Chapter 33: Chapter33-The Dragon That Shrouded the World

Mana stone? For eating?!

It had already devoured them long ago.

For ages, it had slumbered upon the desolate Northern Icefield, accompanied only by endless snow and the raw essence of frozen power. Concepts such as storing food or wealth were foreign to it. The behemoth instinctively thumped its chest, hard and unyielding as if forged from gold, then pointed with one massive claw toward the city gates.

Its meaning was simple: I am strong enough. I myself am the treasure.

Reize couldn’t help but chuckle at such a naïve and earnest reaction. Stroking his chin, his eyes twinkled mischievously as an idea bloomed in his mind.

“Well then, no money, huh? That’s easy to handle!” he declared with a grin.

“Looking at your size, you’ve got no shortage of muscle. How about becoming my little brother? I’ll take you inside myself, what do you say? You’ll get food, lodging, and the chance to fight every single day!”

He proudly slapped his own sturdy arm, flashing the grin of someone who thought he had just made the deal of a lifetime.

“Roooaaaaar!!”

The White Crystal Behemoth, though simple in nature, was not stupid. In a split second, it understood exactly what the human was insinuating. Its enormous head shook furiously, releasing an outraged roar that reverberated across the land.

The breath it exhaled was so frigid that several small-faction leaders who had been loitering nearby nearly froze into statues of solid ice.

For someone to suggest that a noble Behemoth should become a subordinate—nothing less than a little brother!

It was an unforgivable humiliation.

And yet… it dared not act recklessly. Its gaze drifted toward that unfathomable shield that loomed over Dalton Town, then back at the persistent human who refused to fall no matter how hard he was struck. Even the recent demise of the orc shaman still lingered vividly in its memory.

Thus the primeval beast found itself trapped between rage and fear, scraping the earth with its claws, carving out deep furrows as its anxiety mounted.

Just as the standoff reached its peak—

The sky darkened without warning.

This was not the gathering of storm clouds. No—this was something else entirely. It was as if some colossal, unfathomable existence had stretched across the heavens, blotting out the light of the world.

An aura, born from a lifeform standing at the absolute pinnacle of existence, came crashing down from the ninth heaven like an oceanic tsunami. It was so overwhelming it could freeze the very soul.

All fell silent. All trembled.

Across the World

In the ancient Ever-Song Forest, elves perched upon the branches of the sacred trees. They had been singing their timeless hymns in unison, voices weaving like silver threads of prayer.

But suddenly, the choir ceased.

Every elf—whether lofty High Elf or tender child—felt as if an icy hand had clenched around their hearts.

The Sun-and-Moon Twin Trees, revered for withstanding ten thousand years of storms, shivered without wind. Their leaves rustled softly, whispering in voices of dread.

“An ancient and noble bloodline… transcending the mortal realm…”

The eldest elven seer prostrated herself upon the ground. Her voice shook with disbelief and terror.

“The King of the Stars… why has He descended upon our world?”

Deep within the subterranean kingdom of dwarves, the grand forges thundered with clanging steel. Master smiths, sweat-soaked and soot-stained, hammered at red-hot metal.

Then all at once, the flames guttered as if suffocated by invisible pressure. The roaring infernos dwindled into whimpers, shadows stretching long across the halls.

“What in the… what in the nine hells is happening?!”

One burly dwarven grandmaster, his beard woven into thick braids, dropped his enormous hammer with a crash.

“By the mountain’s bones, the surface dwellers must’ve angered something colossal! This feels worse than when the Father of Hill Giants stirred in his sleep!”

Beneath the waves of the Endless Sea, within the crystalline palaces of the merfolk kingdom, a grand festival was underway. Dancers spun in circles of flowing grace while choirs of mermaids sang hymns that shimmered like light refracting in water.

In a heartbeat, the songs faltered.

Dancers froze mid-motion, graceful arms suspended in disbelief. The colossal sea beasts that served as guardians moaned in unease, retreating into coral caverns.

The mermaid queen’s crystal scepter trembled faintly in her grasp. Her eyes—beautiful yet somber—turned toward the surface waters far above.

“Such majesty… this cannot be the aura of a mere sea dragon,” she whispered to her priest.

“No, this is something higher, something beyond. Its breath alone makes the entire ocean quake. Send word to every clan—no one is to approach the northern seas.”

