Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Permafrost Tundra, Icewind Rift.

Perennial unmelting ice covered this wide, desolate land, cold winds howling as they lifted fine, razor-sharp ice crystals into the air. Against the gray-white sky those crystals wove again and again into a hazy, deathly veil, sealing all life away.

At the deepest part of the rift lay a dead zone where even the hardiest moss could not survive.

Yet at this moment, that accumulated stillness of many years was being broken.

From the very bottom of the rift, inside a natural cavern entirely sealed and buried under who-knew-how-thick ice, came the groan and cracking sounds of the ice under intolerable strain.

At first the sound was barely audible, like a hallucination, but it quickly intensified and spread.

The noise beat like the growing heartbeat of a great beast waking from slumber, louder and more urgent, reverberating and stacking inside the confined ice.

Crack—boom!!!

The heavy ice cap suddenly burst from within, countless tons of shattered ice mixed with violent gusts rocketing upward into a pale fountain, then raining down like meteor-ice with thunderous impacts against the rockface.

A huge pale silhouette rose up violently, carrying with it a surge of piercing cold.

Beneath the scaly, skeletal exterior lay armor-like pale dragon scales, their edges sharp and glinting with a metallic, frigid sheen; the skull was massive and dignified, the snout jutting forward, interlocking rows of jagged teeth like ice-forged spears protruding slightly beyond the lips.

It was a male White Dragon, an ancient white dragon!

He slowly stretched the enormous membranous wings that had stiffened from long sleep, the joints producing sounds like grinding ice.

His dragon wings were immense, the membranes veined with frost-like patterns; every beat snapped the air with freezing crispness, conjuring countless tiny ice crystals and snowflakes in midair.

"Long slumber... finally ends."

A low, hoarse voice rolled slowly from the depths of the ancient dragon's throat.

"Power surges within me like never before, and that solid legendary barrier has utterly shattered at the end of my sleep."

He raised his head, the vertical pupils fixed on the gray sky above the rift, veiled by wind and snow.

Legendary realm!

Long accumulation and sleep, countless seasons of patient waiting and honing, finally ripened and completed the final breakthrough at this moment.

A long-lost, no—an unprecedented hot ambition and lust for conquest began to burn within his frozen chest.

At the same time, a cunning, seasoned gleam lit his eyes.

"Before I fell asleep, someone seized a fleeting chance, launched a surprise attack, killed the frost giant chieftain's son, and framed the barbarians... a perfect provocation."

"New enmity piled atop old grievance, those two foolish races must be tearing each other apart by now, rivers of blood flowing, right?"

"Their strength must have been consumed and weakened by endless conflict..."

"Now, it's my turn! Once I tidy up the aftermath, I will become the new ruler of this permafrost land!"

The White Dragon rotated his massive head, the vertebrae clicking faintly.

"Now I, Frostblight Beskarl, have stepped into the Legendary realm. The legendary might I once had to look up to now resides within me; there is no need for fear."

"It's time to let my renown and my frost breath completely blanket this wide land!"

Beskarl the White Dragon naturally assumed the Permafrost Tundra remained as he had known it before his sleep.

Primitive, barbaric tribes scattered everywhere, fighting each other without end, wasting their strength internally; none had grown strong enough to command the whole.

His awakening would inevitably end that pointless chaos and establish an era of rule belonging to him.

Compared with other dragons, a White Dragon was born at a disadvantage, but Beskarl was always known for his patience.

He lurked in the most barren corners of the icefield like the most patient hunter, day after day, year after year, quietly honing his claws and mind, accumulating power.

At last, the moment he had waited for had come.

"Then, let's start... from the nearest gathering of life."

Beskarl no longer hesitated.

He beat his wings with sudden force, his enormous body bursting up from the ground, easily shattering the wind and ice above the rift to fly under the open gray-white firmament.

Cold air automatically gathered around his pale scales, lifting him and letting him glide swiftly and silently through the sky.

The White Dragon circled high above, surveying the white wasteland below,

and soon he locked on to his first target.

