[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-saya-and-the-dragon":3,"chapter-saya-and-the-dragon-saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-4":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Saya and the Dragon",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1705191,2177,"Chapter Four: The Chain of Poor Decisions","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-4",4,"\u003Cp>The Chain of Poor Decisions\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The rope tugged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My wrists, raw and pink and knotted like a drunk sailor's bedtime story, jerked forward, and I stumbled barefoot on the gravel path. Gods, even the pebbles felt smug.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind me, the horse snorted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beside the horse, the hero—Barthar, or Bathrag, or maybe just Barf—was humming. Not a tune, mind you. Just… humming. Like his brain couldn’t afford melody.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I muttered something anatomically improbable under my breath and got another tug for it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Quiet, girl,” he grunted. “You’re not paid to talk.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m not paidat all,” I snapped. “Which is rather the issue.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another tug.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Right. That’s how we got here.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was supposed to be a textbook run. Dragon roars. Villagers panic. Gold gathered. Saya gets chained to a rock looking sacrificial and fuckable. Hero shows up, pants down, brain off. Dragon swoops in. Swoosh, scream, splat. We loot. We bounce.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But no.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The scaly diva was late.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And this one? This one didn’t want to fuck me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wantedglory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ugh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No dragon,” he’d said, eyes glittering with dumb pride, “no glory. But at least I gotthis.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d gestured to the sack of gold like it was a pig he’d personally wrestled into submission.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then at me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“An’this.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Charming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now here I was—tethered to a horse’s ass (which might also apply to the rider), being dragged through twigs, thorns, and moral indignity, like some idiot’s souvenir from a failed quest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Down in Sabrabena,” he said now, voice thick as stew, “they’ll pay good coin for a girl like you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, I’m sure,” I said sweetly. “Especially once they learn I snore, fake orgasms, and have a mild but persistent foot rash.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t even blink. “Might rent you out to a brothel first. Get some return on investment. Passive income, like.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Passive. Income.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I gave the rope a subtle tug of my own—testing. Nothing. Knot held like a tax collector’s grudge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I trudged on, each step a little prayer to every god of vengeance I could name. (There were many. I’d slept with several.)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The trees whispered overhead. The sun filtered down like a judgmental spotlight, catching the gleam of my ankles, the scrape of my pride. My once-sexy tunic clung in places no fabric should cling. My thighs itched. My dignity was somewhere three miles back, probably making out with a raccoon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And still—no dragon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wherewasthat ancient scaly bastard?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hey!” I shouted suddenly, twisting my head toward the sky. “If you’re up there composing an ode to your own hemorrhoids, now would be a good time to swoop in andrescue your investment!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Barthar grunted. “You talkin’ to the gods, girl?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, sweetheart,” I said, grinning through my teeth. “The gods have better taste in minions.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another tug.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stumbled, fell, ate a mouthful of dirt and pine needles. Spat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Okay.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If the dragon didn’t show up soon, I was going to have to kill this man with my thighs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Which, let’s be honest, wouldn’t be the first time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But gods.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was not how it wassupposedto go.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The rope bit into my wrists again, and I stumbled over another root. My feet were scratched raw, bleeding in places, each step another sermon in pain. I was sweating, sunburned, and had a pine needle stuck somewhere deeply inappropriate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still no dragon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I muttered a string of curses in three languages, one of which may or may not have been entirely made up. The horse farted in reply.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Where *was* he?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was never *fast*, gods knew that. Shapeshifting left him sore for days. His landings weren’t so much dramatic as arthritic. But late? This late?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My mind, traitorous as ever, started wandering.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe he *couldn't* come.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe—maybe some other hero had gotten to him first. Some idiot in shiny boots with a sword blessed by some minor forest deity and a grudge the size of a mammoth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Or maybe—oh no.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe he’d just… died.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Right there. Alone in some cave, hunched over his hoard, clutching his coins like a miserly raccoon, expired in a puff of ancient melancholy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Do dragons just *keel over*?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How long do they even live? A thousand years? Five? Was he already past his expiry date? Did he leave a will? Who inherits the hoard? Would I get anything?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A little whimper escaped my throat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Barthrag—yes, that’s what I was calling him now—looked back over his shoulder. “You alright back there?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Just wondering which brothel you’ll sell me to. Want me to write a flyer?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He grinned, the kind of grin that required no intelligence, just teeth and bad intentions. “Might keep you a while first.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Charming.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I looked up, hoping for divine intervention, or at least a dramatic breeze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And that’s when I saw it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A dark smear on the horizon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Low. Broad. Moving... slow and deliberate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A cloud? No. Too dark. Too purposeful. And it wasn’t moving with the wind—it was *following.*\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My lips curled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There you are, you melodramatic bastard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Watching us like a theatre critic. Probably composing a scathing review of my performance while sipping imaginary wine and judging my posture.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course he wouldn’t attack in daylight. The hero was still fresh, armored, and annoyingly upright. The Dragon liked soft targets. Heroes with split attention. Distractions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That meant *me.*\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oh joy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stumbled again, this time on purpose, falling forward with a gasp and a tangle of limbs. Barthrag tugged the rope.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What now?