Chapter 68: 68. Storm Dragon – life is short, make babies

On a Floating Island Somewhere on the Aris Continent…

The sky above the floating island twisted violently, as though it had finally lost patience with the world beneath it.

Thick black clouds churned against one another in layered spirals, tearing and reforming as if the heavens themselves were being kneaded by an unseen hand.

Wind howled endlessly, not in random gusts but in relentless waves that slammed into the island from all directions.

Thunder rolled continuously like the growl of an ancient beast that refused to sleep.

Rain fell in punishing sheets, driven sideways by furious gales. Each drop struck stone and metal with such force that it sounded like gravel being hurled from the sky.

Hail followed soon after, bouncing and shattering against the ground, leaving small fractures in stone pathways that had existed for centuries.

Through this storm walked a lone figure.

He moved steadily; his posture was battered but unyielding. He stepped slowly with a firm grip on the ground, despite the storm’s attempt to push him back.

His cloak flapped violently behind him, torn in several places, soaked through until it clung to his body like a second skin. His hair was plastered to his face, water dripped down his jaw, yet his eyes remained focused forward.

This was Brian.

Klaus had given him a scroll to deliver, and that alone was reason enough for him to be here.

Orders from his master were not something Brian questioned. They were something he executed, even if the sky itself seemed intent on tearing him apart.

Brian did not use mana to shield himself.

It was training.

He had seen Klaus do this countless times, walking in the storms like this, letting nature temper his body while his mind remained calm.

Klaus had once told him, in that irritatingly casual tone of his, that if a storm could break you, then you had no business calling yourself strong.

Brian remembered that lesson, obviously.

In his right hand rested his broken sword. He never put the sword inside his storage ring.

The blade was chipped, cracked near the edge, and clearly unfit for battle.

Any rational cultivator would have replaced it long ago. Yet Brian’s grip on it never loosened. He held it firmly, not as a weapon, but as something far more important.

It was his companion that always talked to him.

rumble!

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the land ahead in a blinding flash.

For a single instant, the storm revealed a structure.

A massive palace stood at the heart of this floating island, untouched by rain or hail. Its architecture followed ancient Daoist traditions, with towering halls supported by thick wooden pillars carved by hand, sloped roofs layered like dragon scales, and stone pathways worn smooth by storms.

Above the grand entrance hung a colossal emblem.

A horizontal sword floated at its center, its blade perfectly straight and unyielding. Coiled around it was a massive dragon, its body coiled around the weapon as clouds drifted lazily around both figures. The emblem radiated quiet authority, the kind that did not need to announce itself.

Brian reached the gates.

He stopped, raised his hand, and a scroll appeared in his grip. He lifted it toward the emblem, as though presenting it to the dragon in the emblem itself.

The gates responded.

With a slow, deliberate creak, the massive wooden doors opened inward.

Brian stepped through.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the storm ceased to exist.

The courtyard beyond the gates was completely dry. The stone tiles were warm beneath his feet, the air calm and still.

No barrier shimmered in the sky, and no visible formation blocked the storm. It simply did not dare enter.

Brian paused, then calmly removed his soaked cloak and set it aside.

He took off his shoes next, placing them neatly near the entrance. From a corner, he retrieved a pair of simple wooden sandals and slipped them on without haste.

Only then did he proceed into the main hall.

The interior was vast and dim, lit only by a few fire torches burning steadily at the far end. The flames did not flicker despite the storm outside, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor.

“Brat!! You finally decided to show yourself.”

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

An old figure appeared casually sitting at one side of a wooden table that had not existed a moment earlier. The table materialized as casually as the man himself.

He wore white and silver Eastern-style robes that flowed naturally around his tall frame. His long white hair fell down his back, and his beard reached his chest, immaculately groomed.

Two curved turquoise horns rose from his head, crystalline and radiant, as though forged from the core of a dying star.

Brian approached silently.

He stopped at a respectful distance, lowered his head, and bowed.

“Master Klaus remains occupied with his work,” Brian said calmly.

“I am not talking about him,” the old man snapped immediately. “I am talking about you, brat.”

Brian did not move.

“You are still running errands for that twig,” the dragon continued irritably. “Does he not realize you have a life of your own?”

Silence!!**

“You are already quite the age,” the dragon pressed on, leaning forward. “Life is short. Why don’t you find a mate and start making babies already?”

Brian remained bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor with unwavering focus.

The lack of response made the old dragon sigh deeply.

“Tsk. Sit.”

Brian obeyed, lowering himself into the seat opposite the dragon. As he sat, two jade cups appeared on the table, steam rising gently from within.

Low thunder rumbled faintly outside.

Brian reached for his cup and took a sip before the dragon did.

The old dragon paused, then smiled faintly.

“You always liked my spirit tea,” he said.

Brian said nothing.

The dragon sipped his tea leisurely.

“Master has sent this message for you.”

Brian produced the scroll and placed it on the table before resuming his quiet sipping.

The dragon’s brows furrowed when he saw the seal.

He broke it open and began reading.

“Oh?” he muttered. “So he has a disciple of his own now?”

A grin spread across his face.

“Finally,” he laughed, “he will taste the headache of being a master to a cheeky brat.” That is, of course, assuming my grand-disciple is as troublesome as he was.”

He laughed heartily as he continued reading; as he read, his expression darkened.

“Ahem… bloody tears? Hm. These cultist insects are suddenly getting active.”

He coughed lightly.

“A divine physique holder?” His eyes sharpened. “Interesting. Two such existences in the same generation.”

[A/N: Galleon and William are the two being referred to, although William’s identity is not clear.]

He took another sip of tea.

Cough.

His breathing hitched slightly.

“What nonsense is this… a mysterious prophecy?”

He leaned closer to the scroll.

“And the sender knows about me being his master?” [A/N: The prophecy being talked about is William’s divine mail he used to warn Klaus.]

His expression darkened as he read further.

Spurt**!

The old dragon spat tea across the table.

“A mysterious human boy carrying my legacy?” he roared. “My sword technique?!”

His gaze snapped to Brian, sharp and piercing.

“What is he talking about?” the dragon demanded, pointing at the second-to-last line of the letter.

Brian did not answer and gestured him to the last unread line.

The dragon read the final line.

And silence fell.

The old dragon’s face stiffened.

“…Control my lust,” he read slowly, “…or Klaus will inform her.”

The room went deathly quiet.

Even the thunder outside seemed to hesitate.

The old dragon leaned back slowly, his expression turning grim.

“…That brat,” he muttered.

Everyone feared their wife.

Even the Storm Dragon.

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