It was a settlement located in a large leeward slope valley, roughly built but sizable, the buildings arrayed in order with what seemed like sturdy perimeter walls and several watchtowers.

Some tall, blue-gray-skinned figures moved about.

Ogres, one of the common barbaric races on the icefield with strong regenerative ability.

However, this clan looked far more organized and orderly than the chaotic ogre shacks Beskarl remembered.

More strangely, he also saw some hulking, heavily armored ogres.

They were well-equipped and mixed among the ogres as if not hostile to them.

Ogres and ogres coexisting peacefully?

That was odd.

Not only ogres, but near the walls and some fortifications he also noticed small goblins running about.

But this brief observation and puzzlement were quickly washed away by confidence.

In the eyes of a Legendary White Dragon, whether ogres, ogres, or goblins, they still amounted to a group of slightly stronger or nimbler lowly vermin—potential slaves.

Perfect; they could be the first followers he would subdue after waking.

After reaching the Legendary realm, the White Dragon had less patience and much more confidence.

Whoosh!

He stopped circling, slammed his wings down, and with winds that turned the heavens pale, thundered down over the ogre settlement. His vast shadow instantly covered the buildings and living creatures below.

"Kneel, pledge your loyalty, or become ice-dust and vanish from this land."

"From this moment, this icefield and all who live on it belong to Frostblight Beskarl's dominion!"

He had already envisioned the next scene.

Those ogres and ogres would tremble with fear, ultimately prostrate themselves and swear fealty.

But the result was completely outside the White Dragon's expectation.

Several of the strongest, heavily armored ogres swayed and exchanged glances. Then one who seemed the leader stepped forward without fear and craned his head up.

In a gruff, booming voice he shouted, "Hey! Big white lizard in the sky, listen up!"

"We already have a lord! We belong to the great Emperor Ignas, the supreme ruler of the North! This land is the territory of the Aola Kingdom!"

Facing a Legendary White Dragon, this ogre leader showed no fear; instead his face was mixed with pride and belligerence as he waved a massive spiked hammer.

"For His Majesty's supreme glory! To become an Immortal Hero!"

"Do you want to make enemies of the Aola Kingdom? Ha! Stupid white-scaled crawler, come on! Let me see how tough a Legendary White Dragon's bones are!"

At his roar, the surrounding ogres and even some ogres bellowed back, issuing defiant cries toward the pale dragon in the sky.

A near-fanatical fighting spirit burned in their eyes, ignoring death.

Much of this baffling courage and loyalty was due to the Aola Kingdom's long-term ideological indoctrination and loyalty education.

Loyalty to the Emperor—those who die for the kingdom and emperor have their souls guided to the Hall of Heroic Spirits, to enjoy an eternal, beautiful afterlife, achieving endless glory.

At first this was a symbolic promise to unite hearts and minds, but now the Aola Kingdom truly had a Hall of Heroic Spirits, and recent propagation around that artifact had intensified the spread of such beliefs, becoming a firm pillar of faith for many warriors.

In the sky, Beskarl the White Dragon narrowed his eyes slightly.

He had lived long and was not provoked into immediate action; instead he considered the situation.

Very strange... the response of these lowly vermin was nothing like he had expected.

No panic and rout, no kneeling and begging—instead resistance, and mentions of "Emperor" and "homeland."

This was not the behavior of an ordinary barbarian clan.

"Aola Kingdom? Emperor Ignas?" Beskarl quickly weighed the facts in his mind. "During my sleep, an unexpected power seems to have arisen on these lands... I mustn't slaughter rashly; first I should find out what's going on."

He lowered his massive head and scanned the prepared settlement below.

"Find out what this Aola Kingdom and the so-called Emperor Ignas are all about."

Beskarl's thoughts turned swift; he temporarily restrained his urge to annihilate, though his draconic might remained.

He beat his wings and slowly descended, preparing to interrogate.

At the unnoticed edge of that settlement, a small goblin sorceress blinked.

A delicate alchemical prosthetic eye was recording the White Dragon's arrival and the reactions of the warriors below with meticulous detail, transmitting it via a hidden rune array in real time to Dragonfang Fortress.

