The Dragonmancer

The first thing Diagon felt was the cold. 

It seeped into his scales like liquid iron, sharp and unyielding, jolting him awake. His eyes snapped open, pupils dilating as they adjusted to the fractured light filtering through a stained-glass window. The ceiling above him arched into a dome of brass gears and copper filigree; steam hissed faintly from pipes that snaked along the walls. He lay on a four-poster bed draped with moth-eaten velvet, the scent of oil and burnt coal clinging to the air. 

“Where…?” 

Memories flickered: tires screeching, the glare of headlights, the weightlessness of his body as the truck slammed into him. He’d felt his ribs crack, tasted blood, and then… nothing. Now, his hands—clawed and taloned—gripped the bedsheets, tearing through the fabric. 

A mirror hung on the far wall, its surface warped and tarnished. Diagon staggered toward it, his tail lashing behind him for balance. The reflection staring back was monstrous yet eerily familiar: obsidian scales rippling across a humanoid frame, curved horns protruding from his temples, and eyes like molten gold. His dragon character from *Dragon’s Blood Online*. 

Dragon’s Blood Online was a famous VR MMORPG that took the world by storm. Its storylines and quests numbered in the millions, and though the game boasted millions of players, its quests never ran out. Remarkably, no player ever encountered a repeated quest, as the game dynamically generated new ones upon completion. 

This innovation solidified its status as the best VR MMORPG in the world, even after a decade of operation. The developers’ constant updates ensured the game never lagged in lore or graphics, while its immersive storylines and unpredictable random encounters kept players addicted. 

Unlike other VR MMORPGs, which typically embraced fantasy worlds and medieval settings, Dragon’s Blood Online was set in Torich a steampunk Victorian-era realm. The world featured unique architecture and sprawling train networks connecting its in-game cities. Yet fantasy elements thrived alongside this industrial aesthetic: diverse races, dungeons, ruins, and forsaken temples coexisted seamlessly, enriching the game’s eclectic universe. 

“Status,” he rasped, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. 

A translucent screen materialized with a chime: 

[INTERFACE]

>> Name: Diagon 

>> Level: 1490 

>> Main Class: Necromancer 

>> Sub-Class: Soulmancer

>> Title: Great Demon Lord 

>> Race: Dragon 

>> Age: 430 

>> EXP:????/???? 

>> HP: ?????/????? 

>> Mana: ????/???? 

[Attributes]

>> Strength: ????? 

>> Agility: ????? 

>> Stamina:????? 

>> Intelligence: ????? 

Looking at his stats, Diagon remembered the past. "I started as a normal human in the game with the assassin class. Those were the tough days. In the beginning, the only advantage assassins had were stealth and an assassinate skill with a critical hit effect." 

Before the second update, most assassins were forced to fight on the front lines. But after the class upgrade at level 100, he’d evolved into a Shadow Assassin, able to hide in the shadows of weaker players or NPCs. 

He stood, surveying the room. The hotel blended Victorian elegance with gothic and industrial themes, accented by sci-fi subcultures. Through the window, the city sprawled beneath a smoke-choked sky. Steam-powered cars and horse-drawn carriages clattered along paved roads, while airships drifted past Tesla coils and hydraulic machinery. 

"Yep, this is definitely Torich. I need to figure out where I am." The thought grounded him. "It’s  sad I died, but that life had nothing left. Here, I’m strong enough to survive after all, I was the second-ranked player." 

Diagon whose real name Testimony Lux had always been ruthlessly competitive. He’d wait a week after a game’s launch, study forums to identify the weakest class, then dominate it through sheer skill. For 26 years, this strategy earned him top-ten rankings in every game except Dragon’s Blood Online. No matter how hard he tried, he’d never dethroned the number one player: Irena, the Hero King. 

"That battle…"  He grimaced. During the Great Invasion, he’d led the demon, dragons and Demi humans army against her human forces. The clash was so epic the developers canonized it as an official quest. Millions of players chose sides, but Irena, now a level 1500 Demigod, had crushed him. "The power gap was too much. But I’ll meet her again. She’s probably still itching to bully me."

He opened his inventory, relieved to find all his items intact. After equipping his signature outfit a black button-down shirt, vest, plain pants, top hat with goggles, shoulder armor, sweatband, tactical belt, and leather boots he masked his horns. "Better safe than sorry. If Irena’s here, she’ll hunt me down for fun."

His stats screen flickered again. *Age: 430.* He froze. His character had been 30 when he died. The game’s time ratio—one real day equaling two in-game—couldn’t explain four centuries. "How?"  

A knock rattled the door. Diagon spun, claws raised, as a fox-eared maid slipped inside. Her eyes widened at his draconic form, but she schooled her expression. 'A dragon in Luxia?' she thought. 

“Your invoice, sir,” she said, voice steady. “Three nights at the Grand Lux Hotel.” 

Diagon stared. The Grand Lux hadn’t existed in his time. Luxia had been a backwater village, not this steampunk metropolis. He tossed her a pouch of Stelé coins. “Where’s the nearest bar?” 

“The Iron Lotus. Two blocks east.” 

Before he could ask more questions, she vanished, the door clicking shut. 

There was a lot he wanted to ask the girl but he didn't expect her to run off, he sighed before stepping out of his room heading towards the steam powered elevator.

The cityscape outside the hotel was a living tapestry of Torich’s steampunk Victorian soul a realm where industrial grit clashed with aristocratic grandeur. The hotel itself stood as a monument to this duality: its facade boasted vaulted arches of soot-stained sandstone, adorned with wrought-iron filigree that coiled like metallic ivy. Gargoyles with riveted wings perched atop rain-spouts, their stone eyes watching over streets teeming with brass-clad automatons and silk-gloved aristocrats. Inside, the lobby shimmered with gaslit chandeliers, their flames flickering behind frosted glass orbs, while the walls groaned with pipes hissing steam into the damp air. The elevator he stepped out from was a gilded cage of polished mahogany and copper gears, its shuddering ascent accompanied by the rhythmic *clank-puff* of unseen machinery. 

Beyond the hotel, the city sprawled in a symphony of contradictions. Cobblestone streets, slick with rain and oil, wound between edifices of brick and steel. Towers crowned with clockwork spires pierced a smog-choked sky, their faces lit by neon-trimmed gauges and crackling Tesla coils that spat violet arcs into the haze. Airships loomed overhead, their balloon envelopes stitched with dragon-scale patterns, engines growling as they docked at skyports suspended by colossal chains. Below, steam-powered carriages clattered alongside horse-drawn buggies, their drivers shouting curses drowned by the whistle of factory sirens.

The industrial quarter belched perpetual twilight, furnaces roaring as they devoured coal, while the affluent districts flaunted manicured parks where brass-rimmed automatons trimmed hedges into geometric perfection. Market squares buzzed with hawkers peddling spellbound trinkets, pocket watches that hummed with minor enchantments, cogwork parrots reciting poetry—while alleyways hid shadowy figures trading illicit mana crystals. The air reeked of progress: coal smoke, hot metal, and the faint ozone tang of alchemical engines. 

Yet Torich’s fantasy roots pulsed beneath its iron skin. Elven engineers in tailored waistcoats argued with dwarf smiths over blueprints, their debates punctuated by the clang of hammers on enchanted steel. Goblins darted through crowds, selling bootleg “dragon’s breath” whiskey from flasks strapped to their backs.

Diagon’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t merely the game he remembered. It was alive a world where every piston’s hiss and spell’s whisper carried weight. And he, a dragon in gentleman’s guise, would need to navigate its labyrinthine rules anew.