Han spent hours with The Dark Cauldron Art. He wanted to read everything before attempting a single spell. When the maids announced dinner, he waved them off; he was hungrier for knowledge than food and told them to keep a meal ready at all times.
By nightfall, he had finished the book.
It wasn't short, but he read quickly; comprehension had never been his weakness. The former Han had given up too quickly because he'd lacked mana and dragon traits. Now Han poured both lives into practice and felt a new confidence in the Dark Cauldron Art.
His stomach grumbled. About time I eat something.
He stood and looked out the window. The small mansion lay hidden in the forest, so he saw only tall trees wrapped in darkness. Above them hung a full moon. Something drew him to the sill. He stood there and took in the calm.
By now, my parents on Earth must have learned about my death. It feels terrible—but what can I do? I don't even know why I crossed to this world as Han to begin with. Stay strong, Mom, Dad. I'm sorry I didn't spend enough time with you.
Han smiled faintly. He had studied dark arts, killed wyverns, and kicked a woman in the stomach, yet when he thought of his past life, compassion surfaced. His parents deserved it, and he was glad he hadn't turned completely dark. He believed only a dark path lay ahead, so he chose to cling to those feelings, to keep from crossing lines even a villain shouldn't.
He treasured those minutes of reflection before his expression hardened. No one could see that side of him.
Han left his room and headed to the dining hall. As usual, a maid waited outside; the call had already gone out to prepare wyvern dishes. Soon the elder maids served tray after tray: rich broth and other meat courses. The smell was so appetizing that Han devoured the dishes one by one. His black wing flared and snapped the chair's back, but he didn't care.
This is so good. Is it because I'm a dragon now? Or because I killed those bastards myself? I don't care. I'm going hunting soon.