Meanwhile, in the Ser Wilderness.

In the Citadel of Crimson Flame, inside what seemed an ordinary inn room.

Aeron Leviborg, a veteran diplomat from the Kingdom of Reebos, after relaying the Red Iron Dragon Emperor's request back home, had not waited the agreed three days; barely a day later he received an urgent message from Reebos.

The result made his heart sink.

"The kingdom's high command has discussed urgently and decided: we cannot agree to the Aola Kingdom's demand."

"Not a single High Spirit Essence Crystal will be given."

From the floating transmission device before Aeron came a familiar, grave voice from his colleagues back home.

This outcome had not been what Aeron expected; it seemed almost absurd.

"Why?" Aeron couldn't help asking, though he knew a diplomat shouldn't question superior orders too much.

"High Spirit Essence Crystals are indeed rare, but to my knowledge their applications are narrow and not irreplaceable strategic resources."

"Why not use them to secure the Aola Kingdom, or the goodwill and support of the Red Iron Dragon Emperor?"

"That price seems entirely worth it to me."

He paused and spoke more earnestly: "After meeting that Red Iron Dragon Emperor in person, I felt the depth and power of that dragon even more strongly."

"His existence itself runs deeper than the rumors and tales about him."

"The Aola Kingdom itself is shallow and newly founded; its organization may be rough, but with the Red Iron Dragon Emperor holding court, the situation changes. Given this kingdom's development potential and threat, it's absolutely worth investing resources to court them. At the very least, we shouldn't drive them into opposition."

Before arriving at the Aola Kingdom, Aeron hadn't paid much heed to this monster-ruled fledgling nation.

But after that audience his view had shifted completely.

This was not a barbarian state to be dismissed.

"Aeron, I understand your judgment and concerns."

The voice from the device interrupted his thoughts. "High command's orders are firm, non-negotiable."

Aeron fell silent.

He realized this reply meant not only that Reebos would stop trying to win over or keep Aola neutral, but more decisively, that the kingdom's decision-makers had prepared to list Aola—or the Red Iron Dragon Emperor—as a potential hostile power, abandoning efforts at conciliation.

But why?

Aeron was deeply puzzled.

On the surface, Aola and Lothrian were close; they cooperated on many levels and seemed in a honeymoon phase.

However!

For a monster kingdom ruled by a dragon, Aeron judged the chance that the dragon emperor would fully trust Lothrian human nobles to be extremely low, and vice versa.

From years of diplomatic experience Aeron saw that the Red Iron Dragon Emperor was essentially a cold, pragmatic utilitarian and seeker of interest.

If Reebos offered real, tangible benefits and consistently showed sincerity, results would follow.

Even if they could not fully pull Aola into their camp, they could likely keep it neutral rather than entirely leaning toward Lothrian in any future conflict.

That should have been Reebos' most reasonable diplomatic approach toward the rising northern dragon kingdom.

Yet the superiors' decision flatly denied this direction.

Still, Aeron was a seasoned diplomat and quickly suppressed his personal feelings and doubts.

He knew his access to information was limited; his superiors' rejection of his idea might be based on deeper considerations rather than mere folly.

"Perhaps the request for a High Spirit Essence Crystal itself touched some sensitive nerve in the kingdom," he thought.

"Previously, the Foreign Ministry leaned toward courting and conciliating Aola to counter Lothrian's influence. But a single High Spirit Essence Crystal... it's not a core strategic asset. Strange."

Aeron shook his head and stopped speculating about mysteries beyond his purview.

He had a more practical problem to handle.

Soon he delivered, through official channels, Reebos' formal refusal to the Aola Kingdom's foreign ministry, his heart full of anxiety.

Earlier he had sworn to the Red Iron Dragon Emperor that Reebos would try to meet the request to show sincerity.

But now, when the other side had put forth a concrete demand, his country had refused so bluntly.

This could be seen as diplomatic contempt or even provocation.

Aeron could only silently pray he would leave these lands alive.

However, his subsequent worries proved unnecessary.

