The master bedroom of the White Stone Manor was draped in quiet elegance, its refined furnishings bathed in the warm morning light.
Snow-white walls, dark walnut furniture, and a silk-dressed double bed together composed an atmosphere of unhurried luxury.
Along one side of the room stood a set of empty display cabinets, once home to priceless handcrafted artifacts that the estate had long since sold off, their bareness a silent elegy for the Lorraine family's decline.
A few exquisite oil paintings still hung on the walls, depicting the sweeping landscapes of the kingdom's southern frontier.
The maids had carried them over from other rooms. The master bedroom where the lord of the house slept could not be left looking too bare.
Orum stood before the full-length mirror in its ornate silver frame, studying his reflection with careful attention.
He was quite pleased with what he saw.
Today marked the official registration day for the Blazing Sun Tournament, the event every adventurer in Roen City had been eagerly awaiting.
It was also the day he was meeting Felix and the others to collect his reward.
His previous set of clothes had deteriorated rapidly through days of continuous adventuring, so Orum had taken care to outfit himself with a handsome new ensemble well in advance.
On his upper body he wore a short-sleeved silver fox-wool linen shirt, a rare material with natural temperature-regulating properties, genuinely warm in winter and cool in summer.
Over the shirt he layered a waistcoat crafted from wolf hide that had been treated through a specialist tanning process, made from the finest back leather of a Dire Wolf.
The Dire Wolf was a common magical beast of the Misty Forest. A Dire Wolf alpha could reach three meters in length, with a build as powerful as a bull, while even an ordinary Dire Wolf measured a full meter long.
Orum had encountered this breed of monster before, though he had never found the opportunity to hunt one and harvest its organs.
Dire Wolf hide possessed a toughness several times that of ordinary soft leather materials.
After specialist processing, a Dire Wolf leather vest could rival the defensive capability of standard iron chain mail, offering effective protection against the slashing blows of beast claws and iron-forged weapons.
At the same time, the Dire Wolf leather preserved its lightweight, flexible qualities, without hampering the agile movements demanded of close-combat classes.
Orum's lower half was dressed in a pair of deep indigo trousers woven from magical beast spider silk, a color as dark as a midnight sky.
This unusual material combined outstanding durability with a pleasingly lightweight feel.
On his feet, Orum wore a brand-new pair of gleaming Great-Horned Ox leather boots.
His current weight and physical strength had long since left the realm of ordinary humans, which meant he needed footwear made from tougher and more durable materials.
Otherwise, even a firm stride would cause a standard pair of shoes to crack apart under the tremendous force, which would make for a rather awkward situation.
Iron military boots, on the other hand, would produce a sharp metallic clang with every step on the city's cobblestone streets.
Far too conspicuous.
That kind of attention-drawing entrance was entirely at odds with Orum's preferred way of moving through the world.
Besides, he could not tolerate hundreds of passersby turning to stare.
Now that he had experienced it firsthand, he found himself wanting to complain about all those superhero films he had watched back on Earth. How were those skintight suits so indestructible? Tens of thousands of tons of force and not so much as a torn seam.
Take that bald one, that caped one, or the one with the webs. Their costumes were impossibly durable, never once suffering the embarrassment of bursting at the seams.
Orum's complete outfit had cost well over a hundred gold coins in total.
That figure alone was enough to sustain an ordinary commoner family for several years.
But for Orum at this stage in his life, investing in quality gear and presentable clothing was entirely worthwhile.
Walking through Roen City, a place both bustling and quietly dangerous, dressing in shabby or worn-out clothes invited contempt.
Quality equipment not only offered real physical protection but also carried a psychological deterrent, giving would-be opportunists pause before they tried anything rash.
That alone saved considerable trouble. Beyond that, decent attire also smoothed negotiations when out on a job.
As the old saying went: as long as you are strong enough, every person you meet turns out to be a decent person.
Orum gave his reflection one final check.
Satisfied that everything was in order and nothing was amiss, he gave a small nod of approval.
The young man in the mirror was tall and sharp-featured, his gaze keen and self-assured.
Aside from a faint killing intent that still lingered at the very bottom of his eyes, impossible to fully suppress, everything looked perfectly normal.
