Chapter 167: Homecoming
"I saw it first!"
"Bullsh*t! It was mine the moment I laid eyes on it!"
Two young Red Dragons were currently rolling around in the obsidian sand, claws locked and scales clashing as they sent plumes of dust into the air. Nearby, a circle of hatchlings of various colors roared with excitement, cheering for their favorite brawler.
"Bite his wing-joint! Yes! Right there! Ground the little brat!"
"Tear his maw open! Make sure he never eats another trout again!"
This kind of scuffle was mundane in the Dragon's Nest. Hatchlings were essentially high-energy mabeasts; if they didn't draw a little blood during the day, they simply couldn't sleep at night.
The adults and the elders paid it no mind. They remained in the depths of their spacious caverns, either sprawled across their gold hoards or obsessively reorganizing their gemstones for the thousandth time. As long as no one ended up as a permanent decoration on the rocks, the hierarchy didn't care what the young ones did.
Truth be told, the atmosphere in the Nest had been remarkably peaceful since Ignius had departed for the mainland. When that brat was around, he was constantly challenging the veterans or "disciplining" the youth, making life a headache for every dragon on the island. The most frustrating part was that you generally couldn't win.
A prime-age Red Dragon lay at the entrance of his lair, watching the over-caffeinated hatchlings with a lazy, half-closed eye. He let out a long, satisfied yawn.
"Phew. Tranquility at last."
From the neighboring cave, a massive black dragon head poked out. The Black Dragon nodded in agreement. "Tell me about it. Since the kid left, my sleep quality has gone vertical. I can finally close my eyes without worrying about some 'genius' trying to challenge my 'arrogance' at three in the morning."
The Black Dragon clicked his teeth. "The boy has the Od of a god, but his personality is a literal curse."
The Red Dragon chuckled cynically. "It's normal. Who isn't full of themselves at that age? If I'd had his talent when I reached maturity, I wouldn't have bothered with the Elders. I'd have gone straight for the Dragon King's throat."
"True," the Black Dragon sighed. "But I still hope he stays on the continent for a few years. Let him be someone else's problem."
The words had barely left his snout when a resonant, draconic shriek echoed across the water.
Both dragons snapped their heads toward the horizon. A familiar crimson silhouette was banking over the sea, heading for the island.
The Red Dragon stared. "Holy hell. Did you put a curse on your own tongue, friend?"
The Black Dragon froze. "How long has it been? A month? He was supposed to be gone a year! It's too soon!"
Ignius beat his wings, his speed noticeably lackadaisical—almost hesitant. On the beach, the shouting hatchlings spotted him first.
"It's Lord Ignius!"
"The Prodigy has returned!"
The young ones abandoned their brawls and sprinted toward the shoreline in a chaotic swarm. Ignius touched down on the sand, the impact vibrating through the ground. Dozens of hatchlings surrounded him, peppering him with a thousand questions at once.
"Lord! How was the Mainland? Was it fun?!"
"Is it true the gold just sits on the ground waiting to be picked up?!"
"Did you burn their cities to ash?! Tell us about the fires!"
"Did you meet a 'Hero'? Did you crush him into a meat-pie with one claw?!"
"Did the weaklings fall to their knees and offer up their souls the moment they saw your shadow?!"
Ignius stood still, looking down at the chirping crowd. His jaw worked for a second as if he wanted to unleash his usual arrogant bark. But then, he did something that silenced the entire beach.
He raised a massive front claw and gave the head of the nearest hatchling a gentle, rhythmic pat.
Then, without a word, he turned and began the long walk toward his cavern.
The hatchling stood frozen, unable to process the physical affection. The others shared a look of bewildered shock.
"The Lord... what just happened?"
"I don't know. He feels... wrong."
"Usually, he'd tell us to shut up because our 'insects' voices' are hurting his ears."
"Yeah, where's the mockery? Where's the 'you ants couldn't survive a second of my glory'?"
Several older hatchlings narrowed their eyes, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Ignius had changed. He moved with the heavy, silent weight usually reserved for dragons who had lived for millennia.
The two elders at their cave entrances watched the scene with growing suspicion.
"That boy... did he get dismantled on the mainland?"
"It looks like it."
The two older dragons shared a look, a tiny, malicious flicker of schadenfreude dancing in their eyes.
Ignius reached his cave and collapsed onto his treasury. The gold and gems were piled high, shimmering in the dim light. In the past, this view provided him with a sense of unparalleled superiority. It was the physical record of his strength.
But now... he looked at the coins and saw only the reflection of a skeleton. He heard only one phrase, echoing like a curse in his skull:
"You are too weak."
Ignius closed his eyes. He didn't want to admit it. But the Od doesn't lie. He had been thoroughly, systematically outclassed. He had been toys.
Suddenly, the heavy thud-thud of a massive presence echoed from the cave entrance. Ignius's frame went rigid. He knew that scent.
Elder Basaka.
Why is he here?
Is he here to audit my mission?
Or... does he already know?
A sudden, sharp spike of panic rose in Ignius's chest. It was a sensation he had never known before. He had never feared the elders, not even when he was being reprimanded for his recklessness. But now...
He was terrified of the question. Terrified that Basaka would ask what he did on the continent. Terrified he would ask why he returned so early.
But mostly, he was terrified Basaka would ask: "Did you lose?"
The footsteps stopped at the threshold. Basaka's voice, deep and resonant, rumbled through the cavern.
"Why have you returned before the season's end?"
Ignius remained sprawled across the gold, his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't even twitch an eyelid. He chose the most childish, most pathetic defense his panic could devise: He faked being asleep.
Ignius slowed his breathing to a heavy, rhythmic drone, trying to project the aura of a dragon lost in deep hibernation. The cavern was dead silent save for the frantic, muffled thumping of his own heart against the stone.
Basaka stood in the entrance, his gargantuan black silhouette blotting out the sun. He watched the "genius" lying atop the hoard. Basaka had lived for thousands of years. He had seen every trick a dragon could play.
To see such a desperate, "hatchling-tier" lie coming from Ignius... it told him everything he needed to know.
Basaka was silent for a long moment. Then, he slowly turned his back to the cave.
"It seems," Basaka whispered to the wind, "that Ignius has not yet returned to his lair."
With that, the Elder departed. The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance.
Silence reclaimed the cave, heavy with the scent of gold and shame.
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