Even after washing her hair countless times, Elsa could still smell something fishy.
She'd tried soap, hair oil, lye, even weird folk remedies. Her hair was so dry it was splitting, but the stench—like shrimp paste mixed with shrimp brain—just wouldn't go away.
Wasn't there a product invented specifically for washing hair in this world?
To cover up the smell, she splurged 79 silver coins on a bottle of luxury perfume and sprayed it all over her head.
To be fair, it wasn't a total waste. It did smell nice... but now she smelled like something that was both fragrant and rotten. Creepy.
Elsa and Drago were currently waiting in the reception room of her mentor's home, anticipating the return of Miss Flynne Uman from class.
Their plan? Rope Flynne into doing illusion effects for Journey to the Holy Mountain.
Sure, most of the story takes place in a moving carriage, but there were still some big scenes Elsa couldn't handle alone. For those, they needed a legendary illusionist.
Yes, Elsa—who barely ranked as a Level 2 illusionist—had a legendary mage as a mentor. It wasn't because she was a genius apprentice either; she'd only grasped about 0.3% of the legacy.
It was just that illusionists were absurdly rare. Out of the few hundred still alive, over half had studied under Flynne.
But Elsa wasn't optimistic. Flynne was filthy rich. When Elsa was her student, she could burn through priceless magical materials like they were scrap paper. It was rumored even the royal vaults of Saddon couldn't compare to Flynne's personal collection.
Drago's usual method—throw money at the problem—was a no-go here. And trying to scam her with some mysterious act? Not happening.
So how were they going to convince a legendary illusionist to join a film project she'd never even heard of?
Flynne did like art, though. Drago had prepared a painting as a gift and told Elsa to present it.
Elsa had seen the piece—it looked like a toddler's doodle. Just a mess of jagged, crooked lines.
How was that supposed to impress Flynne?
If they couldn't win her over, there'd be no illusions. No illusions meant no good film. No good film meant Drago wouldn't make any money. And if Drago didn't make money… who would give Elsa her much-needed promotion and raise?
While Elsa was mentally collapsing under the pressure, Drago looked somehow even more nervous.
First, he paced around the room. Then he started bumping his head against a column. Finally, he chewed on a couple of leaves from the flowerpot in the corner.
"What are you doing?" Elsa hissed. "The butler's been watching you for five minutes now!"
"Should I wear a mask or something?"
"…What?" Oh no. He was no longer answering the right questions. Was the dragon losing it?
"She probably won't recognize me."
"Who?"
Just then, the door to the reception room swung open.
In stepped a statuesque woman—easily six feet tall—with flawless porcelain skin, flowing golden hair, and the kind of face that looked like an elf, minus the pointy ears. She walked with the kind of presence that screamed "I own this building and maybe the continent too."
Miss Flynne Uman had arrived.
Elsa quickly stood up and bowed.
"Oh, if it isn't my dear little Elsa," Flynne said kindly, her voice in stark contrast to her intimidating appearance. She even remembered all her students—including the unlucky ones who took ten years to scrape their way to Level 2.
"And who is this?" She glanced toward Drago, who was trying to hide behind Elsa.
"Uh, my pet wyvern."
"Really now?"
Interest sparked in Flynne's eyes. She took a few steps forward and crouched down to stare Drago in the face.
"Teacher?" Elsa called out nervously.
"Shh—"
Flynne reached out and, without effort, grabbed Drago by his front legs and lifted him off the floor.
Even shrunken down, Drago weighed over 120 pounds. But Flynne hoisted him up like he was a sack of potatoes. Mages really were freakishly strong.
She gave him a once-over, then said thoughtfully, "Did Drago secretly have a lovechild with some lesser beast?"
Elsa's eyes lit up. Spicy gossip alert!
"No, wait…" Flynne narrowed her eyes at Drago's molten-lava irises. "Don't tell me… you're Drago?"
Drago remained silent, pretending to be mute.