The door hinges let out a soft creak.
Orum pushed open the heavy oak bedroom door.
He descended the staircase with unhurried steps, passed through the corridor lined with ornate frescoes, and arrived at the front hall of the White Stone Manor.
He immediately spotted a familiar figure.
A beautiful maid with pale gold hair pinned up in coils was engaged in her daily cleaning work with careful, thorough movements.
She wore an elegantly cut black-and-white dress, proper and refined.
The hem of the skirt swayed gently with each light movement she made.
Every detail of her bearing embodied the graceful deportment expected of a maid.
Orum's sharp eye noticed that beneath the elegant fall of the skirt's hem, a pair of slender legs were visible, encased in black silk stockings.
In the morning light, they drew the eye with quiet insistence.
Long, straight, perfectly shaped.
The black silk stockings clung close to the skin, tracing a silhouette that was difficult to ignore.
From those stockings alone, Orum immediately identified the maid as Ristina rather than her twin sister Karolina.
To tell apart the two maids who were identical in appearance, Orum had proposed that each wear long stockings in a different color: one black, one white.
That way they could be distinguished at a glance, without resorting to Ristina's earlier suggestion of a rather too intimate physical inspection.
Ristina wore the black stockings; Karolina wore the white.
The reason he had specifically assigned black stockings to Ristina was that Orum had sensed something in her: an air of hidden depth beneath a gentle surface.
She appeared docile and well-mannered, but something more complex moved underneath. Her inner character was considerably more intricate than her sister Karolina, who seemed simply kind and straightforward.
That layered, quietly complicated quality matched the mystery of black rather well.
"Ristina, I'm heading out today," Orum said in an even tone to the maid, who was focused on her cleaning.
"I need to go to the Adventurers' Hall to register formally for the Blazing Sun Tournament."
"I won't be back for lunch, but I'll be home for dinner on time."
"Understood, Master Orum."
Ristina set down her cleaning tools and turned to face him.
"Karolina and I will take good care of the manor while you're away."
Her ice-blue eyes caught the morning light as she spoke, her voice respectful and earnest.
"I wish you a smooth journey, and a safe return with honors."
She then dipped into a flawless, graceful curtsy, her words carrying every mark of genuine sincerity.
Each small detail of her behavior was executed perfectly.
"It's just a registration. Nothing dangerous about it," Orum said, giving a slight shake of his head. He added to himself: and even in the actual tournament matches, there won't be much to worry about.
Anyone who manages to force out one activation of the healing power from Monster Organ: Ancient Tree of Hearts can count themselves impressive.
Orum stepped down the white stone front steps, his footfalls crisp in the quiet of the early morning.
He passed through the carefully tended garden courtyard, breathing in the cool air of the dawn.
Silver-leafed sycamore trees swayed softly in the breeze.
As he passed through the heavy iron gate of the White Stone Manor, Orum reached into his breast pocket and drew out a finely crafted bone whistle worked with skilled artisanship.
Made from beast bone, the whistle had an ancient shape, its surface carved with intricate runes that gleamed with a faint ivory sheen in the sunlight.
Orum raised the bone whistle to his lips, drew a deep breath, and blew it clearly and strongly, sending a pure, resonant note into the air.
The bright tone rippled outward like rings on water, carrying far down the relatively quiet street.
The sound rolled through the open road and faded into the distance, carrying something of an ancient summons.
A few minutes later, from the far end of the road, came a heavy, rhythmic sound of hoofbeats.
A magnificently built Giant Elk was approaching at a brisk pace.
The White Stone Manor sat in a comparatively secluded part of the city, far from the busy center, which made daily travel inconvenient.
To solve this, Orum had purchased this expensive summoning bone whistle from the Giant Elk Transport Association in Roen City.
The bone whistle worked on a principle not unlike the ride-hailing apps of the modern world.
Blow it anywhere in Roen City and a nearby Giant Elk driver would arrive to collect you. This magical communication method made city travel efficient and convenient.
When the Giant Elk drew close enough to make out who was waiting at the roadside, however, a look of profound grievance crept into its large eyes.
A remarkably human range of emotion flickered across its features.
The expression seemed to say, without a single word: not you again.