At that instant, it was as if the entire world of Aresia had been muted.

From the highest peaks to the lowest abyssal trenches, from bustling metropolises to barren wildernesses, every creature—whether mighty or feeble, whether blessed with wisdom or bereft of it—understood one undeniable truth:

A being far beyond their capacity to resist, a presence akin to a god itself, had entered their world.

Fear.

Awe.

Submission.

These emotions spread across the land like wildfire.

“The world… it is about to change forever.”

Whispers spread, tying this dread presence to the strange omens that had haunted the northern frontiers. Uncertainty and terror gripped every heart.

At Dalton Town

“Ugh—ahhh!”

Thud!

Thud!

Beyond the gates of Dalton Town, neither the mid-tier factions, nor the disciplined soldiers of the Crossbridge army, nor the lofty mages of the Thunder Tower could resist. Even the haughty White Crystal Behemoth collapsed to its knees.

One after another, they fell, kneeling in the dirt as if crushed by invisible chains. Their bodies quaked uncontrollably, blood sluggish in their veins. Even raising their heads became an impossible feat.

What manner of being is this?!

At the edges of their narrowed vision, they perceived the impossible.

High above, across the dome of the sky, appeared the outline of… a continent?

No.

Not a continent.

It was the silhouette of wings—wings so vast they might cloak the expanse of an entire human empire.

The scales gleamed like the deepest night sky, yet glinted with the icy sheen of glaciers.

“By the Dragon Gods above…”

A chieftain of a small dragonkin tribe nearly fainted outright, collapsing into the dirt, muttering half-coherent prayers.

“Hsshh… Wh-what… what is that?!”

A mercenary captain gasped for breath, face pale as parchment. His voice cracked into shrill panic, as if strangled by invisible hands.

Nearby, a minor duke from a petty principality clenched his teeth so tightly they rattled like breaking stone.

“Wings… wings as wide as a continent?! Could it be… could it truly be Belvos, the World-Devouring Dragon spoken of in the myths?! But that… that’s only a legend!”

“No—no, that’s wrong!”

Not far away, an elven mage of broader knowledge forced his head up an inch. Golden blood seeped from his eyes, yet he could not look away.

His gaze locked on the titanic shadow, which shrank steadily as it drew closer. His horror only deepened.

“Its scales—like the night sky itself—yet reflecting the stars! This… this is an Astral Ancient Dragon! A dragon of legend, said to exist only in the highest myths!”

“And the question now… why has it come here?!”

The envoy of the Crossbridge Empire, a man once proud in his silks, had collapsed face-first into the mud. His noble composure shattered entirely.

“Could it… could it have been drawn by this very city?!” he screamed.

That speculation spread like lightning, chilling every listener to their marrow.

A single city had already drawn the attention of a Behemoth, lured countless Eternal-rank powerhouses from their hidden retreats, and now—now it had summoned forth a dragon from legend itself?

What was Dalton Town? A source of calamity? Or the greatest treasure trove ever unearthed?

“We are doomed… doomed beyond hope…”

A senior mage from the Thunder Tower muttered hollowly. His face was ash-gray, his spirit broken.

“To think… to think we squabbled like children at the gates… for entrance to the city… while such a being exists… laughable! Utterly laughable!”

He recalled his petty quarrel for a place in line and wanted to vomit from the irony.

A dwarf representative attempted to stand tall, to resist with his stout body forged in the mountains. But the dragon’s aura was like ten million mountains piled upon his spine. His legs quivered until at last he fell to one knee, leaning on his warhammer, bellowing in unwilling despair.

“Damn it all! Even from such a distance… this power… this is a realm we cannot even touch!”

“If it wished to destroy us, we wouldn’t even have time to flee!”

The White Crystal Behemoth buried its head deep between its claws, whimpering like a terrified hound. Its noble bloodline recognized the higher order predator. There was no fight, no defiance—only reverence and fear.

“No… wait, look—look there!”

Someone’s trembling finger pointed skyward.

“It… it’s shrinking!”

The crowd lifted their heads with extreme difficulty, as though some invisible mountain pressed down upon their very necks.

That dragon—the colossal body so massive it had cast despair over the world—was shrinking rapidly as it descended from the heavens. Its immense frame, which moments ago seemed able to blanket an entire continent, contracted with astonishing speed.

