When the small dragon skeleton, barely a meter long, entered Muria's stomach, an intense fiery energy erupted within his reincarnated dragon body. It surged like molten lava, threatening to tear him apart.
The excruciating pain coursing through his body was enough to overwhelm any ordinary creature, but Muria dismissed it entirely. Pain was merely the price of significant advancement.
The skeletal remains were not those of a true Dragon King. While it carried an aura of majesty befitting such a title, its power level was far below what its stature suggested—closer to a legendary artifact than a divine or epic relic.
But for Muria's recently reincarnated dragon form, the energy was overwhelming.
Under the relentless surge of energy, his dragon wings, which were previously reduced to skeletal stumps, quickly regrew. Thin, black-scaled membranes formed, restoring them to their former grandeur.
Simultaneously, Muria's gaunt, undernourished body swelled with strength, his frame filling out like an inflating balloon. Within seconds, the once-depleted dragon was revitalized.
Yet the transformation did not stop there. The remains of the Dragon King carried an ancient, primal power. Though it wasn't true Dragon King energy, it was the essence of a progenitor—pure and potent. Muria's body began to undergo a process of ancestral regression, a phenomenon where his lineage reverted to its most ancient and powerful state.
For dragons, older bloodlines were always stronger. The further back in time, the more potent the genetic legacy. Ancestral regression was the dream of countless dragons, offering a chance to reclaim lost glory.
For Muria, however, this opportunity was little more than a useful resource. Rather than simply letting his body regress, he directed the transformation with surgical precision:
He enhanced his brain, heart, and other vital organs to improve core functions. He optimized his limbs, wings, and tail for maximum strength and combat efficiency. Finally, he fortified his scales and exoskeleton, balancing durability with flexibility.
When the process was complete, a sleek, majestic black dragon stood in the underground chamber. Muria's body was lean and muscular, with a predatory elegance that exuded both power and grace.
His golden eyes gleamed with an inner fire, reflecting flickers of lightning. His scales remained black, but faint red-gold streaks now lined their edges, resembling molten lava running through cracks in obsidian.
"By this world's standards, my dragon body originated from the Wind King lineage. But the skeleton I consumed belonged to the Fire King."
Muria flexed his rejuvenated form. His size hadn't changed drastically, but his power had multiplied several times over.
In Erathia's terms, his strength had gone from an entry-level Gold Rank to the peak of the Gold Tier—a level where natural disasters could be unleashed with ease. For most creatures, the next step into the Soul Intent Rank was an insurmountable wall. But for Muria, it was merely a matter of accumulating energy.
"Let's see what else is worth eating." Muria turned his draconic gaze toward the rest of the underground chamber.
The treasure trove contained all manner of items related to dragons. To ordinary mortals, the protective barriers and ancient wards surrounding the area were formidable. But to Muria, they were laughably simple. He bypassed them effortlessly, his experience in arcane arts far outstripping anything the humans here could comprehend.
Lowering his snout, Muria sniffed at a large, rusted two-handed sword encrusted with black and red stains. His golden eyes showed no interest. He opened his jaws and bit down.
Crunch!
The once-mighty weapon, resistant to most mortal tools, shattered like brittle candy. Muria chewed thoughtfully, the screeching of grinding metal echoing through the chamber, before swallowing it whole.
"This is subpar," he muttered, continuing his search.
For several minutes, the sound of grinding and snapping metal filled the underground hall as Muria consumed item after item. By the time he was done, the once-full chamber was significantly emptier.
Most of the artifacts and relics had disappeared into his maw. His body, now larger than before, shimmered faintly with latent energy.
"This place is a mess," Muria grumbled as he inspected a rotting piece of wood. "Why do they keep such trash here?"
The black dragon tossed the decaying fragment aside, his claws brushing past a golden-haired doll that looked eerily lifelike. The doll flinched under his gaze, trembling slightly.
"A spirit vessel?"
Muria snorted disdainfully, the embers of flame puffing from his nostrils. "I could eat you, but the taste would be awful. Consider yourself lucky I'm full."
With a flick of his tail, he sent the doll crashing into a wall, its limbs bending at impossible angles.
"This is more like a junkyard than a treasure vault," Muria muttered as he inspected a music box with a dismissive glance. "Nothing but scraps. Time to move on."
Having consumed everything of value, Muria turned to leave. His form shimmered and vanished as he teleported to another hidden chamber.
"Now, what's this? A dragonblood experiment lab?"
Muria found himself in a laboratory filled with vats of varying sizes. Some were empty, but others were filled with murky yellow liquid, inside which strange, mutated creatures floated in stasis.
"Humans experimenting on their own kind? How delightfully morbid."
Muria peered into one of the larger tanks. Inside was a bloated humanoid with scales scattered across its massive limbs. As Muria observed the grotesque figure, its eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze.
"Too fat," Muria remarked. "Your eyes are almost invisible in all that flab."
The creature attempted to respond, but its eyes soon closed, its consciousness too weak to remain awake.
"Two bloodlines clashing within the same body. Tragic," Muria mused.
He turned away and continued exploring, passing tanks containing serpentine creatures with multiple heads, scaled bears, and winged felines—all bearing traces of dragon blood.
Eventually, he stopped before a small tank containing a tiny creature curled up like a lizard. It had a pair of underdeveloped wings sprouting from its back.
"An actual dragon?" Muria muttered.
As he observed the infant creature, a voice rang out behind him:
"Incredible, isn't it? A group of students found this pureblood dragon while on vacation—alive, no less! For centuries, our field agents have risked everything to capture one, and yet they've always failed."
Muria turned his head slightly to see a group of scientists in long, white coats standing at the entrance. One of them spoke with excitement, unaware of the danger.
"But who let that dragonblood lizard loose?" the scientist muttered, eyeing Muria's massive form. "And how did it get here?"
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