The Giant Elk even let out a low, mournful call.
Orum recognized this particular Giant Elk at once.
It was, by sheer ill luck, the very same animal he had ridden two days prior.
To have carried Orum and his extraordinary weight not once but twice in a row, this unfortunate creature's luck could only be described as spectacularly poor.
"Sorry about this, old friend," Orum said with a trace of apology as he climbed onto the animal's broad back.
As expected, the entire creature visibly sank downward.
The Giant Elk's four stout legs bent slightly at the knees.
It adjusted with visible effort to accommodate this extraordinary burden, displaying the professional dedication of a seasoned transport animal.
After a few seconds of adjustment, the Giant Elk steadied itself and began moving forward at a measured pace toward its destination.
Orum looked back over his shoulder at the tranquil, dignified White Stone Manor from his seat on the elk's back.
Morning light was draping the whole building in a layer of warm gold.
In the sunshine, the white stone walls shimmered with a soft, pearl-like glow.
Into Orum's mind drifted the graceful figures of the two half-elven twin maids.
The previous evening, after careful deliberation, Orum had decided not to invite Ristina and Karolina to his bedroom to share his bed.
The first reason for this decision was a clear statement in both Iron Will and Stone Dragon Guard, the two valuable feat training manuals: during the critical period of cultivating a feat, practitioners should avoid depleting their vital energy.
Beginning the practice young and maintaining one's internal reserves of essence and vitality was the path to faster, stronger development.
Beyond that practical cultivation reason, Orum also felt a certain complicated emotion when he considered two young noblewomen who had, by sudden turn of events, become his personal bound servants.
When he had signed that legally binding magical contract, he had not fully thought through the far-reaching consequences of that choice.
At the time, he had assumed it was more or less the same as hiring two professional cooks and cleaning maids.
It was only when Ristina had casually proposed identifying herself and her sister by the location of a private birthmark that Orum truly grasped the weight of what had happened.
Two living, breathing people had genuinely become his dependents.
To put it in plainer and harsher terms: under the binding of the magical contract, they had become his possessions.
The magical contract crafted by the kingdom's court mages was extremely severe in its design, intended to condemn these convicted individuals to permanent servitude with no possibility of reversal. The contract inscribed upon Karolina and Ristina contained three primary clauses:
The first was the Absolute Belonging Clause. From the moment the contract took effect, the slave's right to their own person, and the right to make use of them, belonged entirely to the master.
The master could freely direct their labor, movements, personal service, and punishment, with the slave retaining no right of refusal whatsoever. The slave's life and health were likewise under the master's control.
Unless the master died, no outside force could strip the master of ownership over the slave. The ownership relationship could also be passed on to the master's descendants at the master's discretion.
This contract had no fixed term; from the day it was inscribed, it accompanied the slave for the remainder of their life.
The second was the Behavioral Restraint Clause. The slave must unconditionally obey all instructions from the master without resistance or neglect.
The slave could not leave the range of activity designated by the master without permission, and any outing required written or verbal approval from the master, with a mandatory return within a specified time.
The slave could not form any relationship beyond the minimal necessary interaction with any person other than the master, and was strictly forbidden from disclosing the master's private information, financial circumstances, or plans.
The third was the Mental Binding Clause.
The contract would impose a compulsory mental constraint on the slave through magical means, requiring absolute loyalty to the master, with no allowance for any thought of betrayal, defiance, or harm toward the master, and prohibiting any subjective intent that could endanger the master's physical safety or material interests.
In addition, the contract would apply an enchantment of Natural Affinity to the slave's inner perception of the master, causing the slave to instinctively feel closeness and trust toward the master, and to automatically overlook the master's behavioral shortcomings and personality flaws in day-to-day life, maintaining an attitude of deference at all times.
Of these three clauses, the ones with the most far-reaching impact on Karolina and Ristina were the Behavioral Restraint Clause and the Mental Binding Clause.
Through these two provisions, the magical contract had not merely stripped them of their freedom. It was designed to alter their very souls and wills.
First, it would render them permanently incapable of forming any thought of resistance.
Then, by gradual and imperceptible degrees, the contract would begin to reshape the slave's inner world.
