In the dim dungeon, murky steam continuously spewed from the gooseneck of a copper still, condensing into hot droplets on the low ceiling.
The stuffy air reeked of pungent alcohol. Seven or eight shirtless goblins bustled around the still, their calloused claws barely visible through the haze.
In the corner, more goblins mixed caramel coloring into briefly aged whiskey, then poured the amber liquid into unlabeled glass bottles.
To curb the frequent violent incidents among demihuman races in the thirteen colonial states, the New Albion Overseas Autonomous Territory had enacted the strictest Prohibition Act in history. Yet more than half a year later, the original goals—reducing crime and improving social morality—remained unachieved.
Instead, alcohol prices had skyrocketed. Britannia whiskey, once fifty gold kroner per 31-gallon barrel, now fetched five hundred and fifty. Even homemade blended liquor, previously just ten gold kroner per barrel, had risen to one hundred and ten. Fueled by these exorbitant profits, smugglers and underground distilleries spread like mold in the shadows of the ban.
At that moment, Chris—with hair like silver frost—stood at the center of the noisy workshop. The pair of small dragon horns on her head gleamed with metallic luster in the dim light. Her slender figure stood out sharply among the hunched goblins.
Her gaze swept across the bustling brewing scene before settling on the banner on the wall—visible only to her: "Safety First, Work Hard for Thirty Days, Strive to Earn Three Thousand Gold." A satisfied smile curved her lips. She snapped her fingers elegantly.
In an instant, a series of translucent system interfaces unfolded before her eyes:
**Dungeon System**
Current enabled area: 1.1 Floor
Current unlocked monster types: Common Goblin 30/30 (resets 12 hours after death)
Current unlocked ability – Share: Can stack the total strength of owned goblins
Current unlocked ability – Key of the Door: Can turn any door she touches into a teleportation passage connecting the dungeon to the outside world
Creative Workshop (unlocked, requires 500 gold kroner)
Dungeon 1.2 Floor (unlocked, requires 2000 gold kroner)
Chris stared at the enormous upgrade fees on the panel. Her smile gradually faded into a long sigh.
She subconsciously touched the dragon horns on her head; the cold sensation reminded her of her transformed body. In her previous life, he had been a niche game streamer, mostly playing obscure single-player titles. That day, after streaming for over a dozen hours straight, a mischievous friend dragged him out drinking. Chest tightness hit in a toilet stall, his vision blacked out—and when he awoke, he had become... this.
The last game he streamed, *Dungeon King*, was a recently popular single-player simulation management title. Players became dungeon lords, meticulously arranging monsters and traps across floors to "entertain" invading heroes.
Its super-high freedom and dazzling array of monsters won countless fans. To amp up the fun, players created wild mods: swapping medieval weapons for modern gear, adding bizarre creatures, and designing hilarious, absurd traps.
For better streaming effect, he had installed those mods—and a character beautification one that turned the dungeon's ultimate boss, the Dragon of the End, into a majestic, queen-like dragon lady.
Who could have guessed that after transmigration, he not only brought the dungeon system to this world but also became a genuine dragonkin woman?
Thinking of this, Chris lowered her head and waved open her character panel:
**True Name:** Wing of the End · Empress of Scorched Earth · Zero-Point · Ragnachris
**True Race:** Pureblood Dragon (Ancient Dragon species)
**Human Name:** Chris Sylvania
**Human Race:** Dragonkin Race Descendant
**Dragon Exclusive Skills:**
- Reverse Scale Perception: Passively predicts attack trajectories 1 second in advance; scales automatically adjust to the point of impact for defense.
- Earth-Shattering Claw: Magically condenses a dragon claw to strike the ground, causing a small-scale earthquake to knock down enemies.
- Tail Sweep: Magically condenses a dragon tail to sweep horizontally, repelling surrounding enemies and inflicting a bone fracture effect.
**Dragon Bloodline Awakening Progress:** 5%
**Next Stage Bloodline Awakening Promotion Condition:** Requires fifty grams of dragon essence blood.
**Special Note:** Dragon essence blood can be obtained by hunting sub-dragon species.
Reading the note on dragon essence blood, Chris felt a headache coming on. In this world—post-industrial revolution, with steam and magic intertwined—the status of sub-dragons differed completely from the medieval setting of *Dungeon King*. Nowadays, sub-dragons were mostly monopolized and bred by armies and nobles; wild ones were nearly extinct. With her current strength, she couldn't challenge firearm-wielding forces.
Fortunately, as a core material for high-ranking magic tools, dragon essence blood still circulated on the market—at an astonishing price: ten gold kroner per gram.
In the end, it all boiled down to one thing: lack of money. Only two words echoed in Chris's mind: **Make money!** Goblins, trolls—everyone, get to the factory and work!
Just as she debated whether to prioritize her first alcohol profits for bloodline awakening or dungeon expansion, the magic bell at her waist trembled. It was one of a paired communicator set; the other belonged to her aunt.