At last, it halted before the gates of Dalton Town. Suspended in midair, its form stabilized, roughly matching the size of the White Crystal Behemoth.

Yet the fear in everyone’s hearts did not lessen. No—if anything, it grew only sharper, more suffocating.

Though its body was diminished, the dragon’s presence, its sheer majesty and suffocating dominion, did not fade. Rather, condensed into a smaller frame, its aura grew sharper, deadlier, like a blade honed to an edge that could cleave through heaven and earth.

“Wh… what does it intend to do?”

The voice of Marquis Lawrence trembled uncontrollably.

Suspended before them was a dragon of breathtaking elegance, its form flowing with the perfection of divine design. Its scales shimmered in hues of dreamlike violet and sapphire, within which countless motes of starlight drifted as though an entire cosmos was embedded in its skin.

Its eyes—oh, those eyes!—were like molten gold, cold and aloof, yet brimming with immeasurable wisdom and sovereign authority.

The dragon did not need to move. Simply by existing, it warped the very air, ripples spreading across the space around it like waves on water.

And those golden eyes did not even deign to glance at the masses kneeling outside the gates, groveling like ants. No—its gaze pierced straight through the shimmering barrier of Dalton Town’s gates, as if it were searching for something far beyond.

Finally, its attention fell upon Reize.

Then, a voice resounded. It was not spoken aloud. Rather, it echoed directly in the depths of every soul present. It was a woman’s voice, ice-cold, supremely proud, and filled with such absolute command that none dared doubt it.

“Mortal. Open the gates. The aura of the stars that emanates from within is of vital importance to Me.”

The crowd shuddered as one.

Reize, too, felt the crushing weight pressing upon his soul. Yet he was not a man who bent easily. As Dalton’s gatekeeper, the commander sworn to guard its threshold, he bore his duty with unwavering resolve.

He had endured trials under Leo and Aragis themselves; he had stared into the storm of calamity before and come through alive. So even now, under the suffocating pressure of a being beyond comprehension, he forced himself to stand straight, his body trembling yet unbowed.

Sweat prickled across his brow as he repeated words that had by now become almost instinct, drilled into him from countless encounters at these very gates:

“The rules. Ten million mana stones, or items of equal value…”

“Insufferable noise!”

The dragon’s voice cracked like a whip of thunder. Its patience was not merely thin—it was nonexistent.

When Walter had slain the orc shaman earlier, the flash of Astral Emissary-level power had rippled through space itself. Even across a hundred light-years of distance, the dragon had sensed it.

It had tracked that echo relentlessly, crossing worlds. Along the way, it had surveyed this plane, this so-called world of mortals. What it saw had only deepened its disdain.

This was not even a first-rank civilization. It lacked the most basic criteria of ascension. How could such a primitive sphere have produced anything worthy of notice?

Thus it concluded: whatever power had appeared here must surely have originated from the ruin itself—either a guardian birthed by the relic or some lucky native who had stumbled into inheritance.

But it, Fiona—an Astral Ancient Dragon of the rank of Astral Archmage, a being who stood even above Astral Emissaries—why should she waste words on a gatekeeper insect?

The aura within Dalton Town, that scent of Star Bloodline, purer and older than her own, was something she must obtain!

Her golden eyes flashed with killing intent. She lifted one massive claw. At its tip, energy began to gather—pure starlight, condensed into a destructive radiance powerful enough to rip apart entire pocket dimensions.

She intended to tear through this barrier, to rend the so-called shield and seize what was hers.

To her mind, what was a mere city shield? No matter how strong, how could it withstand even a fraction of her might?

But just as her breath of annihilation was about to ignite—

She froze.

In an instant, a deathly chill more absolute than any winter gripped her very soul. It was not merely cold—it was a sensation that transcended mortality, a certainty that her life would end in the very next heartbeat.

It was as if a spear of ice had been driven into her mind, piercing all defenses, skewering her very essence.

Her movements ceased. The gathered energy unraveled into nothing.

Her massive head tilted upward in rigid terror.

And then her pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Above her brow, less than a meter away, hovered something that had not been there a moment before.

A spear.

No, not even a true spear, but the shadow of one—a phantom etched into reality itself.

