Chapter 230: New Life (II)
Unknowingly, the group had reached the end of the path. Before them stood the Steel-Cast Main Palace—a structure utterly alien to the traditional style of Northern Nobles. There was no trace of noble opulence; instead, it exuded a raw, brutal aesthetic that struck the eye with overwhelming force, radiating a suffocating sense of oppression. Mortals stood trembling at its gates, dwarfed by its presence, acutely aware of their own insignificance.
Freder glanced back at the carefully selected youths, only to notice that Anthony had drifted into a daze again.
"Come back to yourself," he said sharply. "What you're about to witness is the sole Master of this land."
He had a particular fondness for this boy named Anthony. Seven months prior, during the Tiefling invasion, the entire Kaven family, led by Baron Brenden, had been wiped out. When the Tieflings pursued Baron Brenden’s second son, Soli Kaven, they discovered the Baron himself dead in the underground dungeon beneath his manor—his body disheveled, clothes torn. A sharpened wooden stake had been driven deep into his throat.
Alongside the corpse, they found a thirteen-year-old boy. Naked from the waist up, clutching a broken wooden stick, his body convulsing with sheer tension. Blood streaked his delicate face, yet his gaze—fierce, unwavering—betrayed a resolve far beyond his years. That was the past Anthony.
Fried couldn’t deny his bias. He watched Anthony with extra care, for the memory of his own past haunted him: the White Lion Knight Tariq, who had once saved him from the cruel warden of the orphanage—killing the man with his own hands and fleeing with him. That moment had etched itself into Fried’s soul. And now, Anthony’s story echoed that same pain, awakening long-buried memories.
But Anthony had not disappointed him. Through relentless, self-destructive training, he had become the finest among the chosen youths.
Still… what does it matter to me?
Just completing a task.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile curled at Fried’s lips.
With a heavy groan, the grand gates of the Main Palace slowly creaked open.
"Follow me," Fried said, stepping forward. The boys fell into line behind him, moving with cautious precision.
At the foot of the stairs, Fried half-kneeled, bowing his head in reverence. "Master, I have fulfilled your orders. I have found those who meet your criteria—worthy candidates for the Great Bestowal. I hope you are satisfied."
As he lowered himself, the boys behind him followed suit, dropping to one knee, heads bowed in unison.
Anthony’s breath came fast and shallow. He could smell the faint, acrid scent of sulfur in the air.
The palace interior was sweltering—hotter than the outside world. Sweat trickled down his forehead in beads, yet he remained motionless, his posture unbroken.
"Good," came a deep, commanding voice from above, echoing through the vast, hollow hall. "Raise your heads."
Slowly, Anthony lifted his gaze, trembling with anticipation. There, engraved in his memory, was the majestic figure he had only ever seen in nightmares and whispered legends—the towering, muscular form of a Dragon coiled lazily upon the Iron Throne. Its eyes glowed with molten ripples, like lava beneath a surface of stone.
On its monstrous head, golden vertical pupils burned with authority, while its retracted horns curled like a crown of power.
This was the ultimate symbol of strength—the destroyer of the old Northern Order, the architect of the Kingdom’s new era: King of the Burnt, Kai Xiusu.
Anthony’s heart pounded wildly. Never before had he stood so close to such a being. The thought of gaining immense power, unassailable status, and finally overcoming the humiliation of his past ignited a fire within him—ambition, desire, hope.
The voice spoke again.
"What is your name?"
A surge of panic shot through Anthony. He’s speaking to me?
The shame of his past—the years of being treated like livestock, of being seen as nothing in the old Northern order—had buried his self-worth deep. He barely dared believe this moment was real.
He bowed his head further, voice trembling. "Your Majesty… I am Anthony."
"Oh? You’re Anthony?"
Kai Xiusu’s tone held a hint of surprise.
He knew Anthony’s story—how it had been weaponized by the kingdom’s propaganda machine. A textbook case of Northern Nobles’ cruelty toward commoners, and the Kingdom Order’s righteous salvation. It had been featured in every flyer distributed across the Northern Kingdoms, a cornerstone of public messaging. But Anthony himself had no idea.
The boy’s heart soared. He felt dizzy with joy, almost overwhelmed. He knows me!
He had never imagined that someone so lowly, so insignificant in the old order—barely more than livestock—could be remembered by the King himself. The other boys stared in awe, envy burning in their eyes.
Such was the power of a sovereign’s favor. When the gap in status and strength was vast, even a casual glance could feel like a divine bestowal. But Kai Xiusu had long grown accustomed to such reactions.
If a few words could secure loyalty, why not use them?
After a brief, symbolic exchange of praise, Kai Xiusu yawned, then issued his command.
"Fried, begin the Ritual."
"Yes, Master."
Fried stepped forward, facing the boys. His voice was calm, steady, as he recited the oath:
"Extinct the Hope of Enemies. Enforcement of Order by Iron Hand. The Dragon Lord Above All."
The boys echoed the words in unison.
Anthony’s chest swelled with emotion. He repeated the oath with practiced precision, kneeling on the cold stone, each syllable clear and fierce:
"Extinct the Hope of Enemies. Enforcement of Order by Iron Hand. The Dragon Lord Above All!"
"Excellent," Kai Xiusu murmured, feeling the power of the covenant.
His eyes shimmered with molten ripples, and from his body, tiny sparks of light—living fire—flew outward like embers.
No longer did he need the crude method of blood-drawing. As the heir of the Ancestral Dragon, he could bestow the gift with a mere thought. A fraction of his strength sufficed to release the magical essence of Bloodfire, the true essence of Dragon blood.
The glowing embers entered each boy’s body.
Within their veins, mortal blood transformed—infused with elemental fury, reborn as the fiery, potent blood of a Red Dragon. It surged through their arteries like molten lightning.
Even though Anthony had prepared himself mentally, the moment the transformation struck, he gritted his teeth so hard he feared they’d shatter. He heard cries of agony from his companions—screams torn from throats wracked by unbearable pain.
So hot… it’s like drowning in magma…
His body burned. He curled into a ball, rolling on the floor, skin flushed crimson, steam rising from his flesh in wisps.
In that instant, he was back—back to that unforgettable afternoon. The memory flashed before him: Baron Soli, leering, reaching for the child he once was.
But I need this strength!
Even if I become a monster… even if I become a Dragon’s servant… at least I won’t be treated like an animal for their pleasure!
I want to be a True Human!
He roared in his mind.
This time, he did not cower. Instead, he unleashed a torrent of fierce flames—consuming the detestable figure in a blaze of righteous fury.
Under his skin, scales began to form. A row of horn-like ridges emerged along his back. His once-skeletal frame greedily absorbed the surrounding energy, growing stronger, denser, more powerful.
When the smoke cleared, Anthony still bore the shape of a human—but now, his body pulsed with Dragon traits. Veins of fire ran beneath his skin, and his eyes glowed faintly red.
The other eleven boys were no different—each had undergone the same transformation. Yet, unlike Anthony, they had not endured the psychological toll. The sheer force of the Dragon blood overwhelmed their minds. They collapsed, unconscious, their bodies trembling in the afterglow of transformation.
Only Anthony remained. With arms now armored in dragon scales, he pushed himself up, slowly, painfully, then fell to one knee once more.
His lips twitched.
"Dragon Lord."
At last, he was reborn.
He had bid farewell to the boy who had once huddled in the dark corner of a dungeon, broken and afraid.
(End of Chapter)
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