Chapter 63: The Little Kuku

This was an exceedingly humble origin.

“Is there any race weaker than us in this world?”

“Across the entire multiverse, is there any smarter race more chaotic and weak than us?”

“There truly exists a race that takes pride in being slaves, a race that longs to spend its entire life rolling in underground mud.”

When he was born, he opened his eyes amid chaos and stench.

His far-above-average intelligence among his kind ensured he would remember that scene for the rest of his long life.

In a space less than a meter wide, over thirty hairless, crimson-skinned “puppies” were piled together, tugging and shoving.

Crying, urine stench, and milk odor mingled, yet no one cared.

Wow, so many little monsters.

He looked down and saw his own short, thick, stubby paws, and his crimson newborn skin.

Hmm, it’s fine—I’m one of them too.

“Waaah!” He saw the pup crying the loudest being picked up and fed by a dog-headed monster.

Then he felt a little hungry too.

After hesitating, he began crying loudly as well.

“Waaah!” Compared to his seven littermates, he was the smallest—and the loudest crier.

So he too was picked up, and the caretaker patted his tiny little member.

“A male pup—full of spirit, that cry. Hmm, we’ll call him Kuku.” Thus, Kuku received the name that would accompany him for life.

Don’t ask why it’s called that—even gods couldn’t understand their logic.

Perhaps they favored onomatopoeic reduplicated names because they were easy to use and remember; their mother tongue was Dragonese, and their tongues simply weren’t suited to other common tongues.

Their generally low intelligence made it hard for them to utter long sentences, let alone remember complex “foreign names.”

No one knew how many Yaya, Wawa, Anan, and Kuku existed in that tribe.

It’s said Lili is the most common—only tribal chieftains can bear it, because the name sounds powerful.

Kuku was a kobold, a race that could be called the weakest across the entire continent.

His childhood ended quickly—he began digging holes, hunting, and weaving by age three or four, which was normal in the tribe; they reached adulthood and reproduced by six or seven.

Kuku grew up with the tribe’s other pups; he vaguely knew who his parents were, but never cared—kobolds had no concept of family; parents were merely older creatures with similar scents.

They were oviparous, bearing two clutches per year, up to seven or eight offspring per clutch—weak races always excelled at reproduction.

Yet the total number of kobolds in Kuku’s tribe never really increased.

“Great Dragon! Evil Dragon! We offer you everything!”

Why? The tribe had a “kind” master.

This greedy, massive green dragon forced kobolds to dig underground for gems, or hunt and fight for him.

Many died in mine collapses, but most perished because, though weaker than goblins, they served as the evil dragon’s frontline cannon fodder.

Though called kobolds by the world, these kobolds had nothing to do with canine beastmen.

Though weak, these scaled little creatures were true dragonkin.

Their hairless, dog-like heads were in fact rounded, tiny lizard-dragon heads.

They were born miners and excavators, born worshippers of great dragons, even willing to serve evil dragons—Kuku’s tribe’s patron was an evil adult green dragon, a young dragon aggressively expanding his territory.

Don’t misunderstand—Kuku’s tribe’s kobolds were not forced into service.

They came willingly; they delighted in serving their master.

Witnessing the grand, majestic form of a great dragon—especially a chromatic dragon—filled them with genuine safety and joy.

Following a stronger dragon was an instinct buried deep in their bloodline.

Some said kobolds were the evil dragon god’s malice, a race of naturally born slaves created to serve his kind.

Others claimed they were the result of a wizard’s experiment, a degenerate life born from dragon blood.

Yet these beings truly felt joy within their souls when serving evil dragons.

“.Ugh, this isn’t right. Kuku thinks this isn’t right.”

But among his kind, Kuku was an outlier.

At seven years old, he was already an adult—far smarter than his peers, slightly stronger too. He stood two and a half feet (0.7 meters) tall, a minor leader in the tribe.

He felt his tribe didn’t work for the green dragon for free—at least—

“Kuku thinks it should give coins! Ugh, wages!”

“If it won’t give, we’ll sell the gems and ores ourselves! Trade for shiny gold! Beautiful, glittering gold!”

Then he was kicked out of the cave—exiled from the tribe for the first time.

After wandering for a while, enduring a miserable adventure filled with pursuit and racial discrimination, he somehow learned the Common Tongue and returned to the tribe.

But this time, he didn’t stay long either.

“Ugh, these are seeds, these are farming tools—we can grow crops! We can feed ourselves!”

Amid his tribe’s utterly incomprehensible stares, he promoted his new discovery.

The big outsiders lived this way—it was far more stable than hunting or eating the dragon’s leftovers.

But no one cared about his discovery.

Undeterred, he tilled his own field—but before the crops matured, passing beasts and monsters trampled them clean.

A whole year’s work, wasted.

“Jester” Kuku earned his first nickname.

But in his future life, this one wasn’t even that bad.

Soon after, he was exiled again—for refusing to hunt or dig, and for refusing to serve his patron or his army’s chores.

But he returned quickly.

“Delicious food, fun things—I’ve got them all! I traded the scales the stupid dragon dropped, and the things adventurers left behind!”

“I bought a house in that big-ones’ place—we can live there! Grow crops! Mine! The miners there get wages! We can trade ore for tons of food! Delicious food!”

Still, no kobold paid him any attention—in fact, the tribe had long treated him as invisible.

But this time, they still went to that nearby “big-ones’ gathering place.”

They had a plan all along.

“Boom!”

The evil dragon descended from the sky, its breath destroying walls and the town.

Under the drive of the ambitious evil green dragon, a horde of monsters and demons surged into the town.

This small town of only a few hundred souls was doomed the day the dragon built its nest nearby.

Kuku’s friends and kin—the kobolds who had seemed dull but kind—now became cruel as wolves, frantically unleashing their bloodline’s lust for slaughter with crossbows, spears, and clubs.

They bit, they chased, they mimicked the dragon devouring flesh.

Their faces twisted, yet they grinned like bloodthirsty devils as they killed.

That horrifying sight froze Kuku, watching from the hill.

“This isn’t right. This isn’t right.”

Kuku left the tribe for the third time—this time, of his own accord.

Unable to comprehend why any of this had happened, he wandered aimlessly toward the unknown.

This was just a beginning—a modest start in his long life.

“Truly, such a humble origin.”

When Li En awoke from his dream, he too sank into prolonged confusion.

Previously, at least, he had been a person—but this experience was too jarring.

Kobolds, who found beauty in dragon scales, tails, and lizard heads, needed time to relearn appreciation for normal aesthetics. Li En spent the entire morning staring at Lana before he began to recover.

“Hmm, scale color and tail curves don’t matter! What matters is the red-eyed, white-haired beauty!”

When he finally woke fully and returned to his home, he knew exactly what he had done yesterday.

Li En gave a bitter smile—but he didn’t stop there. This spirit was truly unusual.

He thought for a moment, then spoke to the backpack he’d brought back.

“Spirit Kuku, or rather, Mr. Li Ensu, please come out and speak with me.” But his suspicious invitation received no response.

The backpack’s opening had quietly slipped open—yet not a sound stirred within.

“Click.” A sudden noise made him whirl around.

A tiny figure had been sitting on his nightstand for a long time.

He set down his book and sneered.

“What do you want to talk about, stupid evil dragon knight? First, let me say—I won’t speak to fools.”

(End of Chapter)