Chapter 163: Grem
The river water was crystalline, revealing every smooth pebble on the bed.
Ignius lay sprawled along the bank, staring intently at the reflection staring back at him. His scales were pristine, the jagged wounds from the previous night having knit together perfectly. The regenerative capacity of the Dragon race was legendary; as long as the heart remained beating, even a lethal strike could be erased in a matter of days.
But while the body had mended, his soul remained fractured.
Ignius looked at the draconic face in the water, a visage that now felt like a stranger's. One hundred years. From the second his shell had cracked, every dragon in the Nest had sung his praises.
"A prodigy."
"The future of our bloodline."
"A powerhouse seen once in ten thousand years."
He had believed them. He had believed in himself. Elder Basaka had mentored him personally, the hatchlings worshipped him, and even dragons five times his age spoke to him with a cautious respect. He had dismantled every challenger who dared to cross his path. He had never tasted defeat.
Until that night.
Ignius squeezed his eyes shut, the image of the skeleton burned into his retinas. That creature had used nothing but its fists to render him utterly helpless. Speed, raw power, technique, experience... it was a total, crushing suppression on every conceivable level.
What stung most was the skeleton's demeanor. Throughout the entire "bout," the creature had acted with a casual, terrifying ease, as if it were merely disciplining a wayward pet. Ignius was certain that if the skeleton had truly intended to kill him, he never would have cleared the city walls.
"Am I truly a genius?" Ignius whispered, the ripples in the water distorting his reflection.
Suddenly, the words of Elder Basaka echoed in his mind:
"The history of our race is a graveyard of 'geniuses.' The only ones who reach the end are the ones who understand Awe."
At the time, he had dismissed it as the senile rambling of an old lizard, letting the words drift through one ear and out the other. Now, they sounded like a prophecy realized.
Ignius lifted his head, gazing toward the eastern horizon. Toward Iron Fortress.
The Evernight Empire.
That skeleton was merely one of the Seven Generals. Above him sat six more monsters of equal magnitude. And above them sat the Sovereign of Evernight—the legendary entity who had unified the entire continent under a banner of death.
The thought sent a new spike of panic through his core.
"I have to get back to the Nest."
Meanwhile, on the edge of a sprawling forest in the Empire's Eastern Border.
The Elder Dragon Grem was circling at a low altitude, conducting a census of the year's Dragon-Beast brood. As the commander of the escort mission, his primary directive was to ensure these mindless feral creatures survived the grueling first year on the mainland.
Grem had lived for six thousand years. He had led dozens of these expeditions; the procedure was etched into his very marrow. He understood the "unspoken rules" of the continent perfectly. Do not provoke the capitals of the Great Powers. Do not massacre the civilian population to the point of extinction. Do not cause a commotion that the local rulers cannot ignore.
As long as one adhered to these boundaries, the sapient races of the world would generally adopt a policy of "managed apathy" toward the dragons.
Accordingly, since the start of this mission, Grem had remained strictly within the frontier provinces. He spent his days surveying the territory and occasionally snatching a high-tier mabeast for a light snack. As for the younger dragons going off to "raid" human settlements for gold? Grem didn't care. Youth needed to bleed a little to gain wisdom; in his younger days, he had been far more of a nuisance than they were.
But today, a chill of unease settled over his scales.
Grem had spent the entire day flying, checking every designated gathering point for the Dragon-Beasts. Yet, of the dozen young dragons assigned to the escort... he hadn't spotted a single one.
"Strange..."
Logically, even if they had lost themselves in a frenzy of looting, they wouldn't all vanish simultaneously. At least a few should have been lurking near the brood or resting in their temporary lairs.
Something has happened.
Grem expanded his senses, searching for the Od-signature of his kin. Within a radius of several hundred kilometers, he found nothing but the ambient Mana of the forest. Aside from himself, the region was devoid of Great Dragons.
Grem's breathing grew heavy, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Dammit all..."
He snapped his wings open, banking toward the nearest human settlement. He needed data. He needed to know what had swallowed his subordinates.
Fifteen minutes later, Grem located a target on a trade route: a merchant caravan trudging through the snow. He didn't initiate a slaughter. He dived, landing heavily in front of the lead carriage and blocking the path.
The horses shrieked in terror, the wagons lurching to a halt. The guards turned ashen, their hands shaking as they gripped their spears, but not a single man turned to flee. The caravan leader, a middle-aged human, stepped forward with a forced composure.
"Esteemed Lord of the Skies... how might we serve your greatness?"
Grem lowered his massive head, his snout hovering inches from the human's crown. "I ask. You answer."
"Speak the truth, and I shall allow you to keep your breath."
The man nodded frantically. "Ask, My Lord! Please! I shall tell you everything I know!"
Grem got straight to the point. "What grand maneuvers have the nations of this continent undertaken recently?"
The man blinked, surprised by the question. He carefully organized his words. "My Lord... the entire continent is now governed by the Evernight Empire."
"Every kingdom has sworn fealty to the Great Sovereign of Evernight. The world as we knew it has been unified under a single banner."
Grem's vertical pupils contracted. Unified? The last time he had crossed the salt, the mainland was a chaotic mess of dozens of warring states. To unify such a land in a few decades was a feat of impossible magnitude.
"Who is this Sovereign? What is the extent of his power?"
The merchant swallowed hard, his voice carrying a note of genuine, terrifying reverence. "He is the Supreme Monarch of the Dead! Word is that That Personage moved only once, and the entire Crusade of the Theocracy—tens of thousands of warriors—was reduced to nothingness in a heartbeat!"
"Furthermore, the Sovereign is served by Seven Generals, each of whom is a legendary Tier 6 powerhouse!"
Grem went silent.
Seven Tier 6 entities. And a Monarch of unknown capability. This was not a "nation"; it was a global catastrophe with a government.
"Final question," Grem growled, staring into the man's eyes. "Have you seen any of my kin? Other Great Dragons?"
The man thought for a long moment, then shook his head. "No, My Lord. Lately, we have only heard rumors of dragon sightings in the remote frontier. But those dragons... they always vanish shortly after appearing."
Vanished.
Not fled. Not hidden. Vanished.
To Grem, the implication was as clear as a bell.
"Proceed on your way," Grem commanded, turning and taking to the sky.
The merchant stood paralyzed until the dragon's silhouette was a mere speck against the clouds. Only then did he let out a shuddering breath of relief. "Thank the Spirits... it didn't eat us."
By then, Grem was already miles away. His mind was a storm of a single directive: Return to the Nest.
He had to report this to the High Elders immediately. A dozen young dragons, all gone. This was no coincidence.
The Evernight Empire... the force that had conquered the world... had begun its harvest of the Dragon race.
Grem accelerated, pushing his wings to their limit as he headed for the sea. He had to deliver the warning before the situation spiraled into total extinction.
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