After Aola's officials received the reply, they had no violent reaction.

The Red Iron Dragon Emperor did not vent anger on such a minor pawn caught in great-power machinations; Aeron was merely a manipulated piece—the real manipulators were the ones to watch.

"The request has been refused."

Behind the royal court, in the back hills, Garoth withdrew his gaze from the direction of the Citadel of Crimson Flame, comprehension in his mind.

"It seems the High Spirit Essence Crystal really relates to the Holy King, and Reebos' leadership has detected or perhaps grasped key information, hence their sensitivity and outright refusal."

Garoth thought inwardly.

Not far opposite him, the smaller but still majestic Gold Dragon Nasha was unleashing a fierce assault with everything she had.

Claw strikes, tail sweeps, elemental attacks streamed in unrelenting succession.

Garoth was somewhat absentminded; with a single foreclaw he casually parried and deflected Nasha's onslaught, most of his attention absorbed in analyzing the nations' intelligence.

Long ago he had deliberately built his own intelligence network.

After Aola's founding he invested heavily, using caravans, mercenary groups, and underground information traders to plant spies and lookouts in other kingdoms, especially neighboring Theo and others.

Though fragmented, those reports could be pieced together into a rough outline.

"Reebos and Lothrian, the two great powers, do indeed have far more Legendary-level beings—estimated at over fifty each, possibly more."

"That is the bedrock of their strength."

"As for other kingdoms that split from the former Lothrian Federation, their levels vary."

"These kingdoms are not newly created and developed peacefully within the Federation for centuries, accumulating solid foundations."

"Therefore none of them are weak states with only a handful of Legendaries."

"An ordinary kingdom usually has around ten Legendaries; slightly stronger ones reach fifteen to twenty; the second-tier strong states just below Reebos and Lothrian likely have around thirty."

Clap!

The Red Iron Dragon reflexively swung his claw to parry a sly side-claw strike from Nasha, seized her wrist, unleashed tremendous strength to spin her body several times, then hurled her into the high sky like tossing a morning star.

"As for the Theo Kingdom, which is the most friction-prone with us now... it's probably on the higher-than-average side."

Garoth redirected his attention to his most immediate opponent.

"Based on gathered intelligence, Theo officially has eleven Legendary-level figures at present; of course undiscovered hidden powers may exist."

"And the specifics of those Legendaries' levels, professions, and specialties are hard to pin down—knowledge is sparse."

"That’s unfavorable, but we can estimate their levels concentrate between 21 and 24; those at 25 or above are definitely few—at most one or two, perhaps only one."

"Level 25 is a major watershed, not easy to cross."

At that moment, Nasha, hurled into the sky, adjusted and dove again.

She adeptly combined the fall momentum with rotation, her body spinning around the spine like a golden drill, wrapped in roaring Four Elements energy, formidable in presence.

Just as she was about to enter striking range, Garoth's tail flicked like lightning and slapped her, whipping her away like a spinning top.

Meanwhile Garoth recalled the content of his heritage and continued to sort his thoughts.

After reaching Legendary, strength growth isn't a simple linear stacking; there are several key thresholds.

For example, when a Legendary life reaches level 25, there is a chance to reshape or strengthen traits, greatly deepen and expand one's Domain, and all attributes can experience a massive jump.

The gap between 24 and 25 doesn't equate to the qualitative leap when a mundane being becomes Legendary, but it is still a huge chasm.

Those who advance to Legendary are elites among elites.

Each possesses unique ultimate skills, trump cards, and paths, so cross-tier combat after Legendary is far harder than at the mundane stage.

Garoth's case was an exception; his post-Legendary combat performance was even fiercer and less restrained than his cross-tier challenges during the mundane phase.

But even so, he could not be absolutely certain of reliably killing a human Legendary who had reached level 25.

Their Domain strength, trait effects, and survival measures might exceed estimations.

"My level is still too low; the slow growth of Life Level is my weakness, as it is for most long-lived races."

Garoth thought quietly.

