Translator: AnubisTL
Time flowed relentlessly, seasons shifted, and stars wheeled across the sky.
Eight years swept through the Sierre Wilderness on monsoon winds, the trade routes repeatedly washed by torrential rains and cracked under the scorching sun. The Frontierlands were repeatedly assaulted by southward-surging cold waves, their icy blades carving across the land, hardening the frozen soil into an even more unyielding crust.
Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Lothurn, the heart of the Southern Kingdoms' federation, was undergoing a dramatic transformation, its undercurrents churning with turmoil.
As the federation's core, the Kingdom of Lothurn's court was a spectacle of opulence. Gilded vines coiled around marble pillars, and crystal chandeliers refracted gemstone-like brilliance.
Within this lavish palace, the juvenile dragon Gordon enjoyed a life of unparalleled privilege, far surpassing that of ordinary nobles.
He was first and foremost the princess's playmate, but also a top-tier magical creature—a powerful dragon. Unlike other savage and brutal evil dragons, Gordon possessed a gentle temperament, making him immensely popular within the court.
Nobles vied for the honor of inviting Gordon to their banquets, boasting of sharing a table with him.
During the Kingdom of Lothurn's regular magical beast gladiatorial contests, Gordon often attended as a special guest. Occasionally, he would even personally enter the arena to "guide" the contestants, delivering a spectacular performance that earned him thunderous applause and cheers from the crowd.
At this very moment, Gordon had just awakened from his juvenile dragon sleep, rising from his luxurious bed.
Gordon's bed wasn't the traditional dragon nest piled with treasure. Instead, it was a colossal dragon bed carved from millennia-old wood by elven artisans, filled with velvet and magic feathers to ensure unparalleled comfort.
Moreover, his entire sleeping chamber, including his own dragon body, was meticulously cleaned daily by dedicated attendants.
Even after years of slumber, not a speck of dust clung to his scales.
Furthermore, the prolonged dragon sleep had allowed Gordon to digest the accumulated fat energy, restoring his physique to the lean, muscular form of a typical iron dragon. Yet, his frame now towered several times larger than that of an average juvenile dragon.
His upbringing had been truly exceptional.
Gordon stretched his body, his scales clashing together with a crisp, resonant sound.
He glanced down.
Oh, heavens! For the first time in ages, he could actually see his hind legs instead of his entire field of vision being filled by his belly.
I swear on my dragon honor, Gordon vowed resolutely, I will control my appetite, diet rigorously, and become a majestic iron dragon, not a fat dragon.
Grumble, grumble, grumble.
His stomach suddenly erupted with a thunderous roar.
Gordon's draconic face furrowed, his empty stomach gnawing at him uncomfortably.
"I need nourishment and energy after waking up, and I'm not fat yet—it's not time to diet. Let's eat first."
The iron dragon curled his tail around a delicate, ornate bell and gently shook it.
A clear, resonant tone rippled through the air.
Soon after, attendants wheeled carts laden with various dishes into Iron Dragon Gordon's private chambers.
Before Gordon lay a feast: roasted whole oxen, cheese-melted beast-meat steaks, deep-sea giant squid tentacles, and other main courses.
For dessert and drinks, there were honey crystal towers, frostberry jellies, and volcanic magma wine (a blend of molten lava essence and dwarf spirits).
The frostberry jellies, transported from the Ice Plains of the northern territory, had been preserved with a freshness spell, ensuring each bite tasted as if it had just been made.
After the first mouthful, Gordon's appetite spiraled out of control.
Starving for days, he devoured the food with ravenous abandon, sweeping through the feast like a whirlwind until his belly was so bloated it felt ready to burst. Even then, he wasn't quite satisfied.
"Where's my Moonlight Dew?" Gordon called out to an attendant. "Bring me a barrel of Moonlight Dew."
Moonlight Dew, a magical elixir brewed by elves using a special process, was highly prized and known as liquid gold. Rich in energy and, most importantly, exquisitely delicious, it was Gordon's favorite drink.
Before the servant could reply, the bedroom door swung open again.
Princess Eileen entered, her hair adorned with a crystal hairpin and her figure draped in an exquisite gauze gown.
"You're awake," she said.
Gordon had been asleep for nearly seven years.
Princess Eileen's appearance hadn't changed noticeably in that time. Her complexion remained flawless and pale, her skin as smooth as milk, without a single wrinkle, and her voice still as light and melodious as a lark's.
But.
Her eyes, her expression, her demeanor.
They carried a hint of maturity and sorrow, a far cry from the innocent girl she once was.
"Eileen, look at me now! I've grown even more majestic and ferocious! Check out my scales, my claws and fangs, and my tail!" the iron dragon exclaimed excitedly.
His slow reflexes prevented him from noticing the princess's transformation.
Eileen gazed at the iron dragon, who was puffing out his round belly and striking various poses to show off. She chuckled, her laughter blooming like a flower, momentarily transporting her back to carefree days.
She sat beside the iron dragon and leaned against him.
The iron dragon tightly closed its dragon scales to prevent their sharp edges from cutting Eileen. It curled its tail around her waist, instinctively tightening its grip slightly.
Among dragonkind, this gesture signified possession.
Sometime along the way, the iron dragon's feelings for Eileen had subtly shifted. What began as simple companionship had gradually evolved into an inexplicable possessiveness.
"I want to drink Moonlight Dew," the iron dragon declared.
Its appetite outweighed all other desires, and it remained fixated on the Moonlight Dew.
