Hearing Zong Shen's words, Little Blackie abruptly raised its head.
Those pale yellow vertical pupils were filled with disbelief.
It opened its mouth, but only a few meaningless grunts squeezed out of its throat.
For the moment, it seemed not to know what to say.
Firelight cast shifting shadows across its dark face, making that expression—a mixture of shock and some indescribable excitement—especially vivid.
"M-Master?"
Little Blackie finally found its voice, though its tone still carried the hesitation of a young dragon.
"You mean... you can really capture that red dragon and... my mother, the Black-Winged Tyrant, and give them both to me...?"
After spending so long with Zong Shen, it had picked up quite a bit of humanity.
It felt that the words to follow were somewhat difficult to say aloud.
Or rather, by the standards of chromatic dragons, putting one's mother on the list of potential wives was not particularly outrageous.
But whenever its master said it so bluntly, it still felt awkward.
Though that awkwardness was quickly drowned beneath a dragon's naturally lustful instincts.
Zong Shen leaned back against the rough stone seat, his fingers still rhythmically tapping the armrest.
That meaningful smile remained on his face.
He was enjoying Little Blackie's embarrassment, finding it more entertaining than any play.
"What, you don't believe me?"
he asked unhurriedly.
"Think about it, kid. When have I ever lied to you?"
"Didn't you always remember that I promised to capture the Black-Winged Tyrant for you?"
"Didn't I promise to help you become a Lord Dragon? And aren't you standing here now, the master of Black Scale Marsh?"
He always possessed an unquestionable certainty.
Little Blackie nodded instinctively.
Indeed, from the promises Zong Shen had made when he first subdued it in the Poison Swamp, to later granting it intelligence