"Even if I enjoy Aola Kingdom's resource bias—best food and ideal environment—my level-up speed is still too slow compared to some human chosen who can skyrocket in a few decades or even years."

A century to become Legendary is already an astounding growth rate among dragons.

Yet compared to certain humans who rise like comets in mere decades, Garoth sometimes felt a sting of envy.

Moreover, compared to a kingdom like Theo, he still had too few Legendaries available.

Iseramas the Amethyst Dragon lived in the Citadel of Crimson Flame but more as an honorary guest and would not directly participate in Aola's confrontations with other kingdoms.

Besides him, there was only one Legendary Heroic Spirit.

As for other dragon-blooded, monster generals, and lords... the strongest were level 20, with limited influence at Legendary tiers.

"In the end, my new dragon nation still lacks depth; accumulating Legendary elites needs time and opportunity."

Garoth assessed his own base.

"I won't fight anymore! I hate these one-sided beatings! No sense of accomplishment!"

Gold Dragon Nasha crawled out from a collapsed rock pile, shook violently to dislodge stones and dust, and shook her dizzy head a few times.

She loved battle but was not a masochist.

She looked at the apparently pensive Red Iron Dragon, flicked her tail, and shouted in displeasure, "Hey, Garoth, you seem absentminded; that tail smack was pretty accurate... wait, what are you thinking about? Theo Kingdom? Or the human mess in the south?"

Garoth snapped back to attention and glanced at Nasha.

"I've started to envy the short-lived races, like humans."

"They may live briefly and have frail bodies, but real geniuses among them can erupt with astonishing growth in a remarkably short time and swiftly reach power peaks."

"No wonder we massive long-lived dragons gradually faded from the center of the world's stage."

"Our growth requires far too much time."

He spoke with some melancholy.

Nasha rolled a huge golden eye and snorted sparks from her nostrils.

"Come off it! How many humans and other races secretly envy our long lives and innate strength?"

"If you could choose again, would you give up being a dragon to become a human who might not live a hundred years and could die any moment?"

Garoth did not hesitate much and said, "I'd probably still choose to remain a dragon."

On thought, what he envied was only the humans' single advantage of fast growth.

In other aspects, the humans' ceiling was too low to match dragons; most were mediocre and depended heavily on talent and opportunity.

Dragons, unless they die prematurely, could steadily grow until Legendary was almost guaranteed.

"You really are a proud dragon at heart."

Nasha muttered, unsurprised by his answer.

She suddenly remembered something and changed the topic: "By the way, have you recently been to that Alberto fellow's territory? The place he calls Law City?"

Garoth shook his head slightly.

"I focus on my own cultivation and rarely inspect the domains of my vassals."

He admitted.

"You should go take a look when you have time."

"That fellow... he seems to actually be trying to build an ideal state—one that operates completely on legal statutes and pursues so-called absolute justice."

The Gold Dragon's eyes showed curiosity.

"Completely run on legal statutes? Pursue absolute justice?"

Garoth disentangled his thoughts from the nations' gambits and showed interested expression.

Aola indeed placed emphasis on order and rule of law; Garoth knew a stable kingdom needed rules.

But he also knew building the rule of law was a dynamic, iterative process that required constant adjustment.

Any society attempting to run entirely by written law was an ideal rather than reality.

As for "absolute justice," that was even harder to define—different positions and interests interpret justice very differently.

He was genuinely curious now.

What had Alberto made of his territory?

Perhaps it was time for an inspection.

At that moment a calm mental message came through.

"Urgent military intelligence from the Permafrost Tundra front."

"An ancient dragon has occupied one of our forward outposts in the tundra."

An ancient dragon?!

Garoth's heart leapt.

Could the Luckbringer's invisible curse be acting? Had it really brought trouble of that magnitude?

"What kind of dragon?"

Garoth asked in a low voice.

The Iron Dragon's voice was unhurried as she replied, "A White Dragon, body barely thirty meters—should have just broken into Legendary."

At that, Garoth's previously alarmed heart eased.

Oh, a White Dragon—then it's nothing... Garoth relaxed and, after a moment's thought, even felt some delight.