Tars took a step forward and rapped his knuckles against the metal surface, producing a dull thud.

  The Exotic Dragon Management Committee had thought of everything. In their eyes, this was no longer a mere wild creature; a beast that repeatedly violated regulations essentially surrendered itself to the Committee. By failing to comply, it had transformed itself into property.

  He looked at the blood-collection trough on the side of the device. The setup resembled a room lacking a roof and two walls; one could easily imagine people busily working atop this dragon. The "thoroughness" of the Committee was evident here: their property could be allowed to perish, but it could not be quietly misappropriated.

  Thus, by leaving a Secret Mark and a specific amount of Magic Stones by the trough, one could legitimately draw a set amount of dragon blood as a reward for reporting the find.

  As for the reporting process, once the blood loss reached a certain threshold, this ancient metal apparatus would be triggered. The Committee would receive the notification and come to reclaim their lost asset. Simultaneously, based on the Secret Mark left behind, the reporter would have a file created within the Committee's records, allowing them to apply for materials for future experiments at a discounted rate. The specific benefits were measured by the rarity and supervision tier of the dragon recovered.

  "This should be enough, shouldn't it?" he muttered to himself, weighing whether or not to leave his mark.

  Would anyone dare challenge the authority of the Exotic Dragon Management Committee? Someone might try to kill the dragon outright, or perhaps carve a wound elsewhere to drain blood and run, saving a few Magic Stones in the process.

  "Saving a few stones wouldn't be bad..." he joked, though he had no real intention of exerting the effort to drill through armored scales just to avoid the fee. He suspected that for an organization of the Committee's stature, tracking a lost specimen shouldn't be so difficult that they relied solely on public reports; at least, not for a specimen of this tier.

  "Great wizard, I have a few Magic Stones in my mouth. If you report this properly, I can give them to you..."

  A translucent, yellowish-black dragon-shaped phantom wafted nearby, speaking with startling sincerity.

  "Do not be afraid. This is merely a faint external projection of my soul. I cannot harm you. In fact, if you hadn't spoken those words, I would not have forced myself to appear," the phantom said, a look of deep resentment crossing its face. "I am nearly dead. My heart stopped beating long ago. Though I am technically 'alive,' it is only my unique constitution barely sustaining me. I want to wake up..."

  The little kobold felt the fine hairs on his back practically fall out from the shock. There was terror, but also a sudden realization.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  In an instant, he understood the twisted sense of humor of the Management Committee. This was a low-cost, high-efficiency form of domestication. Some died in the wild, others were recovered. Dragons were naturally prideful; it was difficult to discipline them without killing them. By adopting this middle ground, the cost in manpower and resources remained minimal. This method was likely reserved for lower-tier Exotic Dragons like this one.

  It was effectively a runaway dragon having to pay for its own "phone call" home using its own blood, only to be recovered in its sleep.

  He forced himself to calm down. This was the first conversation between the premier kobold wizard of the hollows and a powerful dragon-kin.

  "Please do not call me that. I am no great wizard; I am merely a low-level wizard apprentice," Tars said.

  "Yes... a wizard apprentice..." the phantom repeated. "There were many apprentices in the Management Committee, driven like cattle by the wizards every day. They would occasionally climb onto my back, drain some blood, and then feed me something in return—a fair trade, I suppose. Though I couldn't leave that tiny place, looking back, it wasn't a bad life. Only occasionally would someone disturb my sleep. I remember an apprentice I called Little Susie; she would give me shiny things in exchange for the food I was compensated with for my blood..."

  "I liked her very much. I haven't seen her in a long time. She smelled of the phantom-lilies I adore. I wonder if she is still alive. She said she wanted to become a wizard. Counting the time I have slept, if she didn't succeed, she is likely gone..." The phantom glanced back at Tars.

  "You, too, shall have my friendship. Tell me what you need. You may seek me out in the future without going through the Committee—come to my territory. I can give you blood and scales freely," the phantom offered.

  Tars took a step forward, intending to produce his Magic Stones and fiddle with the metal device. However, the phantom flickered and blocked his path.

  "Are you leaving now? Without taking some fresh, warm dragon blood back with you?" The phantom seemed almost anxious.

  "I wanted the blood of a True Dragon, but you have no wings," Tars bluffed, pulling his hand back from his pouch to see if he could squeeze out more value.

  The phantom's light wavered, swaying left and right. "Though you are an ignorant fellow who knows nothing of quality, to prove my friendship, I shall give you the blood from my heart. But you must pay more Magic Stones to assist me. This is a prize even Little Susie never received. You had best agree before I change my mind; a dragon's dignity is not to be trampled..."

  "Deal, oh great and honest dragon! You are surely more powerful than those with wings." Tars tried a compliment, though it didn't seem particularly effective.

  He wasted no more time. A large pile of Magic Stones was poured out, stacking onto the metal device. Simultaneously, he quickly etched his Secret Mark onto it. This was his first time witnessing Magic Stones crumble into fine ash.

  Under the phantom's personal direction, Tars used his mental energy to trigger a switch that made the dragon-spirit's expression sour. Seeing the mechanism activate, the phantom seemed to finally relax, and it shattered into nothingness.

  A massive volume of dragon blood surged from the trough.

  Tars had no idea if he was being cheated or how much there would be; he simply opened the entrance to his Abyssal Bedroom and let it flow in. If the phantom hadn't vanished, he might have hesitated, given that this was a corridor leading to the Abyss.

  The blood gurgled and churned. The large basin he had built was filled in an instant, but the flow didn't stop. He continued to collect it until the blood spread across the low-lying areas of the Abyssal Bedroom, nearly reaching the edge of his stone bed. It occupied nearly half the floor space.

  Tars breathed a sigh of relief. He leapt off the dragon's back and, bolstered by his spells, sprinted away into the distance like a common blood-thief.