In the beginning, they might retain some measure of individual selfhood. But as time passed, the power of the contract would progressively erode their interior life.
In the end, they would come to believe from the bottom of their hearts that serving their master was the most natural thing in the world.
They might even develop a sincere and genuine affection.
After all, from the perspective of any slaveholder, a slave who was mentally listless and harbored deep hatred for their master would be unable to perform labor and service to any useful standard.
Who would want to face a pair of eyes full of resentment every single day?
Who would want to worry about poison in their food?
Only subordinates who served willingly and loyally, who held a genuine fondness and attachment for their master, could perform complex duties with maximum efficiency, and who might, in a critical moment, step in front of an assassin's blade.
That was the elegant cruelty of the magical contract's design.
It did not merely enslave the body. It set out to conquer the soul.
As Orum read through those detailed contract clauses, he felt as though every single character on the page had been steeped in something vile.
He began to seriously suspect that among the court mages who had designed this contract, at least one had to have some connection to a demon from the depths of the abyss.
How else could these clauses be so perfectly, insidiously engineered? They peeled back the skin and disassembled the bones, squeezing out every last drop of a person's value.
What this heavy, rights-stripping magical contract purchased in return was two perfectly loyal maids who would never, under any circumstances, betray him.
They would love their master unconditionally.
They would offer everything of themselves without reservation.
They would, in the master's moment of need, sacrifice their own lives without a moment's hesitation.
Sitting atop the slowly plodding Giant Elk, Orum's thoughts surged like a tide, and the deeper he considered this serious problem, the more unsettled he became.
He was beginning to think he might be holding two burning coals in his hands.
The Giant Elk let out another weary, mournful call.
Its steps had grown heavy; every few minutes it would stop to catch its breath.
What made its situation even more pitiable was that after performing all this grueling heavy labor, it would not receive so much as a single coin of overtime pay.
A passage Orum had read somewhere surfaced in his memory.
"The most terrible outcome in love is not death. It is two people going their separate ways, each finding a new life and a new partner, and slowly forgetting every last bit of the love they once shared."
In his younger, more uncertain years, Orum had never been able to make sense of that idea.
If separation was inevitable in the end, why did two people choose to be together in the first place?
From love to no longer loving, it seemed to happen in the space of a single breath.
The shift in feeling came faster than anyone could prepare for, and it made no sense at all.
If everything was going to be forgotten and quietly set down in the heart one day, what had all those vows and promises ever amounted to?
Were they false from the start?
The products of a passing impulse?
Better to seal everything shut from the very beginning. Once you were in, you stayed for the rest of your life, no exceptions.
Following that logic, a bond that could not be broken by either party did not seem entirely without its merits.
No fear of a change of heart. No fear of betrayal. No fear of falling for someone else. An inseparable union for life.
So it was not that Orum feared these two sisters would wait for him to fall asleep at night and then put a knife in him.
That particular worry was entirely superfluous.
The magical contract designed by the kingdom's court mages was comprehensive in its construction, and its binding power exceeded anything he had imagined in both strength and scope.
The loyalty it produced was, in its way, more durable than a blood bond.
What Orum was genuinely concerned with was a deeper and more complex question at the core of the matter.
He knew far too little about Karolina and Ristina as actual people.
Safety was guaranteed by the magical contract; but genuine understanding and trust were not things that could be obtained through magic.
Before accepting either of them in a more personal sense, he needed to first understand what they liked, what they had lived through, and what they were like at their core.
Only through long observation could Orum truly come to know the inner worlds of these two fallen noble daughters.
He had no clear picture yet of their actual character, or what kind of values and moral sense lay beneath the surface.
After all, people rarely showed their true nature plainly. For all he knew, behind that polished, gracious exterior, one or both of them could harbor something genuinely dark and troubling.
The Lorraine family had once been a distinguished noble house, but noble birth was no guarantee of noble character.
This era had no shortage of nobles whose conduct was something to be ashamed of. Abusing their position, doing as they pleased, letting their moral sense decay entirely; these were hardly uncommon failings among the aristocracy.
Karolina and Ristina appeared demure and respectful on the outside, but who could say what they concealed within?
If he genuinely discovered serious failings in their character, Orum reflected, it would actually settle his mind considerably. He could discipline a woman of genuinely bad character with a clear conscience.