Receiving the signal, Chris strode toward the wooden door in the corner. The moment she pushed it open, the damp, gloomy dungeon vanished—replaced by warm sunlight. She squinted, stepping into her bedroom with its floral curtains.
As soon as she exited the bedroom, a huge shadow loomed over her. Even with the tall stature of the dragonkin race, Chris had to crane her neck to meet the gaze of Baruch, the two-meter-three bear-man giant.
This mountain-like, burly bear-man had his sleeves rolled up; his densely furred arms were thick as tree trunks. His fluffy round ears and honest face seemed almost harmless—until he opened his mouth, revealing fangs capable of tearing a person apart.
"Miss Chris…"
Baruch leaned forward eagerly, a strong whiff of alcohol and food residue hitting her. Chris immediately raised a hand to her chest, signaling him to step back. She took a deep breath. "What happened?"
"Our first batch of goods, sold to the Green Fairy Underground Tavern, was seized!"
"What?" Chris's dragon eyes constricted. "Who did it? The State Prohibition Bureau or the Holy Church Inquisition?"
"It was the Holt Brothers!" Baruch roared, his thick bear paws clenching into fists. "Those damned werewolves don't dare provoke humans, so they pick on their own kind!"
Hearing this, Chris's tense shoulders relaxed. As long as the Prohibition Bureau wasn't involved, there was still room to maneuver. She turned and headed downstairs. Halfway down the staircase, a hysterical roar echoed up:
"Damn it! Now these lowly, inferior demihumans dare to target the Sylvania Family! I'll tear them to shreds and feed their flesh and blood to the hyenas in the sewers!"
Descending further, Chris saw her enraged aunt, Victoria Sylvania. On a makeshift operating table—two pushed-together tables—her cousin Conrad lay in pain, his torn right trouser leg soaked in blood. Victoria's sharp claws had extended involuntarily, gouging deep scratches into the oak tabletop.
Like humans, demihumans had class divisions—only theirs were far more intuitive and stark.
At the pinnacle of the demihuman social pyramid stood the most powerful races: dragonkin, vampires, and half-elves.
Below these high-tier sub-humans came the numerous beastkin races—lionkin, bear-men, werewolves, elephantmen, rhinocerosmen, and more.
At the bottom were species like wild boarkin and snake-people—whose appearances were more beastly than humanoid—along with cat-people and fox-people, weaker in strength but blessed with striking beauty, often reduced to human playthings.
Under harsh living conditions and a cultural admiration for strength, weaker demihuman groups typically viewed joining a high-tier family as a great honor.
But the Sylvania family was an exception.
Eighty years ago, the Sea of Eternal Mist—ravaged by thunderstorms during the War of the Gods' Demise—finally calmed. The chasm that had divided the continent for a thousand years became navigable. But instead of friendly exchange, it brought conquest.
When orc fishermen along the Amerigia coastline spotted Varangian human exploration ships, they were met with whistling steel cannonballs and magical bombardments. This unequal colonial war lasted forty full years.
Facing the human coalition's overwhelming advantages in population, economy, and technology, the demihuman empires—plagued by internal divisions—suffered repeated defeats.
Among the three supreme demihuman races, the vampires—closest to humans—defected first, even renaming themselves the Bloodline Dual Crown Kingdom in submission. The dragonkin and half-elf nobles split: some submitted, while others led remnants to distant deep forests in Britannia, establishing the struggling Free Bloodline Kingdom.
Chris's family, however, stubbornly forged a third path: refusing full submission to become human puppets, yet unwilling to abandon their homeland for Britannia's harsh wilderness.
They lingered awkwardly in the colony, clinging to faded glories in their increasingly dilapidated mansion—living as forlorn nobles mocked by all.
Now, only two or three loyal families like Baruch remained with the Sylvanias. That was precisely why the Holt Brothers dared provoke them so brazenly.
Chris took a deep breath and approached her raging aunt, soothing her: "Aunt, anger will only make the prey die too quickly. Trust me—I will make the Holt Family understand that provoking the Sylvania Family brings consequences ten times worse than their darkest nightmares."
Her voice was gentle yet chilling, carrying the innate majesty of the dragonkin race. Victoria's roar cut off abruptly.
Chris then turned to her cousin Conrad. The young lionkin had a robust physique and thick mane, with two comically small, pointed dragon horns sprouting from his head. He was a half-blood born from her aunt's marriage into the Eisenberg family—a union unimaginable to the pure-blood-supremacist dragonkin nobles of old.
Leaning down, Chris examined his injuries closely and immediately identified them as gunshot wounds. The damage was extensive—likely from a shotgun. Given the excellent healing of high-tier sub-humans, such a wound should close quickly, but the embedded iron pellets complicated things. They required careful removal.
At that moment, the invited doctor knelt beside Conrad, meticulously cutting open the wound and using tweezers to extract the pellets one by one.
(End of Chapter 1)