Chapter 377: King of Dragons

The isle slowly unfolded before the eyes of the homecoming dragons. The scene that greeted them left them faintly perplexed.

They had expected wilderness and ruin. After all, they had witnessed with their own eyes what befell this place when the Dragon God descended. The dragons who could not withstand that presence had gone raving mad, some groveling in worship, others lashing out in blind frenzy until their strength was spent.

Yet the island that had once been their home appeared tranquil, even beautiful. Dragons flew lazily overhead or strode along the earth, going about their affairs. There were more structures here than in their memory, but they were crude and small.

Much as in the old days, when a dragon would simply claim a cavern and line it with treasures of choice—gold, gemstones, or, for the more eccentric, collections of stranger things.

From afar, they saw dragons sprawled across their hoards, sunk in slumber. That was the most common of draconic states: long, deep hibernation.

It was during their sleep that dragons grew. From hatchling to youth, from youth to elder, their very bloodline urged them onward. So long as they gathered enough energy before falling into slumber, they would dream their way into strength. Body and magic advanced in tandem. For dragons, there was one rule without exception: the older, the mightier.

“This… isn’t right. It’s nothing like we expected.”

The white dragon in their company raised her doubts again. Just as Goelia had said, though she was rather dim-witted, she did have one particular virtue—when she didn’t understand something, she would ask about it.

“No, Doris,” Caesar cut in before Goelia could answer. “It means precisely the opposite. They are bound. If they were free, they would never confine themselves here and sit idle upon an island. We outcasts would not be the only dragons seen across the continent.”

“But why?”

“If you were given the chance to return home and stay here forever, would you accept it?” Caesar’s eyes lingered on the island that had once been his birthplace.

“No,” Doris replied without hesitation.

“And why not?” Caesar asked with a smile.

“This place may be my homeland, but compared with the continent, it’s poor and dull. The land outside delights me. Kobolds often stumble into my territory. They scatter in terror when I roar, and even bring me offerings as if I’m a god.

“Watching such little creatures makes me happy. But here? Here I’d see nothing but dragons circling endlessly, and hear you lot sneer about my stupidity.”

She rattled off her reasons as if counting coins. Caesar’s faint smile froze on his snout. Though Doris hadn’t even bothered to hide her trail, she had somehow escaped the Church of Dragonkind’s eyes, while he himself had been hunted from refuge to refuge. Perhaps fools truly did stumble into fortune.

“Exactly,” Goelia continued. “All dragons feel the same way. None of us would choose to remain forever upon this isle when the wider world beckons. Unseen chains must bind them here. Beneath this seeming peace, the Dragon God’s fetters run deep.”

That was the power of a god. Goelia had seen the strength that mortals drew from their faith in gods, but he still could not fathom its essence, nor why their king had chosen to accept worship—why their king had become a god.

That mystery lay with the Dragon God alone. Now, it was time to demand an answer.

“It is time. If anything bars our path, I shall clear the way. Do not forget our purpose. We seek It first of all.”

Aurelian cast one last glance at the isle, then turned as she issued a command.

At once, nine pairs of wings beat down in unison. The sky tore with their descent; winds howled and split the clouds as they approached the island.

As they crossed into the island’s domain, they felt an immediate, obvious shift. Power enfolded the isle, veiling it entire.

Though they didn’t know what this aura did, the instinct born of their blood told them just whom it belonged to: their former king, the Dragon King, Wendel Myx.

“Do you feel it?” Caesar’s voice was low. “This is Its power. The moment we entered, It marked us. Be ready. Its onslaught will be endless.”

“Stay wary,” Aurelian warned. “Even diminished, Its strength is not to be trifled with.”

As she spoke, silver blades shimmered into being by her side, vast and luminous, ready to meet whatever attack might befall them.

Yet no strike came. Not from It. They had all seen Its giant claws descending from the firmament in the past. And yet, even after having breached the isle of dragons, they could not sense Its reprisal at all.

Instead, hostility rose from the island’s dragons themselves. They lifted their heads, gazes fixed upon the intruders in the sky. Anger burned in their eyes.

The Dragon God suppressed their emotions, leaving only naked enmity and bloodlust. To them, these nine were not kin but rather aberrations, heretics to be erased.

Goelia watched the multitude rise, wings blotting the heavens. There was no fear in his eyes, nor hatred, but instead a glimmer of realization. His suspicions had been confirmed at long last.

He had been wondering why the Dragon God hadn’t attacked them. Now, he had his answer.

The Dragon God had not struck them because It could not. This isle was Its heaven-to-be, and all dragons by blood were Its children. Until Its heaven stood complete, It could not smite down Its own kind.

The Church of Dragonkind, however, were not counted among those children, the citizens of Its heaven. They were but dispensable followers serving only to channel Its will.

“As I expected,” Golia murmured. “It is unlike any god. I have never seen a divinity who could compel even those who aren’t devout to worship It. Such a god must be greatest of all—for the wellspring of Its power has no end. And though many rivaled It in might, It alone became divine.”

Goelia’s mind churned with revelations and new uncertainties. Still, one truth was clear: the dragons of the isle were able to attack them of their own volition, even if the god they served could not.

“Wendel Myx… how did you learn to draw strength from faith? How did you bind the minds of your own kind?”

No answer came. The green dragon ceased his musings and readied himself. The battle had already begun.

And Aurelian was right: if they could cut down the Dragon God, it would end here.

Their course was fixed. They were headed to the heart of the isle where a golden dragon hovered, vast wings wrapped close about itself like a splendid, unbreakable cocoon. It was as if heaven itself had been spun into its shell. The moment heaven formed in truth, it would emerge like a butterfly from its cocoon.

“Follow me.”

Aurelian’s words were cold. The dragons of the isle had already unleashed their fury. Breaths of flame, of lightning, of acid, of frost, poured down in a deluge that engulfed the sky.

But Aurelian had faced such storms before—and she had grown far stronger since.

Seizing one silver greatblade, she swept it upward in a single arc. The strike did not cleave any material substance, but rather space itself.

From behind her, it seemed as if the heavens themselves had been cut. Reality seemed to distort as the torrents of destruction vanished, shunted elsewhere in space, leaving their path clear once more.

With wings beating furiously, the nine dragons hurled themselves toward the silent golden figure, their power boiling over, unrestrained.

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