Chapter 173: The Ancient’s Verdict

Adam’s eyes snapped open, his body coiling instinctively as the fog of unconsciousness lifted. He shot upright—and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his chest.

’What—where—’

The room was small but well-made. Wooden walls, simple furnishings, sunlight streaming through a window. And sitting in a chair by the bed, calmly holding a cup that smelled faintly of herbs, was the ancient being who had nearly killed him.

Adam’s scales rippled across his skin in an instant. The Crown of the Hollow Glutton materialized on his brow, its hunger flaring as he prepared to attack despite his body’s protests.

“Calm yourself.” The ancient’s voice was maddeningly serene. He took a sip from his cup. “The bandages I applied will come undone if you move too much.”

Adam froze. His hand drifted to his chest, fingers encountering layers of clean white cloth wrapped securely around his torso. Beneath them, he could feel the faint sting of wounds slowly knitting—wounds that should have been fatal.

’He… healed me? Why would he…?’

“You should rest,” the ancient continued, setting down his cup. “Your body pushed far beyond its limits. The injuries were severe—several would have been fatal without immediate treatment.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. His voice came out rough, damaged from whatever had happened to his throat during the fight. ’That’s because of you.’

Before he could voice the thought aloud, the door burst open.

“ADAM!”

Ignis charged into the room like a small hurricane, her face split by the biggest grin Adam had ever seen. In one hand, she clutched the carcass of something that looked like a oversized rabbit—except for the antlers. Her own wounds had been treated, bandages peeking from beneath her clothes, but her energy was utterly undimmed.

“You’re awake! Finally!” She crossed the distance in three bounds and launched herself at the bed, wrapping her arms around Adam in a crushing embrace.

Adam’s face was abruptly pressed into something soft. Very soft. Extremely soft.

“Ignis—” His voice came out muffled. “I can’t—breathe—”

“Nope! Not letting go!” Ignis squeezed tighter, apparently oblivious to his suffocation. “I was so worried! You were out for like… a whole day! Maybe more! I lost count! But you’re awake now so it’s fine!”

Adam’s hands flapped uselessly at her sides, his protests swallowed by the enthusiastic embrace. From the chair, the ancient watched with an expression of mild amusement, his cup of tea forgotten.

“She has been… energetic,” he observed. “Since she woke, she has done nothing but hunt, eat, and check on your condition every few minutes. The rabbit-deer is her fifth kill today.”

Adam finally managed to pry himself loose enough to gasp for air. “Ignis—personal space—!”

Ignis pouted but loosened her grip slightly—though she didn’t let go entirely, settling for clinging to his arm like a limpet. “But I missed you!”

Adam sighed, too exhausted to argue. He looked at the ancient, his expression hardening despite the absurd situation.

“Why?” His voice was flat. “Why heal us? You nearly killed us.”

The ancient studied him for a long moment, golden eyes calm and steady. Then, slowly, he set down his cup and folded his hands in his lap.

“You trespassed in my territory,” he said simply. “I defended it. That is my right, and my duty.” A pause. “But once the threat was neutralized, I had a choice. Kill you, or let you die. Or…” He gestured vaguely at the room, the bandages, the fact that they were alive. “Assess.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Assess what?”

“You.” The ancient’s gaze sharpened, focusing on Adam with an intensity that made his instincts scream. “A Progenitor’s bloodline—one that has evolved beyond its natural limits. A Blazeheart drake who awakened Dragon’s Will in the middle of combat. Together, traveling through lands that should be beyond your knowledge.” He tilted his head, and for a moment, the ancient predator beneath the calm surface flickered in those golden eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing in my forest? And why should I not simply finish what I started?”

The room grew very still.

Ignis’s grip on Adam’s arm tightened, her own instincts flaring. The flames beneath her skin flickered.

Adam met the ancient’s gaze without flinching. His voice, when he spoke, was steady despite everything.

“My name is Adam. This is Ignis. We’re here because we were teleported against our will by the people we were fighting.” His eyes never left the ancient’s. “We didn’t choose to come to your territory. We didn’t even know it existed. We were just trying to survive.”

The ancient was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, something shifted in his expression. Not softening, exactly. But… acknowledgment.

“Teleported.” He repeated the word as if tasting it. “By enemies.”

“Yes.”

“Convenient excuse.”

“It’s the truth.”

Another long silence. Then the ancient rose, his movements fluid despite his apparent age. He walked to the window, gazing out at the endless forest beyond.

“I am Orion,” he said quietly. “And this forest has been my domain for longer than your ancestors have walked upright.” He glanced back at Adam. “You are the first trespassers I have not killed in… a very long time.”

Adam didn’t relax—couldn’t relax—but some of the tension bled from his shoulders. “Then why us?”

