The flickering light of the oil lantern cast long, dancing shadows across the faces of Kenshin, Asami, and Horuto.
Inside the warded stone house, the silence was absolute, broken only by the crackle of the burning wick.
Kenshin stared at the bald, ancient warrior sitting at the head of the table.
For his entire life, Kenshin had known nothing but the suffocating darkness of a dungeon and the absolute cruelty of Zenjiro.
Yet, here was Master Brados, casually speaking of dimensions, ancient betrayals, and apocalyptic wars.
“You left the Nine,” Kenshin whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
“You gave up your throne as a Strong Holder.”
“I did,” Brados replied, his deep voice thick with memory.
“I could not stand by and watch a peaceful civilization be slaughtered simply to satisfy Bellod’s arrogance. When I left our council chambers, I did not return to my personal domain. Instead, I crossed the border into the Dragon’s half of our shared realm.”
Brados closed his eyes, and the lantern-lit room seemed to fade, replaced by the vivid, earth-shaking memories of a bygone era.
-Break-
The sky of the third realm was permanently split.
On one side, the pristine, crystalline clouds of the Gladeon territories gleamed.
On the other, heavy, emerald-tinged storm clouds rolled over jagged, volcanic mountains.
Brados walked alone through the ash-covered valleys of the Dragon territory.
He wore his heavy, dark-green armor, his face stern and unyielding.
The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and ozone.
He approached the colossal obsidian fortress of the Dragon King.
Towering drakes and wyverns, the size of castles, roared in the skies above, their massive wings beating against the storm.
Yet, none of them attacked Brados.
They recognized the aura of a sovereign.
The heavy stone doors of the throne room were pushed open by two massive draconic guards.
Brados stepped inside.
Sitting upon a throne forged from molten rock and dark iron was King Draglus.
The entity was a being of pure, primordial terror and majestic power.
Draglus possessed a fearsome draconic head, elongated and reptilian, crowned with a menacing array of curved black horns.
From the back of his neck flowed a wild mane of living, writhing shadow tendrils.
His eyes burned with a fierce, emerald-green glow, the slitted pupils radiating a cold, merciless intelligence.
Draglus was colossal, dwarfing even Brados’s imposing height.
His muscular humanoid torso was armored in dark, nearly black scales that shimmered with deep green undertones.
At the center of his chest, a glowing green core pulsed rhythmically, tracing veins of toxic flame across his flesh.
From his waist downward, his form dissolved into a mass of ragged, trailing tendrils that hung like a tattered cloak of living darkness.
“Brados,” Draglus rumbled.
The dragon’s voice shook the very foundations of the fortress, yet it carried a profound, ancient wisdom.
“You step into my domain without your King. What troubles your heart, old friend?”
Brados did not bow as a servant, but as an equal.
“I bring a warning of treachery, Draglus. Bellod has broken the pact.”
The emerald flames in Draglus’s chest flared.
“Explain.”
“Bellod has ordered the execution of your entire race,” Brados said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
“He has rallied the other Strong Holders. Amator, Arguton, Miluki… they have all sworn to march. Even Zenjiro, though he remains neutral in his heart, will march with his King. They are mobilizing an army of twenty million Gladeons. They intend to ambush you before the next eclipse.” Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Silence fell over the massive obsidian hall.
The tension in the air was so heavy it could crush standard armor.
Brados expected rage.
He expected the Dragon King to roar, to breathe spectral fire, to curse the Gladeons for their deceit.
Instead, Draglus simply closed his emerald eyes.
A deep, heavy sigh escaped his jagged fangs.
“It seems the nature of absolute power is the same across all realms,” Draglus rumbled softly.
“It breeds only fear and greed.”
“You must evacuate,” Brados urged, stepping forward.
“You have already found a new dimension for your people to settle. Open the portals now. Take your civilization and leave this realm before Bellod arrives. Twenty million is too large a force, even for your warriors.”
Draglus opened his eyes, the emerald glow piercing through the gloom.
“We will open the portals,” the Dragon King declared.
“The females, the children, and the civilians will shift to the new dimension tonight. But the warriors will remain.”
Brados frowned, his thick brow furrowing.
“Draglus, that is madness. If you send the civilians away, your soldiers will be fighting without the hope of returning to their families. You will be leaving only a fraction of your strength behind. Why burden your loyal veterans with a war they do not need to fight?”
Draglus stood up from his throne.
The sheer size of the beast was awe-inspiring, his tattered, bat-like wings spreading slightly behind his back.
“Because, Brados,” Draglus said, his voice ringing with absolute, undeniable pride.
“If we open the gates and flee completely, it sends a message across the cosmos. It tells Bellod that his treachery worked. It tells him that we ran in terror. And my people do not fear.”
The words struck Brados with the force of a physical blow.