It had assumed that simply asking would guarantee its wish, but to its surprise, Eileen's expression turned troubled. "I'm sorry, Gordon," she said softly. "Moonlight Dew is too expensive now. I can't afford it."
The iron dragon paused, momentarily stunned.
Expensive? In its mind, such a word shouldn't exist in Eileen's vocabulary.
Across from it, Eileen explained quietly, "The Royal Family is leading the way in cutting expenses. Even we princesses and princes aren't exempt. Our monthly allowances are being gradually reduced."
"Cutting expenses? Why?" the iron dragon asked, genuinely surprised.
The Kingdom of Lothurn, the heart of the federation, enjoyed countless tributes and vast resources. It was the most powerful and prosperous kingdom in the federation.
The Royal Family had always lived lavishly, their treasury overflowing with seemingly endless wealth.
Cutting expenses?
It made no sense.
Eileen sighed, unable to resist the urge to confide.
Lowering her voice, she whispered, "Just recently, the Holy King failed in his breakthrough attempt and perished. Although the Royal Family immediately suppressed the news, the extraordinary phenomena accompanying his death couldn't escape the notice of some powerful individuals. It's only a matter of time before it becomes common knowledge."
Gordon's eyes widened, his heart pounding with shock.
The Holy King, formally known as the Holy King of Lothurn, was also widely recognized by another title:
The Lord of the Federation.
Eight hundred years ago, he had risen to power, leading the Kingdom of Lothorn to sweep across the Southern Kingdoms and establish the federation.
The Holy King of Lothurn was a peerless genius, mastering both magic and martial arts. He was considered one of humanity's greatest talents, ascending to the legendary path before the age of thirty and continuing to advance far beyond.
However, this couldn't alter his fundamental nature as a short-lived species.
Unless one abandoned their human identity through transformations into immortal beings or elemental lifeforms, the maximum lifespan for human legends remained limited to around a thousand years. Moreover, after reaching their peak, they would gradually decline.
Transforming into other lifeforms also affected one's mindset.
The Holy King of Lothurn had always maintained his human identity, pondering how to achieve immortality while preserving both his human form and consciousness.
To this end, he secluded himself at the age of five hundred, dedicating himself to researching immortality spells. He withdrew from public life, gradually retreating behind the scenes.
All the nations knew of the Holy King of Lothurn's immense power.
Though he had retreated behind the scenes centuries ago, his reputation still hung like a sword of Damocles, deterring any rash actions from the nations and maintaining the federation's superficial peace and prosperity.
However.
Supported by the Holy King's towering pillar, the Kingdom of Lothurn—a once-mighty tree—was gradually decaying from within.
The Royal Family had long since lost its former glory.
The current king, consumed by hedonistic pursuits, had failed to reach the Legendary Domain despite the nation's vast resources being poured into his cultivation. Now, he was nearing his twilight years. None of the princes or princesses were capable of shouldering great responsibilities, as the innate talent within the royal bloodline seemed to have dissipated with time. Eight hundred years of peace had bloated the kingdom's bureaucracy, making it sluggish and inefficient. Vested interests tightly controlled resource allocation, leaving genuine talent with no path to advancement.
Now.
With the Holy King's fall.
The nations remained outwardly obedient, but beneath the surface calm lurked undercurrents strong enough to tear the federation apart.
Sensing the threat, the Kingdom of Lothurn began diverting resources to its military, even reducing the Royal Family's extravagant spending.
Yet no one could predict when war would erupt.
When that day came, the vast Lothurn Federation might crumble into fragments.
Eileen's account acted like a key, unlocking Gordon's long-dormant iron dragon instincts with a resounding click.
The details of border skirmishes, fiscal deficits, and noble infighting automatically reorganized in the iron dragon's unique military mind, transforming into a strategic map ablaze with the fires of war.
Even the refracted light from the royal court's crystal chandeliers appeared to him as sparks igniting the coming conflagration.
He sensed the impending storm, the scent of a collapsing empire. The thorn spikes along his body bristled slightly, and his scales shimmered with a cold, metallic sheen like polished blades.
Even the mightiest magical empires could not endure forever. The dragon race, once masters of the world, had now been reduced to mere "demonic beasts." Many glorious names had already faded into the dust of history.
Now it was his turn to witness the sinking of Lothurn's colossal ship.
The law of inevitable decline seemed unbreakable.
The Kingdom of Lothurn had passed its peak and was now on a downward spiral. It would likely soon be dismembered and divided among other kingdoms, unless a figure like the Holy King descended from the heavens once more. Without such intervention, this process seemed irreversible.
Realizing this, the gilded splendor of the palace transformed in the iron dragon's eyes into a gilded cage brimming with peril.
In contrast, the Sierre Wilderness, his birthplace, beckoned.
When the Southern Kingdoms unleashed their storm, shattering the existing order and leaving them too preoccupied to concern themselves with the wilderness, the dragons dwelling there could seize the chaos for their own advantage. During the federation's internal strife, or even its collapse, they could rise to power.
After careful consideration, Iron Dragon Gordon stretched his neck forward, bringing his head close to the human princess.
"Eileen," he said, his vertical pupils narrowing into thin slits as he gazed at the seemingly calm clouds outside the window. His voice was unusually grave. "The crown will become a noose, and the ceremonial robes will transform into a shroud."
"Lothurn now stands like a castle in the air, poised to collapse at any moment."
He paused, then spoke with solemn emphasis: "Come with me. Let us leave the royal court and venture into the wilderness."
(End of the Chapter)
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