Disciplining women who behaved badly... I'm good at that... wait, have I actually dealt with other troublesome women before?
Orum suddenly realized something odd.
Where had that thought just come from?
What exactly did he mean by "good at that"?
Had he had some experience along those lines before?
Orum, still seated on the Giant Elk's back, found himself sinking into quiet, puzzled reflection.
"I'm sorry, but are you certain I can only enter the preparatory-class division?" Orum asked, leaning forward slightly as he addressed the young woman behind the reception desk with a look of genuine inquiry.
The receptionist had chestnut hair and wore the professionally warm smile of someone well-practiced in customer-facing work.
She was dressed in the Adventurers' Hall standard uniform, a metal badge signifying professional certification pinned to her chest.
"That's correct, sir. Per Adventurers' Hall regulations, all participants must compete in the division corresponding to their professional rank," she answered in a clear, pleasant voice with courteous precision.
"Your registered information indicates a preparatory-class rank, and you cannot present a mithril-grade professional talent crest, so you may only enter the preparatory-class competition."
"Is there truly no way to change that? I'd be willing to take additional tests."
Orum frowned.
When he had first registered as an adventurer back in Blackwater Town, he had indeed been recorded at the preparatory-class rank. At that time he had only recently crossed over, and his abilities were still quite limited. A preparatory-class designation had been entirely accurate then.
But things were different now.
Through this stretch of time, Orum had put in the effort, shed the sweat, and received a small but meaningful boost from his status panel. His capabilities had undergone a genuine qualitative transformation.
Both his physical conditioning and his combat technique far exceeded those of an ordinary preparatory-class adventurer. The majority of lower-tier professional-class adventurers would not last a single exchange against him.
Putting Orum in the preparatory-class division would be completely unfair to every other participant. It would be no different from releasing a lion into a pen of sheep.
Orum felt a wave of resignation.
Only by claiming the final championship in the professional-class upper division would he earn the right to obtain the invaluable adult unicorn horn.
A winner of the preparatory-class lower division, by contrast, would receive only the horn of a juvenile unicorn.
The difference in soul energy provided by the two was five to six times, making them impossible to compare.
"I'm sorry, sir, these are the regulations we strictly follow, and no exceptions can be made," the receptionist replied with her standard professional smile, her tone gentle but firm.
She was clearly not going to alter the rules of the competition on account of one adventurer's wishful thinking, and in any case, she did not have the authority to do so.
Behind Orum, the queue stretched on at considerable length.
Other adventurers eager to register were beginning to show signs of impatience, calling for him to fill out his form and move along.
"Come on, there are loads of people waiting back here!"
"Exactly, don't hold everyone up!"
The complaints came in from several directions at once.
Orum could feel the displeasure radiating from the crowd behind him.
All of them were clearly in a hurry to get their registration done and had no interest in waiting around.
Faced with the situation, Orum could only give a resigned shake of his head.
He signed his name on the preparatory-class registration form.
Once finished, he carried the form to the waiting area off to one side of the hall, where it was relatively quiet.
The Adventurers' Hall in Roen City was laid out much like the one in Blackwater Town, with a waiting area furnished in a comfortable, considerate fashion: soft leather sofas and polished side tables arranged in a welcoming arrangement.
Looking up at the wall, he could see portrait paintings of past Blazing Sun Tournament champions, each one radiating the bearing of a hero.
In the waiting area, Orum quickly spotted two familiar figures.
His teammates Raygore and Felix had already completed their own registration.
Raygore was still clad in his heavy black iron armor, grotesque faceguard in place, his massive frame occupying the sofa like a small iron mountain.
Felix looked considerably more relaxed, leafing through a finely bound old volume.
What caught Orum's curious attention was the owl perched on Felix's shoulder: an elegant creature, regarding Orum with evident interest, letting out a low, melodious series of hoots. Those amber eyes gleamed with something that looked very much like intelligence.
The owl's feathers displayed a beautiful pattern of deep brown and white.
Its amber eyes were particularly striking, with a quality of seeing through to what lay beneath.
This was Otto, a magical companion Felix had purchased at considerable expense, specifically an owl.
