling down.

“Sh*t! You spat blood on me!” Luka hurriedly grabbed some paper and wiped the pen’s tip, looking heartbroken at his blood-stained clothes.

“Stop, stop! Please stop…”