The absolute courage—the willingness to face certain annihilation simply to prove that their spirit could not be broken.
It was a level of honor that Bellod had entirely forgotten.
“I will not burden the innocent with our bloodshed,” Draglus continued, descending the steps of his throne.
“I asked my veterans to leave. They refused. One million of my finest soldiers have chosen to stand with me against the twenty million of your King. We will bathe this realm in blood before we surrender our pride.”
Brados stared at the ancient apex hunter.
In that moment, he felt a profound, burning shame for the actions of his fellow Strong Holders.
“You will not fight alone,” Brados said, his voice echoing with absolute resolve.
Draglus paused, his slitted green pupils narrowing.
“I have formally severed my ties with the Nine,” Brados declared.
“I command my own loyalists. Three million Gladeon soldiers who value honor over Bellod’s tyranny. I will march them across the border. We will stand beside your one million.”
A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated in Draglus’s chest.
The Dragon King extended his massive, clawed hand.
Brados reached out, gripping the dragon’s dark talons in a warrior’s handshake.
“Four million against twenty million,” Draglus mused.
“The bards will sing of this day until the stars burn out.”
Draglus released his grip and turned toward a heavy stone vault behind his throne.
With a wave of his hand, the dark iron doors groaned open.
The Dragon King reached inside and retrieved two objects wrapped in heavy, enchanted silks.
He turned back and presented them to Brados.
“If you are to stand against your former brothers and sisters,” Draglus said, unwrapping the silk, “you will need weapons forged not of Gladeon steel, but of Draconic soul.”
Draglus handed Brados the first weapon.
It was a magnificent, single-edged longsword.
It hummed with a mystical inner light, perfectly balanced and devastatingly sharp.
“This blade will cut through the armor of your peers as if it were parchment,” Draglus explained.
“It will parry strikes that shatter the earth, and it will never dull.”
Then, Draglus unwrapped the second weapon.
Brados’s breath caught in his throat.
It was a majestic polearm—a Green Dragon Guandao.
The long, spiraling shaft of green and gold ended in a beautifully sculpted golden dragon head.
From the dragon’s open maw emerged a curved, serrated, vibrant jade blade covered in ancient glowing runes.
The sheer magical pressure radiating from the Guandao was staggering.
“This,” Draglus said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper, “was wielded by my father in the primordial wars. It does not simply cut. It is a key.”
Brados grasped the thick shaft of the Guandao.
The moment his skin touched the gold, a surge of raw, unimaginable power flooded his veins.
The weapon resonated with his soul, actively multiplying his innate Gladeon strength.
“Only the worthy may hold it,” Draglus warned.
“Should a traitor or a coward attempt to lift it, the golden dragon will breathe spectral fire and burn their hands to ash. But in your hands, Brados… it holds the ultimate command.”
Draglus pointed a massive black talon at the curved jade blade.
“By pointing this blade to the heavens, you can tear open the Gate of the Dragon Realm. It will forcefully summon five million of my most savage ancestors—drakes and wyverns bred solely for war—directly onto the battlefield.”
Brados stared at the legendary weapon in absolute awe.
“Such power…”
“Use it wisely,” Draglus cautioned.
“The cosmic laws demand balance. Once the Gate is opened, it will instantly slam shut after the battle concludes. The weapon will seal itself, and the Gate cannot be reopened for exactly three years.”
Brados bowed his head deeply, holding the two legendary weapons tightly in his grasp.
“I am honored beyond words, Draglus. I will not fail you.”
-Break-
The memory faded, dissolving back into the dim, lantern-lit confines of the small stone house in the Underward.
Brados sat at the wooden table, his large hands resting gently near the bronze hilt of the jade sword and the golden shaft of the Guandao.
Kenshin, Asami, and Horuto were completely captivated, their eyes wide.
“That is how I obtained these weapons,” Brados said softly.
“Given freely by a king who understood honor better than any Gladeon I have ever known.”
“So, the war began?” Horuto asked, leaning forward, ignoring the dull ache in his freshly healed chest.
“Four million against twenty million?”
“Yes,” Brados nodded, his expression darkening into a mask of grim sorrow.
“The next morning, the horizon turned black. Bellod marched upon the borders of the Dragon territory. The sky was split between the golden auras of the Strong Holders and the emerald storms of the Dragons.”
Brados looked directly at Kenshin.
“And the very first person to cross the battlefield and stand in my path…” Brados whispered.
“…was Zenjiro.”
Kenshin’s breath hitched, his scarred hands gripping the edge of the wooden table so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Did you fight my father?” Kenshin asked, his racing heart pounding in his ears.
“I did,” Brados replied, his voice a low, thunderous rumble.
“And it was in that clash that I finally understood the true nature of Zenjiro’s terrifying loyalty.”