The tip of that spear bore a single point of energy so infinitesimal, so impossibly small, and yet so dark, so pure in its annihilation, that it devoured all light around it.

From that single dot radiated a breath that sent her soul screaming.

In that moment, the dragon knew—beyond doubt—that if that point so much as descended, her head—her proud skull, which could withstand supernovae—would pop like a ripe fruit, pierced and obliterated in silence.

No resistance. No time to struggle. Death would be instant, inevitable.

I will die. I will absolutely die.

For the first time in her long existence, Fiona felt death with such clarity, so close it brushed against her very scales.

Terror drowned her pride. Her arrogance crumbled.

This was not merely fear—it was instinct, primal submission before a power that reigned supreme.

And worse still—this aura, this dreadful presence—she remembered it.

Long ago, at the fading edge of a distant world, she had felt something like it. Only the briefest brush of it across her senses, and she had fled in blind panic, abandoning all pride, carrying the scar of that fear in her heart for millennia.

Could it be… that same existence?!

The thought was lightning in her mind. Any last shred of defiance shattered utterly.

“Retract your claws. Obey the rules of this place.”

The voice came again. Calm, utterly calm. Yet that very calmness carried within it the authority of cosmic law.

No anger. No malice. Simply inevitability.

“Yes!”

“Yes! Respected… Exalted One!”

“Fiona obeys!”

The mighty Astral Ancient Dragon, once proud and unyielding, now bobbed her massive head up and down like a chastened child, her voice trembling, her soul stripped bare of arrogance.

A burst of starlight wrapped around her body. Her titanic form began to contract, folding in upon itself, warping under the brilliance.

In the blink of an eye, the towering dragon was gone.

In its place stood a tall girl.

Her figure was slender yet commanding, her long legs carrying her with elegance. Her hair streamed down like a river of starlight, violet-blue strands glimmering with motes of constellations. Upon her forehead rested the faint outline of a purple dragon-scale sigil, emanating an aura of nobility and mystery.

But that proud chin, which should have been raised high, was tilted downward. And in those golden eyes lingered unmistakable traces of terror and awe.

She reached to her wrist, removing a bracelet. From it she withdrew treasures—three gemstones, each the size of a clenched fist, within which entire miniature nebulae swirled, glowing like captive universes. Alongside them, she produced a short twig from a Star Core Tree, the wood shimmering with rainbow luminescence.

Her pale hands trembled as she presented them forward. Her voice wavered:

“These are three ’Star Core Tears’ and one sprig of ’Star Core Sapling Branch’… their worth should equal ten million mana stones in this world. Please… please accept them for inspection.”

Reize was stunned, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed.

Moments ago, the dragon had exuded nothing but menace, intent on destruction. And now—like a chastised student—she offered tribute with trembling hands?

There was only one explanation: someone had intervened. Someone unseen, whose power dwarfed even this Astral Ancient Dragon.

Taking the treasures, he felt the surging energy contained within, his heart pounding in disbelief. Yet outwardly, he forced himself to maintain composure, nodding solemnly.

“Very well. Enter.”

The world outside the gates had gone utterly still.

Every witness stared, minds blank.

That dragon… that terrifying dragon that had come roaring to shatter the city… had folded in an instant, cowed like a child, offering riches just for permission to enter?

None could comprehend it.

The White Crystal Behemoth, in particular, was utterly shaken.

It looked at the dragon—once so mighty, now meek as a quail. Then at the mysterious gates, unfathomable even to its primeval senses. And then at Reize, who stood steady beneath it all.

Its slow, simple mind reached one clear, undeniable conclusion.

The people inside… cannot be provoked.

This human—this unyielding man who could not be knocked down—was backed by unfathomable forces.

To follow him was the right path. To follow him meant food, safety, and entry into that wondrous place.

As Fiona stepped past the gates, her starlit dress shimmering, the Behemoth let out a deep growl.

Before the astonished eyes of all, its massive body flared with white radiance. Its size dwindled rapidly, shrinking until it stood no taller than five meters.

It bounded forward, halting before Reize.

Reize stared, bewildered.

Then the beast opened its maw, forcing out words in halting, broken human speech, each syllable laden with determination:

“Big Brother! White Mane… follow you!”

“Enter! Fight!”

And with that declaration, it pounded its chest with a thunderous thud, as though swearing eternal loyalty.

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