Otto was equipped with outstanding flight capabilities and exceptional reconnaissance skills, capable of providing invaluable intelligence support during wilderness expeditions and combat situations.
Otto's eyesight was more than ten times that of an ordinary owl, able to spot a moving target from several kilometers away.
His hearing was equally keen, capable of picking up minute changes in sound.
Beyond that, through the connection of a magical contract, Otto could transmit whatever he saw and heard directly to Felix in real time.
This capacity for instantaneous information sharing had significant practical value in complex combat environments.
Felix had also selected the most convenient arrangement for keeping his magical companion.
When Otto was not needed, he could be boarded at a specialized inn and cared for by an experienced handler.
When Felix needed him at a critical moment, a simple activation of a dedicated magical instrument to cast the Summon Magical Companion spell would bring Otto to his side immediately.
This complete package, the owl companion plus the dedicated magical instrument, was naturally priced at a considerable sum: it had cost Felix the substantial figure of fifteen hundred gold coins.
"Fifteen hundred gold coins, and worth every one of them," Felix had explained. "Accurate intelligence gathered in advance of a dangerous expedition can save the entire team's lives."
"And Otto still has room to grow," he had added, "and will develop into an even more formidable bird of prey."
By this point Orum had already successfully collected his reward from Felix for the Cardia Village mission combined with the exploration of the minor dungeon.
Twelve hundred gold coins in total, which was within the range Orum had anticipated.
The mysterious golden dragon egg was, in its own way, beyond any price: its true value alone almost certainly exceeded ten thousand gold coins by a wide margin.
Even with the considerable financial resources of Felix's family, the liquid funds available to him were not unlimited and needed to be managed and allocated with care.
He would need to apply to the Greymayne family for a new disbursement in order to carry out the remainder of his compensation arrangement with Orum.
According to the compensation agreement Felix had drawn up, an additional twelve hundred gold coins would be delivered to Orum on a regular monthly basis, with this schedule continuing for two months.
"Is the golden dragon egg proving difficult to hatch?" Orum asked, noticing that when the golden egg came up, a shadow crossed Felix's expression.
"The hatching itself is manageable enough. Everything surrounding the hatching is the real headache," Felix said, shaking his head and offering Orum a patient explanation.
The golden dragon egg itself, beyond the question of hatching, was entangled in a number of complex and troublesome issues.
The first was that attempting to hatch and raise a golden dragon without authorization would very easily draw fierce displeasure from the powerful golden dragon factions across the continent.
The golden dragon race placed extraordinary importance on the safety and upbringing of their young; their protectiveness of hatchlings bordered on the absolute.
While golden dragons did on occasion entrust precious hatchlings to other beings they recognized and trusted, this typically required an extremely rigorous selection process.
A silver dragon bloodline family that came into possession of a golden dragon egg without having obtained explicit permission from the egg's parents would have that act interpreted as a serious offense.
The golden dragon factions might well regard it as a brazen challenge to the sacred dignity of their race and to their traditional practices surrounding the raising of young, generating deep and lasting hostility toward the silver dragon bloodline family.
Beyond that, precious dragon eggs were typically protected by ancient and powerful binding spells, with grave consequences awaiting any who violated them.
If the Greymayne family failed to fully satisfy the stringent terms of the contract, such as guaranteeing the absolute safety of the egg and accepting full responsibility for the proper raising of the hatchling, then the Greymayne family would be subjected to a terrible dragon-tongue curse.
Every dragon and every magical creature carrying dragon blood in their veins would treat them as mortal enemies.
Such a curse would not only severely threaten the survival and development of the silver dragon bloodline family itself, but could also extend to other factions and allied families connected to them.
However, the magical seal affixed to this particular golden dragon egg bore, in addition to the powerful dragon-tongue magic, the contractual power of an ancient and great empire.
This meant that the five warriors who had successfully completed the Hero's Trial had all received formal recognition and authorization directly from the dragon egg.
In other words, in consideration of the sacred legacy of that great empire, which had long since vanished into the sweep of history, the five of them did indeed hold legitimate qualification to hatch this golden dragon egg.
They had also received the precious right to raise and educate the future golden dragon hatchling, a circumstance that was extraordinarily rare even across the full span of recorded history.
