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The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.
The populace wasn't accustomed to purchasing books purely for entertainment. Only nobles read them, and even they concealed such materials out of embarrassment.
Rampant piracy further undermined his business model.
It became clear that this world wasn't prepared for Earth's "power fantasy" pulp fiction.
After careful reconsideration, he decided to adapt Earth's entertainment concepts to local sensibilities—essentially blending familiar customs with innovative ideas for greater market acceptance.
He decided to focus on the toy industry.
Why toys?
Universal appeal. Even modest households could afford simple playthings.
Exceptional profit potential. Nobles would readily spend gold coins on exquisitely crafted pieces.
So this ancient dragon dispatched his orc minions to acquire every variety of toy they could find.
Upon examining them, he discovered that while aesthetically pleasing, their play mechanics were rudimentary and uninspired.
He envisioned combining magic with Earth's ingenious toy designs—a dimensional leap in local toy appeal.
But he encountered an unexpected obstacle: magic.
Draconic spells centered exclusively on destruction and conflagration. Hardly child-friendly.
Goblin and orc shamans? Their magic was... unpredictable at best. Too unstable for commercial products.
Undead magic? All curses and corruption. Who would purchase cursed playthings for their children?
His entire dragon island lacked a single practitioner capable of benign, controlled magic!
Thus... he "extended an invitation" to Aisha.
Aisha remained frozen in disbelief.
What bizarre twist had her reality taken?
One moment walking a familiar road, the next kidnapped by a dragon, and now offered employment as a... Toy Illusionist?
Where was the greedy, malevolent, arrogant villain of legend?
True, refusal hadn't been presented as an option—and she remained ignorant of her precise duties—but she couldn't deny that fifteen silver coins monthly was remarkably generous.
Her family of four subsisted on merely fifty silver annually.
Even combining odd jobs with the occasional monster hunt, she rarely earned ten silver in her most profitable months.
Wait. Aisha! Have you lost your mind?!
This is Zhuoge the Red Dragon!
What if "Toy Illusionist" is just a euphemism for something unspeakable?!
Her imagination raced with lurid tales whispered by tavern bards after the respectable patrons had departed.
She steeled her resolve—death would be preferable to submitting to whatever perverse scheme this dragon had concocted!
"Absolutely not!" she declared, voice quavering despite her determination.
The goblin turned to consult his master.
"ROAR—"
"Twenty silver."
"I-I seek the truth of magic! I would never consort with an evil dragon!"
"ROAR—"
"Twenty-five silver."
"…To serve a great ancient red dragon is… a vital step toward magical enlightenment!"
Before long, an employment contract materialized before her.
The terms proved surprisingly favorable—nothing resembling a slave contract.
Breach of agreement would result in mere financial penalties, not execution.
In truth, this red dragon demonstrated more humanity than many so-called "respectable" wizards of her acquaintance.
Upon signing, a magical connection formed, allowing telepathic communication with Zhuoge through the contract's enchantment.
Then, before her astonished eyes, Zhuoge shrank to human proportions—likely through some arcane artifact—and summoned a chest with a commanding slap.
It sprang open, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a writhing tongue.
He's using a mimic as a storage container?!
Aisha stared, speechless with amazement.
Zhuoge rummaged casually through the living chest and tossed an object toward her.
She caught it reflexively: two hollow hemispheres connected by a string.
Something about it seemed strangely familiar.
"Your job," Zhuoge's voice resonated pleasantly within her mind, "is to make this toy trigger illusions. I call it a yo-yo."
The Dragon's Toy Illusionist
Aisha never imagined that after a routine day defeating kobolds, with bread crumbs still clinging to her lips and victory songs half-finished in her throat, she'd suddenly find herself snatched from the earth by massive talons.
And not just any kidnapper—the most notorious dragon in the realm:
A Red Dragon.
Cracked obsidian horns jutting from its skull.
Crimson scales shimmering like fresh blood in sunlight.
Wings that seemed to burn the very air they cut through.
Eyes like pools of molten lava that could melt stone with a mere glance.
All signs pointed to one name whispered in terror across the kingdom—Zhuoge, the Calamity Unbidden, the Ancient Red Dragon.
The catastrophic fall of Talin City...
The annihilation of the legendary Lionheart Knights...
The mysterious vanishing of the sacred Elven relic...
The inferno that consumed the Temple of the Goddess of Magic...
These cataclysmic disasters were all attributed to this single, terrible creature.
Yet something didn't add up.
