Chapter 379: Steadfast Will

The summoned bone dragon swung a giant claw at the flock of dragons surging toward it, darkening the sky and barring their path. With a single colossal blow, he sent hundreds of them hurtling down into the earth and the mountainside.

The bone dragon Mog’Kaw drew his power not from the faerie dragon Biqu alone. His vast carcass was sustained by countless rare mana crystals that the group of heretic dragons had gathered. All that power was being spent to animate the monstrous husk, rendering it a weapon beyond what even dragons could endure.

The heretic nine closed ranks around the summoned bone dragon, striking down those beyond his reach while advancing steadily toward the place where the Dragon God lay.

None of the dragons who sought to bar their way could withstand them. Ordinary dragons, hopelessly outmatched, were repelled in droves. The nine heretics’ strength had long since transcended the limits that an ordinary dragon could reach in a lifetime.

“Doris,” murmured Goelia, battering a cluster of young dragons from the heavens, “can you bring yourself to wound your own kin?”

The white dragon Doris darted between Goelia’s wings, using his massive body as cover. “Isn’t it a little late for that? Just look at the mess we’ve already made of them.”

Her tone was careless, almost cheerful, without the faintest trace of guilt or hesitation. Indeed, they had already struck down and even slain many of their own kind.

It was a bitter contradiction. They had come to liberate their kin, but were now laying them low in battle.

But such sacrifice was inevitable. They had already shown restraint in striving to cripple rather than kill. Yet on the field of war, who could hold back completely?

In battle, even a moment of hesitation could mean death. They had all long steeled their hearts for this moment during their endless years of waiting.

It was too late for doubt or indecision. This was a necessary sacrifice—all of them had agreed to this, even Doris.

“Good,” Goelia said evenly. “Hold fast to that resolve.”

Something in her tone made Doris falter. “What do you mean?” she asked, but the truth revealed itself before Goelia could reply.

Colossal forms rose up from around the Dragon God’s cocoon. These were older, stronger dragons—chieftains of the tribes, and blood-kin to the heretics themselves.

They surged skyward, the lesser dragons around them halting their suicidal charges as if on command.

“I…”

Doris’s words died in her throat. Her gaze quivered. Even her wings faltered for an instant.

The true guard of the Dragon God had arrived. These weren’t the common kin they had slain, but rather clan leaders, parents, siblings, rivals. Giants among dragons.

Rather than being assigned to the outer periphery of the island with more ordinary dragons, they served as the Dragon God’s personal guard and were stationed around the core of the nascent heaven.

The various elders rose up toward the sky, eyeing the heretics and the giant bone dragon they commanded. The two sides hovered in uneasy silence, one that grew more unbearable by the second. It felt as if the fighting would break out anew at any moment. These dragons, not the rabble they had fought, were the true threat.

The first to speak was the patriarch of the red dragons, his wings beating as he hovered before Caesar, voice calm but lined with sorrow.

“Lad, how many years has it been since last we met? Even then you were my equal. I’m certain you’ve surpassed me by now. But if your parents could see you today, what would they think?”

Caesar’s jaws smoldered, sparks dancing at his lips, a sign of incipient dragonbreath. “I am grateful my parents did not abandon me but instead raised me until I was a youth. And I am certain they would not call my choices wrong.”

The patriarch’s smile curdled to steel. His scar-laden body seethed with heat, chest blazing where his heart thundered. “Then I am disappointed. The Caesar I once knew was strong. Now I see only weakness. I thought you had surpassed me. I was wrong.”

Caesar’s encounter was not unique. Some of the heretics found friends and even family standing against them.

The blue dragon Susumi stared at the pair before her: the patriarch of the blue dragons and his mate, her parents.

“Stop this, Susumi,” her father thundered. “What you do defies that which all our kind have guarded for a thousand years. Our king never wished for us to slaughter one another. If you will not desist, then I must discipline my wayward child myself.”

Her father censured her severely. This was how he had been before the calamity, too; if Susumi had been disobedient, she would have received a huge beating.

Her mother said nothing. Yet her eyes, pained, tender, and wavering, were more piercing than even her father’s words.