"So this golden dragon egg can only be hatched and raised by the five of us: me, Raygore, you, Melina, and Ronald," Felix said, the resignation on his face deepening somewhat.
"Or it could be offered directly to a true adult golden dragon by entering into communication with one, though naturally those proud dragons are not particularly easy to deal with, and they are unlikely to offer us any compensation."
"In that case, forget it," Orum said, shaking his head. Traveling a great distance to hand over a dragon egg and receiving nothing in return for it would be a thoroughly unsatisfying outcome.
Felix considered this for a few seconds, then continued. "Beyond all of that, the growth cycle of this golden dragon is, from our perspective, far too long to wait out."
"For a golden dragon to develop from a freshly hatched hatchling into even an early-stage juvenile requires a full six years of time and dedicated care."
Six years?
Orum blinked, caught slightly off guard.
For a human, six years was enough time for an infant to grow into a child capable of walking independently and basic conversation. For a golden dragon, it represented only the first stage from hatchling to juvenile.
"And throughout those six years, the hatchling cannot survive independently," Felix continued. "It requires a continuous supply of magical energy, specialized food, and a stable temperature environment."
Orum nodded, beginning to appreciate why dragons were so rare and so precious. It was not simply a matter of scarcity. Raising a dragon demanded an enormous investment on every level.
Felix went on. "The critical phase from juvenile to adolescent dragon requires sixteen years of sustained cultivation and guidance.
"In the adolescent stage, a golden dragon begins to show the first signs of magical ability."
"Developing from adolescent to young adult takes twenty-five years of accumulated growth. And reaching the stage of true young adulthood requires fifty years."
Twenty-five years. Fifty years.
These figures were almost incomprehensible to Orum.
He was eighteen now. Even if he lived to the outer limit of a normal human lifespan, that amounted to perhaps seventy or eighty years in total.
A golden dragon, simply to reach young adulthood, would consume the greater part of his entire life.
"In the young adult stage, a golden dragon's wisdom and power become comparable to those of a formidable mage, and it truly begins to embody the authority and distinction of the dragon race."
"Only after a full one hundred years of life does a golden dragon reach the complete maturity of adulthood and enter its prime."
Felix smiled. "By that point, the rest of us will all be long dead and buried."
He drew a breath and continued his overview. "The dragon race possesses a lifespan approaching the eternal. Even the shortest-lived white dragons survive for two thousand years, while the noble golden dragon can live for four thousand years or more, with certain exceptionally powerful individuals surpassing even that figure."
Two thousand years. Four thousand years.
Orum tried to hold those figures in his mind and give them shape.
Two thousand years ago on Earth, what had the world looked like? The Han dynasty? The Roman Empire?
Those eras that seemed so impossibly remote in history books represented, for a white dragon, simply a single lifetime.
And four thousand years: the number was already beyond the reach of Orum's imagination.
Four thousand years ago, what stage had human civilization been at? The Bronze Age? The age of myth and legend recorded in the Shanhaijing?
"Now you understand why every nation regards the dragon race with such profound reverence," Felix said, watching Orum's expression of astonishment with visible satisfaction.
"Some of the older kingdoms have gone so far as to treat the dragons dwelling within their borders as supreme national treasures, extending to them the highest possible forms of honor and protection."
"To the southeast of the kingdom lies a powerful empire centered on the veneration of dragons: the Dragon-Venerating Empire. It fought a fierce war against the Holy Kingdom of Kegani in the past."
Felix's expression grew serious, his tone dropping. "When the kingdom's elite forces were advancing across the battlefield with unstoppable momentum, several powerful dragons descended from the sky, holding the Dragon-Venerating Empire's border fortresses against the assault.
"These majestic dragons shattered the kingdom's elite offensive with overwhelming force, dealing a decisive defeat to the kingdom's armies and halting their advance entirely."
Orum thought back to the red dragon he had encountered at the Black Gate.
Even at a single glance, the terrifying presence it exuded had made clear that even well-trained armies would be rendered insignificant in the face of a true dragon.
Only a powerful force assembled from the combined might of an entire nation would have any real chance of surrounding and bringing one down.