Why would an ancient dragon—who could easily storm the capital or abduct a princess of unimaginable worth—bother kidnapping her, a lowly Tier-2 illusionist barely worth the notice of the local magistrate?
To devour her?
Impossible.
If that were his intention, she'd already be dissolving in his stomach acid.
Perhaps he desired her... illusion tricks?
Wait a second...
Aisha's gaze darted nervously between the massive dragon and the smaller one nearby. A ridiculous, impossible thought began creeping through her mind.
No way. There's absolutely no way. Physically impossible.
Carried higher into the cloudless sky, the wind shifted, becoming salty and brisk as they soared out over the vast sea.
On the horizon, a volcanic island emerged from the mist, black and foreboding. The dragon spread his enormous wings wide to brake their flight—undoubtedly his lair.
Sorry, Mom. Looks like your daughter won't be coming home for dinner.
Or ever.
The dragon descended with unexpected gentleness, placing her on a smooth stone platform. Then he reared back and—
ROARED.
The sheer force of it rattled her bones and nearly stole her consciousness.
From the shadows of a nearby cave emerged a goblin, his mottled green-brown skin glistening with sweat. He scurried toward the dragon with practiced urgency, bowing and gesturing in what appeared to be communication with Zhuoge.
Aisha recognized the archetype—evil dragons always surrounded themselves with equally vile minions.
The goblin turned his attention to her and began approaching, his gait unsettlingly furtive.
This was worse than her darkest fears.
Being crushed in dragon claws would offer a mercifully quick end.
But falling into a goblin's clutches? The possibilities were too horrifying to contemplate.
So... I'm a gift to his lackey?!
Shouldn't a hero burst onto the scene at a moment like this?
Someone please save me—I'm only nineteen, I have spells to learn and adventures to live!
Perhaps she should bite her tongue and choose her own fate?
Ouch.
No, too excruciating. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
The goblin drew closer, rubbing his hands together with disturbing anticipation—his filthy, curved fingernails made bile rise in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for whatever unspeakable horror awaited—
"Esteemed Miss."
Huh?
She cracked open one eye.
She hadn't misheard. The goblin had just... addressed her in flawless Common?
"My great master would like to hire you as his Chief Toy Illusionist at a monthly salary of fifteen silver coins. Do you accept, or do you not refuse?"
"…Huh?"
Xu Linsen, known in this world as Zhuoge, had once been a game designer back on Earth.
Now?
He wore the scales of an ancient red dragon.
His passion: money.
His religion: money.
His life goals (experience points included): unquestionably money.
This relentless pursuit of wealth stemmed partly from draconic instinct—and partly because even as a human, his soul had been shaped by capitalism's iron grip.
After all, who wants their Saturday morning peace shattered by a client's message that requires nothing more than a perfunctory "Got it"?
Now transmigrated and blessed with a terrifyingly overpowered body, he discovered his natural niche in dragon society almost immediately.
Robbery!
That said, retaining his human conscience, he primarily targeted the rich and avoided unnecessary bloodshed. Nobles with overflowing coffers became his preferred victims.
His reputation for terror grew so wildly that people began attributing fictional atrocities to him—but he couldn't be bothered to correct the record.
He'd even maintained a "no beef" policy (translation: avoiding trouble) for several years.
Until he accidentally incinerated a temple dedicated to the Goddess of Magic.
Shortly after, a mere Level 8 warrior appeared at his lair and issued a challenge.
Impressed by the mortal's audacity, Zhuoge decided to spare his life.
Then the warrior unveiled an 11th-ring spell scroll.
Zhuoge realized his grave miscalculation. He fled—and barely escaped with his life.
While nursing his wounds, he reflected: this existence of constant conflict and plunder carried excessive risk.
Even as an ancient dragon, offending the wrong deity could mean extinction.
Yet much of his hoard had been lost in the encounter—a situation utterly intolerable to any self-respecting dragon.
In desperation, he recalled his former employer on Earth—morally questionable, perhaps, but swimming in wealth generated through games, music, and entertainment.
Vastly more profitable and sustainable than robbing people at claw-point!
Before this epiphany, his life consisted solely of fighting or preparing for the next fight. Only during his convalescence did he notice a glaring truth—this medieval world's entertainment industry was virtually nonexistent.
Like sitting atop a goldmine without realizing its value.
The time had come to introduce these medieval folk to the wonders of consumerism and mindless amusement.
His initial venture required minimal investment—publishing novels.
Titles like The Demon Lord's Runaway Lover, My Father-in-Law Is the Lionheart King, and From Tentacle Monster to Godhood.
The profits proved disappointing.