“I…”

Elsewhere, Pompeii the black confronted his oldest rival—the friend who had once stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and the obstacle that barred his path to leadership.

They had fought a thousand times with near-equal might, neither being willing to yield. Now that rival wore the mantle of patriarch.

“I see your strength has grown,” the patriarch of the black dragons began. “I welcome our rematch. I would yield my seat willingly to the Pompeii I knew—if you could defeat me.”

His eyes narrowed. “But not like this. Not here. I would fight you as a rival, not slay you as a traitor.”

“…”

Pompey’s silence was answer enough. His claws were clenched tightly.

Meanwhile, Goelia smiled faintly at the young green dragons before him, dragons he himself had reared. Though not yet fully grown, they were already formidable and now standing against him.

“Patriarch,” they cried out, their voices raw. “Please, stop. You are still the greatest leader our people have ever known! We could never replace you. If you stop now, you will be restored to your rightful place in history!”

“Please, Sir Goelia,” another begged tearfully. “We cannot fight you. We are no match for you. We don’t want to raise our claws against the one who raised us.”

Their pleas rang true. Goelia, staring into the eyes of his children, thought with a sudden ache about how well they had grown up in his absence.

“Forgive me,” Goelia murmured, voice almost inaudible.

Before Doris stood a white dragon that looked identical to herself, just one size smaller. Her expression and bearing mirrored Doris’s own confusion and fear so perfectly that the two almost seemed like mirror reflections.

“Sister, we can’t fight!” the smaller dragon pleaded, her voice trembling.

“We must,” Doris cried out, her own voice cracking with despair. “If you bar my way, I’ll have no choice but to strike you down!”

“But, Sister, you’ve never been able to defeat me in the past!”

“That’s a lie! I’ve simply let you win before. I’ve grown stronger all these years. You won’t be able to beat me now!”

Doris’s voice was pitched high, her protest half desperate, half childish.

“But… what if you kill me?” her sister whimpered. “I don’t want to die!”

“This… this—ah, enough! If you don’t want to die, then don’t stand in my way!” Doris roared.

She faltered, her heart twisting in agony. Then, in a rush of reckless resolve, she hurled herself forward as she bellowed, her body wreathed in raging frost. She could offer only a single solution to this conundrum to her sister: yield, or be crushed.

Her reckless charge sparked the fighting anew. Battle erupted in an instant—yet it was the heretic dragons who made their move first.

Silver brilliance flared, transporting them to their enemies’ flanks, the perfect ground from which to strike.

Caesar seized the patriarch of the red dragons by the skull and forcibly released the dragonbreath he had been charging up for so long. By the time he released it, the searing heat within Caesar’s chest had already burned through his own flesh.

Susumi conjured twin spears of lightning, their shape echoing fabled lances of old. With a cry, she drove them into the throats of the pair of blue dragons before her—her own father and mother—piercing the one weakness of blue dragons.

Pompeii sank his talons deep into the body of the rival who had once been his dearest foe and greatest friend. With an explosion of strength, he hurled him down at a speed that shattered mountains, leaving the earth gashed and trembling.

Goelia plummeted from the air, slamming down on a cluster of green dragons beneath his vast weight. Poison mist billowed from his scales, filling the space around him with death.

Centuries of waiting had hardened the heretics for this moment. Again and again in the long night, they had rehearsed this war in their minds, brother against brother, child against parent. They had steeled themselves beyond the reach of doubt or sentiment. No melodrama of kinship could shake them now.

Only Doris faltered. Goelia’s whispered apology had been meant for her alone. The naïve and soft-hearted Doris had never forged the same cold resolve. She was the one who suffered most, having been forced to make in a moment the choice her kin had had centuries to prepare for.

And so Goelia, who had always sheltered her as though she were still a child, took advantage of her hesitation. She twisted her innocence into a veil, lulling the patriarchs into misjudgment—and handed the heretics the first, decisive strike.

Goelia would have chosen another path if she could. He loved the younglings who had called him chieftain, and he loved Doris as the child she still was in spirit. To exploit that trust was bitter beyond words.

But slaying the Dragon God was their aim. To achieve that goal, they would sacrifice everything they had. If they could strike It down, perhaps they could still redeem themselves…

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