"The war ended with the kingdom of Rusthart, caught between the Holy Kingdom of Kegani and the Dragon-Venerating Empire, being carved up and divided between the two."
Orum's expression became difficult to maintain.
It was a classic historical pattern: two great powers locked in contest, and a small, weak kingdom caught between them reduced to a sacrificial piece in someone else's game.
This was the unsparing reality of this world.
The strong wrote the rules. The weak bore the consequences.
On the far side of the Adventurers' Hall, extending outward from the testing center, a queue stretched so far it seemed to have no end.
A rough count put the number at well over a hundred people.
The people standing in that line were the participants registered for the preparatory-class division of the Blazing Sun Tournament, waiting patiently for the strength assessment test.
Orum swept his gaze along the queue ahead.
It held broad-shouldered fighters, rangers carrying longbows with well-maintained equipment, and a scattering of young nobles dressed in expensive finery with swords at their hips.
Every face carried some mixture of tension and anticipation.
Orum found himself reflecting inwardly that the enthusiasm for the Blazing Sun Tournament throughout Roen City was even higher than he had expected.
Inside the testing center, each preparatory-class applicant was required to strike a large, sturdy special-purpose sandbag with their full force.
At the center of the testing area stood a single oversized sandbag of distinctive design.
It stood roughly as tall as an adult, deep brown in color, its surface covered with thick hide from a magical beast.
When struck, the entire bag would swing backward; the greater the angle of the swing, the greater the force behind the blow.
The testers would use the angle to which the sandbag swung after impact to determine whether a participant's strength met the qualifying standard.
Orum observed the testing platform from a distance, rapidly working out the criteria in his mind.
It appeared the sandbag needed to swing to an angle of at least forty-five degrees for a participant to qualify. That was genuinely not a modest threshold.
Orum could understand the reasoning behind requiring participants to demonstrate a meaningful level of physical power.
Much as an adult bear engaged in a fight to the death with an ordinary human could absorb multiple blows from a human fist and sustain only minor injury, a human struck squarely by a bear's paw would have their skull split open on the spot.
An adventurer lacking sufficient strength might be completely incapable of breaking through an opponent's defense, let alone dealing any meaningful damage.
Spellcasters specializing in magical offense were, naturally, not required to participate in this purely physical strength test. They needed only to demonstrate an offensive spell to qualify directly.
Adventurers who had already advanced to the full professional-class rank were similarly exempt from this basic physical assessment. Like Raygore, they needed only to present their mithril-grade talent crest to receive their entry qualification.
Accordingly, neither Felix nor Raygore, both accomplished professional-class adventurers, had any need to undergo any form of testing. They had other matters that required their attention.
Felix mentioned that Melina was currently searching somewhere in Roen City for a specialized wolven incense capable of suppressing the lycanthropic curse that afflicted her each month during the full moon.
No suitable source had been found yet. The city's underworld had become unusually turbulent lately, and many of the better-known alchemists had chosen to keep their heads down and wait for things to settle.
"Oh, and here, Orum, put on this important identifier," Felix said, stepping over to Orum and pinning a silver-white metal crest bearing the insignia of the Ice Hawks Company to a visible spot on the front of his chest.
The crest was far more finely crafted than Orum had anticipated. On a silver-white metal base, the figure of a soaring eagle with wings spread wide had been carved in detail. The eagle's eyes were two small sapphires, cold light glinting from each one.
Along the border of the crest, fine runes had been inlaid, emanating a faint but tangible pulse of magical energy.
"This marks you as a member of the Ice Hawks Company, Orum."
"The Blazing Sun Tournament is the perfect opportunity for our company to demonstrate our strength to the wider world and build our name," Felix said, a bright, eager light in his eyes. "Take every chance to stand out that presents itself."
"A strong reputation and wide recognition will be of enormous benefit to the Ice Hawks Company's future."
Orum understood Felix's thinking completely. For any adventuring company, reputation was not an abstract luxury but a practical asset. A good name meant more commissions, better pay, higher-quality partners, and the potential to earn the attention of the kingdom itself.
It was the beginning of a virtuous cycle.
Orum gave a firm, understanding nod.
Then he turned and walked with steady steps toward the end of the line waiting for the testing sandbag.