The Power of 'I Figure'

Inside the underground dragon nest.

At this point, it could probably no longer be called a dragon nest. For the sake of research convenience, the little dragon girl had specially dug out a storage room, thrown all her gold coins and various miscellaneous items inside, and welded the treasury door shut with countless spells. Then, she completely remodeled the rest of the nest.

Whether it was the floor, the walls, or the ceiling, everything was paved with pure white stone tiles. Various books were classified and neatly arranged on rows of bookshelves.

All kinds of spellcasting materials, magical items, and jars filled with strange liquids occupied most of the space in the dragon nest.

It was so orderly that anyone coming here without prior knowledge would never suspect it was a dragon's lair. Instead, they would think it was some mage's secret underground laboratory.

In the center of the dragon nest stood something that looked like an oversized metal can. Due to the crudeness of the casting process, the only difference between this thing and an actual tin can was that it lacked a label saying "ready to eat upon opening."

This was the result of the little dragon girl's month-long research.

A rhythmic tapping sound suddenly echoed. Atop the metal can, Irene was tapping away with a small iron hammer, trying to force a protruding component back into place.

Although her movements seemed light, her immense strength caused the entire metal can to vibrate, emitting a strained, groaning noise. Sparks showered everywhere like hot iron on an anvil, and the crimson glow illuminated her slightly furrowed brow.

With one final strike, the component—which was clearly a size too large—was forcibly hammered inside.

Just as the little dragon girl breathed a sigh of relief, the component shot out in the next second like a violently shaken soda bottle cap. With a sharp ping!, it flew straight toward the space between her eyebrows at extreme speed.

The angry component seemed intent on a mutual double-kill, but just as it came within half a centimeter of her delicate skin, it was pinched by two invisible fingers of mana. She tossed it aside like trash, and with a metallic clatter, it landed in a pile of discarded scrap metal.

"Sigh..."

Irene let out a helpless sigh, threw her small hammer into the scrap pile, and hopped down from the metal can. Pulling out a piece of parchment that had been flipped through countless times, she lightly bit her finger and fell into deep thought.

“It's clearly drawn that way on the blueprints. Why won't it fit?”

Mumbling to herself, she shifted her gaze from the blueprints to the side of the nest. There stood the old mage popsicle, crudely wedged into the gaps between the floor tiles like a bonsai tree. She whispered, “How about you pull a jump scare and wake up to give me some guidance?”

"..."

The popsicle remained silent, save for a single drop of melted ice water that dripped onto the floor, as if in silent protest.

“Tsk... what a cold guy.” Irene shrugged helplessly and cast another ice spell, reinforcing the old popsicle, which was showing signs of melting.

To retain more power and memories after being resurrected as a lich, the integrity of the corpse had to be as high as possible. Irene still didn't know when she would be able to change classes to a necromancer. If she didn't freeze him, the body would probably rot beyond recognition before she could even change classes. She certainly didn't want to end up resurrecting a mindless idiot who knew nothing.

The newly installed door of the dragon nest was suddenly knocked. Irene raised her eyes, put away the parchment, and said casually, “Come in.”

The heavy stone door was pushed open. Fido led in a group of "talents" gathered from various tribes, among whom was Gar, the beastkin who had been luckily chosen.

As a beastkin who hadn't seen much of the world, Gar was incredibly nervous to meet this legendary Your Grace for the first time.

He wasn't the only one; the other lucky candidates who had been recruited along with him were each more nervous than the last. Some were so tense they forgot how to walk, their arms and legs moving in unison, unsure of which foot to step forward with first to leave a good impression on Your Grace.

After all, they knew Your Grace's true identity. She was a black dragon, one of the legendary, incredibly brutal chromatic dragons—a species whose very name was synonymous with cunning and cruelty.

Although on the way there, the old kobold named Fido had been preaching about how holy, great, benevolent, and selfless Your Grace was, making her sound like an angel descended from heaven.

And in their daily lives, they often heard rumors about this great Your Grace.

But rumors were just rumors. Without seeing her with their own eyes, who could guarantee that Your Grace was actually easy to get along with in private?

There was a well-known beastkin proverb: Dragons, tyrants, and war.

This alone showed how terrifying dragons were, especially the chromatic dragons, who were naturally chaotic and evil.

If they angered Your Grace and lost their lives just because they stepped into the room with the wrong foot, that would be an incredibly tragic way to die.

While some of the beastkin were still trying to figure out which leg to move first, the old kobold had already strode forward. His relaxed demeanor was a world apart from these newcomers, as if he were simply returning home.

“Your Grace.”

Approaching Irene, Fido first bowed, then pulled out a thick stack of parchment. “These are the resumes I had them fill out. These lads all know a bit of smithing. Would you like to take a look?”

“Yes, thank you for your hard work.”

Irene took the resumes from Fido. Looking over the row of beastkin and half-beastkin men who were nudging each other as they stood there in a daze, she suddenly felt a strange sense of deja vu, like an ancient emperor selecting concubines.

She was the emperor, and the guys in front of her were the concubines waiting to be summoned...

“Your Grace, I shall take my leave then,” Fido suddenly said.

The little dragon girl, whose thoughts had drifted to who-knows-where, quickly shook her head to cast the bizarre idea out of her mind. She waved her hand to dismiss him, quickly skimmed the resumes, and without beating around the bush, snapped her fingers.

Sheets of the pre-printed Imperial V-Type Power Armor Blueprints flew over, landing in the hands of each beastkin.

“What you hold in your hands is a metal creation called power armor.”

“I need you to help me research how to forge this armor so that the finished product replicates the intended effects on the blueprints as closely as possible.”

Hearing this, the beastkin and half-beastkin present all furrowed their brows, their eyes scanning the blueprints back and forth.

Before long, sweat began to bead on some of their foreheads. Clearly, this was no small challenge for them.

They weren't dwarves skilled in forging all kinds of magical equipment. As tribal blacksmiths, these guys usually made ordinary iron tools like axes and hammers at most. Now, they were suddenly being asked to craft a suit of armor that looked incredibly precise and complex.

Although the blueprints showed only a standard suit of armor without any magical enchantments, the sheer complexity of each individual component was enough to give them a massive headache.

“A great invention...”

An abrupt voice echoed within the enclosed dragon nest. Irene followed the sound and saw a rather scrawny, green-skinned beastkin. He was frowning as he flipped through the blueprints, occasionally clicking his tongue and making incomprehensible noises.

“But I figure this thing is still missing a little something.”