Chapter 170: The Council of Elders
Grem's massive wings flared as he banked over the volcanic caldera, his gargantuan frame landing heavily upon a scorched obsidian platform.
Five High Elders were already waiting.
The Red Dragon Elder, Ignatz, lay sprawled closest to the bubbling magma, his scales shimmering with a dull, crimson heat. The White Dragon Elder, Dalas, remained coiled within the deepest shadows of the rim, her body radiating a persistent, unnatural chill. At the highest point stood Basaka, the Black Dragon, looking down upon his peers with the weight of centuries in his eyes.
The Green Dragon Elder, Vinodo, and the Blue Dragon Elder, Raijin, occupied the remaining flanks, completing the jagged circle.
Basaka, from his high perch, was the first to speak. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through the very bedrock.
"Grem."
"Speak. What has transpired upon the Continent?"
Grem took a heavy, shuddering breath.
"Seventeen of our youth. Gone. Every one of them."
The caldera fell into an immediate, heavy silence. A moment later, Ignatz snapped his head up, smoke curling from his snout.
"Gone? What do you mean by 'gone'?"
"I have scoured every coordinate of the border provinces," Grem replied, his head bowing low. "There is not a single trace of their Od remaining. It is as if... as if they never existed at all."
Dalas's cold voice drifted from the shadows. "Are you certain they have been terminated?"
"I cannot be certain," Grem shook his head. "But I interrogated the human merchant convoys. They confirmed that several dragons raided their settlements recently. But shortly after manifesting... those dragons simply vanished."
Vinodo let out a sharp, mocking snort. "Vanished? How does a Great Dragon simply 'vanish'?"
Grem lifted his gaze, meeting the eyes of the five Elders.
"The Evernight Empire."
Raijin stood up, his scales crackling with static. "Evernight? What manner of power is this?"
"An Undead Empire that has unified the entire continent under a singular banner," Grem explained unhurriedly. "Word is that their Monarch moved only once, and in that heartbeat, he forcibly converted a Crusade of tens of thousands into his own necrotic thralls."
"Furthermore, he is served by Seven Generals. Each one is a confirmed Tier 6 powerhouse."
Ignatz let out a low, predatory growl. "Seven Tier 6s? What of it? Our race has never lacked for strength! We are the apex!"
"Our race barely numbers ten thousand in total," Grem countered. "And the true depth of the Evernight Sovereign's Authority remains unknown."
Basaka remained silent through the exchange, listening with a clinical detachment. After a long minute, he spoke.
"Grem, have you looked upon this Sovereign yourself?"
"I have not," Grem admitted. "The data comes from the human records. But I can confirm that the landscape of the world has shifted. The warring states of the past have all knelt to Evernight. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Orcs... they now live and die under the same black flag."
Vinodo curled his lip. "It sounds like mass-enslavement."
"No," Grem corrected. "I observed their settlements. There are no signs of tyranny or forced labor. They co-exist with the dead in a state of order that surpasses any era of human rule. It is... more prosperous than anything we have seen in millennia."
This statement silenced the Council. An Empire of the dead that unified the world without a total massacre? It defied every record they possessed regarding necrotic nature.
Ignatz lunged to his feet, his shadow looming over the crater. "Regardless! Seventeen adult dragons have been taken! This is a naked provocation against our bloodline! We must have our retribution!"
His roar echoed through the caldera, and the younger dragons gathering at the rim began to vibrate with excitement.
"Retribution!" they howled. "Let the insects feel our fury!"
But not all were moved by rage. A Green Dragon stepped forward. "Retribution? With what intel? We don't even understand the nature of their defense! We don't even know for a fact if the youth are dead! Perhaps they were captured or chose to defect!"
Another elder added, "To strike blindly is to invite disaster. If this Sovereign truly possesses a Tier 7 Authority, our aggression will only lead us to the same grave as the Golden King."
The argument flared, voices clashing like thunder within the volcano. Suddenly, Basaka slammed a massive claw into the rock.
BOOM—!
The sound silenced every dragon present.
"Enough," Basaka commanded, his voice cold and absolute. "This is not the time for petty bickering."
He turned his gaze back to Grem. "You state they have seven Tier 6 Generals. Then what is the assessed Tier of their Monarch?"
Grem gave a slow shake of his head. "Unknown. But based on the reports of the Crusade's annihilation... it is highly probable he has reached Tier 7."
Tier 7.
The word was a physical blow. Every dragon in the Council understood its meaning. That was the realm of the Ancient Dragons. A stage of existence achievable only through ten thousand years of accumulation. Their last King, the Great Golden Dragon, had occupied that tier.
And he had died five millennia ago.
Dalas spoke softly. "If the Sovereign of Evernight is truly Tier 7..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. If they were facing an Ancient-tier entity, the Dragon race in its current state was statistically incapable of resistance.
Ignatz let out a frustrated hiss. "So we just endure this? Seventeen lives are worth nothing?!"
"They are not worthless," Basaka said calmly. "But we lack the capacity for vengeance."
"Our race has only just recovered its numbers. I will not send every living dragon into a mass-grave for the sake of a temper tantrum."
He turned to face the entire assembly. "I know you are angry. I am angry. But fury solves nothing. We require clarity. We require a re-evaluation of the world's causality."
Raijin countered, "Then we do nothing? We sit on our gold and wait for the end?"
"No," Basaka replied. "We do what is necessary. But not today."
He fixed his gaze on Grem. "Effective immediately, all missions to the mainland are revoked. No dragon is permitted to approach the continental shelf."
"Including the delivery of the Dragon-Beasts?" Grem asked.
"Including the brood," Basaka stated firmly. "Let them die or adapt on their own. We are withdrawing entirely."
Ignatz glowered. "Basaka! You're asking the proudest race in existence to cower in a hole?"
"I am asking you to survive," Basaka snapped. "I am eight thousand years old. I am a mere two millennia from the breakthrough. Once I reach Tier 7 and ascend as the new Dragon King, we shall settle our accounts with the Evernight Empire."
The crowd went silent. It made sense. Basaka was their strongest chance. Once they had a King again, they would have the leverage to negotiate—or to wage a war of annihilation.
Vinodo nodded slowly. "I support Basaka's decree."
Dalas agreed. "And I."
Raijin hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. "I as well."
Ignatz looked at his fellow elders and let out a defeated huff of smoke. "Fine. But I hope the world doesn't end before you finish your nap, Basaka."
Basaka offered no reply. He turned his head toward the sea, staring in the direction of the mainland.
Evernight.
The Sovereign.
He would remember those names.
"The Council is adjourned," Basaka's voice echoed. "Return to your lairs. No dragon crosses the salt without my express command."
The dragons slowly dispersed, leaving only the five oldest Elders atop the caldera. Dalas looked at Basaka with a worried glint in her eyes.
"The lifespan of a Great Dragon is nine thousand years," she whispered. "In a thousand years, your time will run dry. Are you truly certain you can break the ceiling of Tier 7 before then?"
Basaka was silent for a long moment. "I don't know."
"But I must try. Our race cannot endure without a King."
He looked up at the darkening sky.
"Furthermore... I have a premonition. If we do not cultivate our strength with haste, the tragedy of five thousand years ago will return to find us. And this time, it won't just be seventeen dragons."
"It will be the end of us all."
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