Flynne smirked. "So the infamous Drago, ancient red dragon and bringer of calamity, shrunk himself to sneak into town? Wow, imagine living for thousands of years and still not mastering shapeshifting."
Drago couldn't take it anymore. "Roar! (It's just hard to balance without a tail, okay?!)"
"Then go ahead and transform."
"Roar! (Your baiting won't work!)"
"So you can't. That's fine. You're still cute in this tiny form—I don't mind."
Elsa watched in awe. She didn't think it was possible, but somehow, Drago's already red face turned even redder.
"Roar! (Mind your business, you spoiled gold dragon who couldn't even crack her own eggshell!)"
"Oho? Still better than someone who let themselves get conned out of thousands of gold by a fake art dealer. What should you call me, hmm, since you're my student's pet now?"
Wait, what? Did she just say… gold dragon?! Elsa's brain exploded.
"Roar! (Who's her pet, huh?! You disgrace to dragonkind—mistaking glass for jade and claiming modern craftsmanship isn't that good!)"
"Well, it's better than someone who proudly paraded around a chunk of glass and called it ancient treasure."
"Roar! (Disgrace!)"
"Right back at you."
Elsa could only watch helplessly as the two dragons bickered like schoolchildren, trading insults with the maturity of "you're dumb," "no, you are," "reverse uno," "doesn't count!"
Just as she was about to intervene—
Flynne suddenly pulled Drago into a tight hug, her tone softening. "It's been so long. I thought the gods might've gotten you."
"I'm not that easy to kill."
Elsa blinked, thoroughly confused. Excuse me? Pretty sure I was the one who came here first?
A few minutes later, calm returned to the room.
"So you two want me to create illusions for something called…"
"Magic Film."
"Right, Magic Film. Is it like spell recording?"
"It can capture much more than just spells, and it can be shown anywhere."
Flynne tapped her fingers against the chair, thoughtful. "Fascinating idea. But for a gold dragon, everything has a price. You know that, right?"
That's the thing about gold dragons—they were fair. If they took something from you, they'd actually do the job. Back in Drago's prime, he'd just keep your stuff and charge you again for the privilege of seeing him.
Drago nodded at Elsa to bring out the painting.
She hesitated—it looked like a kid's scrawl to her—but handed it over anyway.
Flynne took it, gave it a glance, and at first, it seemed like child's play. Just black lines crisscrossing, a few faint curves.
But there was something oddly compelling about it. The lines seemed to move, like water flowing. The branches divided the imaginary surface into plants and reflections.
There was a strange elegance in the simplicity. In contrast to the modern obsession with detail, this painting conveyed more by showing less.
"What's it called?"
"Withered Lotus and New Willows."
"Withered… lotus?"
Flynne stared at the painting, then raised her hand. An illusion bloomed across the floor—an entire lotus pond.
Time accelerated. The summer blossoms faded into autumn, leaves withered, winter passed, and in early spring, fresh willows sprouted again.
The illusion matched the strokes of the painting exactly.
"Who painted this?"
"Wu Guanzhong."
"Wu Guanzhong? Odd name. From another continent, perhaps?"
"Maybe."
"What's this style called?"
"Xieyi. Freehand."
"Xieyi…" Flynne echoed the word, thoughtful. She had studied fine art and collected famous paintings, but had never seen this kind of technique. Perhaps… she should try it herself.
"Alright then. I'll help you make this Magic Film. And if you can find me more of Wu's paintings—we'll keep working together."
"Pleasure doing business."
Of course, it wasn't an original Wu Guanzhong. It was a Drago imitation.
Creating something new is always hardest the first time. Copying it later? Much easier.
Drago had forged the painting to accelerate this world's transition from realism to abstraction. It would be vital for future art direction in games.
After all, he couldn't do everything himself. One dragon's cultural edge wouldn't win the whole war.
But maybe—just maybe—the seed of xieyi he planted today would someday become a power strong enough to shake the gods.