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I—ow—my ankle!” I cried out, crumpling into the dirt like a kicked virgin. “Gods, I think it twisted!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He rolled his eyes. “Get up.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stayed down, moaning pitifully. “I can’t! I think I heard a pop! Or maybe a crunch. Definitely something visceral.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He dismounted with a grunt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I watched from beneath my lashes as he approached—brow furrowed, boots heavy. Good. Close. Unaware.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just a little closer, my scaly friend. Just a little more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Barthrag crouched next to me. “You lyin’?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No!” I gasped. “Help me. Please. Maybe if you—*carry* me?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked at me. Then at the horse. Then back at me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I batted my lashes. Full damsel mode.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fine,” he muttered, cutting the rope from the saddle and bending down to sling me over his shoulder like a sack of sinful potatoes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gods, he smelled like meat and metal and bad decisions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I hung limp, arms flailing, head bouncing against his back, eyes locked on the dark smear in the sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Come on, you ancient diva.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I shifted on his shoulder like a sack of sinful potatoes and let out a low, breathy moan—not pain, just *possibility.*\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ow,” I whispered. “This is really starting to chafe…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Barthrag grunted. “Keep moving.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But I’m sore.” I let my voice drip. “All over. Maybe we should stop. Just a short rest.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He kept trudging.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I upped the pout. “That meadow there,” I said, nodding toward the sun-dappled clearing ahead. “Soft grass. Dappled light. Breeze in just the right places. Wouldn’t it be a shame to waste it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His brow furrowed. You could hear the gears grinding.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Please?” I added, licking my lips for effect. “Just imagine how much *more fun* I’ll be when I’m not tied up and filthy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That did it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like clockwork, the rope was unfastened, and I was suddenly standing—barefoot, wrist-chafed, thigh-slick with sweat and mischief. I took two slow steps forward, then dropped gracefully into the grass, leaning back on my elbows, letting the tunic ride up high enough to make his ears twitch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He swallowed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come on,” I said, voice low and thick. “You dragged me half a league. At least make it *worth it.*”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He came down beside me like a starving man at a feast. His hands were already on my thighs, rough and fumbling, and I let my knees fall open like I’d been waiting for it all morning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gods, he was dumb.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dumb and hard and *grinning,* the kind of grin you get when you win a pig in a raffle and don’t know yet it has rabies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I moaned—soft, seductive, calculated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Let his fingers wander.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Let him press close.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His belt was off. His tunic shoved up. His body all over mine—sweaty, eager, trembling like he was about to come from just *being near* me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perfect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And then—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>*WHOOSH.*\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sky went dark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What the—” he started.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>*Too late.*\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A shadow split the sun. A roar shattered the silence. Wind flattened the grass around us as *talons* bigger than soup pots came down and *yanked* him straight off me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One second he was panting between my thighs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next, he was dangling in the sky like a terrified fruit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dragon grunted mid-flight and, with what could only be described as theatrical disdain, *tossed* the man. He flew a solid fifty feet through the air—arms flapping, voice cracking—before vanishing into the trees with a wet, distant *splash.*\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Probably the ravine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I clapped politely. “Well. That’s one way to finish early.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dragon landed in a cloud of dust and smugness. His wings folded with a rustle like satin. His tail swished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stood, brushing grass and man-sweat from my thighs. “You were *late.*”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I was circling.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You were *checking your hoard,* weren’t you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I was looking for an opening,” he snapped. “You were under trees. I can’t swoop through branches!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You *can,*” I said, stalking toward him, “you just won’t. You were off fondling your shiny piles, whispering sweet nothings to your coin stacks.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I was *strategizing,*” he huffed. “Waiting for the right moment.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The right moment,” I said, jabbing a finger at him, “was when he *had his face in my crotch.*”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He blinked. “Ah.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We stood there. Me, seething. Him, defensive. The meadow around us littered with crushed flowers and unresolved tension.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You know,” I said, “I think I was *actually* about to come. That *never* happens with these idiots.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He snorted. “You’re incorrigible.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re an old pervert with wings.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I saved your life.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You interrupted a very *promising* distraction. I had him so distracted he didn’t even notice I was about to grab his dagger with my *toes.*”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked vaguely horrified.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I have *skills,*” I added. “And a plan. You should try it sometime.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He exhaled smoke and arthritis.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stepped up to him, pressed a kiss to the warm side of his muzzle. “Thanks, though,” I murmured. “Good toss.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He grumbled. “He screamed like a child.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He touched me like one too.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We both looked toward the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed like punctuation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I turned back to him, tugging my tunic back down. “Next time, show up sooner.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Next time,” he muttered, “fake a broken jaw, not just an ankle.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, I can *fake* a lot of things,” I said, smiling as I passed him. “But some things I save for the paying kind.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He followed me with a low growl of amusement and possibly jealousy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We left the meadow behind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another failed hero.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another ruined outfit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another perfect day.\u003C\u002Fp>",1828,"2026-06-06T14:39:25.900Z",1,"novelbin.me","160791d7317594dd9a3722207fade54a6b60a5ddfe8050a72c7ac6e498808975","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-5","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-3",228,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fsaya-and-the-dragon-cover.jpg"]