Orion’s golden eyes met his. “Because I sensed something in you. Something that does not belong in this world. A soul that was… transplanted.” His gaze sharpened. “And I am curious.”

Adam’s blood ran cold. ’He can sense that? About my reincarnation?’

Before he could respond, Ignis piped up from beside him. “So… does that mean you’re not going to kill us?”

Orion looked at her—at the young drake clinging to Adam’s arm, her eyes wide with a mixture of hope and wariness. For a moment, something almost like amusement flickered in his ancient gaze.

“No,” he said simply. “Not unless you give me reason to.”

Ignis’s face lit up. “Oh! Okay! That’s good!” She beamed at Adam. “See? He’s nice now!”

Adam stared at her. “Nice. He nearly killed us. Both of us. Multiple times.”

“But he didn’t!” Ignis pointed out, as if this were a minor detail. “And he healed us! And he gave us a room! And he let me hunt! That’s nice!”

Adam opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Against Ignis’s logic—or lack thereof—there was no winning.

Orion watched the exchange with that same faint amusement. “She is… unique.”

“She’s something,” Adam agreed tiredly.

Ignis beamed, apparently taking that as a compliment.

Adam shifted slightly on the bed, Ignis still attached to his arm like a particularly fiery barnacle. He met Orion’s golden gaze, curiosity overcoming caution.

“This duty you mentioned. What exactly are you guarding out here?”

Orion’s expression flickered—something ancient and weary passing behind those serpentine eyes. He turned back to the window, gazing out at the endless forest.

“There are things in this world that predate kingdoms. Predate races. Predate the very concept of civilization.” His voice was soft, but carried weight. “Most have faded. Died. Been destroyed by the passing of ages. But some… some remain. Sleeping. Waiting. And it falls to those of us who remember to ensure they sleep forever.”

He glanced back at Adam, and for a moment, the weight of millennia was visible in his gaze. “You carry one such remnant yourself.”

Adam’s hand drifted unconsciously toward his brow, where the Crown of the Hollow Glutton rested—invisible now, but unmistakably present.

“Gluttony,” Orion stated. “One of the Seven. I did not expect to see it again, let alone worn by someone who seems… relatively sane.”

Ignis perked up indignantly. “Adam’s not crazy! He’s smart!”

Orion’s lips twitched—the closest thing to a smile Adam had seen from him. “I did not say he was insane. I said I was surprised to find a sane wielder. The Crown has a tendency to… amplify certain traits. Hunger. Ambition. Desperation.” His golden eyes fixed on Adam. “You have managed to avoid its worst influences so far. Impressive.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “You keep talking like this artifact is dangerous. How dangerous are we talking?”

“Not inherently,” Orion replied, settling back into his chair. “The Crown itself is neutral—a tool, like any other. Its danger lies in what it offers and what it demands. Power in exchange for consumption. Strength in exchange for hunger.” He studied Adam with that piercing gaze. “Used wisely, it can be a great asset. Used poorly…” He shrugged. “It consumes the wielder as surely as it consumes souls.”

Ignis frowned. “So it’s like a really hungry pet that might eat you if you don’t feed it right?”

Orion considered this. “An oversimplification, but… not inaccurate.”

Adam processed this, his mind racing. ’He’s not wrong. The Crown pushes me to consume, to take, to absorb. But it’s never forced me. It’s more like… an urging. A suggestion I can choose to follow or ignore.’

“The Crown was sealed in a dungeon,” Orion continued. “By humans, long ago. They feared its power, as they fear most things they do not understand.” A hint of something—contempt? resignation?—colored his voice. “They believed sealing it away would protect the world from its influence. A typical human solution.”

Ignis snorted. “Humans are so dumb. Why waste time hiding something when you could just… I don’t know… learn to use it?”

Orion’s gaze shifted to the young drake, something almost like approval flickering in his ancient eyes. “An insightful question. The answer is fear. Humans are, above all else, fearful creatures. It is their greatest weakness and their greatest strength.” He paused. “Their instinct to survive is powerful—more powerful than any other race I have encountered. They will fight, flee, hide, or destroy anything they perceive as a threat to that survival. Including artifacts they do not understand.”

Adam absorbed this, pieces clicking into place. ’He’s describing humanity from the outside. From the perspective of something that’s watched them for millennia.’ A strange thought occurred to him. ’He doesn’t know I used to be human.’

“And you?” Adam asked quietly. “What are you afraid of?”

Orion was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Nothing. And everything.” He met Adam’s eyes. “I am old enough to have learned that fear is a luxury. Those who live as long as I do cannot afford it.” He rose, moving toward the door. “Rest. We will speak more when you are healed.”

He paused at the threshold, glancing back. “The girl may stay if she wishes. She has been… persistently anxious about your condition.”

Ignis beamed. “See? He’s nice!”

Orion’s only response was the soft click of the door closing behind him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep