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Chapter 569: God of Dominion
Duke Aiden stared intently at the bronze dragon depicted in the ancient book, murmuring in delight as he clapped his hands. “Perfect! Simply perfect! Who would have thought we’d stumble upon such a fortunate surprise?”
He closed The Guide to Dragons of Feanso, placing it gently upon the desk before him. Then, rising from the sofa, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, facing the wall adorned with portraits of every Duke of the Silver Family throughout the ages. Spreading his arms wide, he could not suppress a heartfelt exclamation: “My daughter, you may have just brought us the favor of an Ancient Bronze Dragon! That would be priceless! For centuries to come, the Silver Family could thrive on such a bond!”
Hearing his father’s excitement, even the usually stoic Heloviz found herself rising to her feet, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Duke Aiden turned and resumed pacing the grand hall. “Heloviz, you’ve seen that magical image from the North, haven’t you?”
Heloviz gave a soft nod. “Yes, Father. Old Division Koshik showed me the projection a week ago. If it wasn’t a phantom illusion, then this Red Dragon Emperor must be terrifying—far beyond the reach of any mortal. It’s as if… it’s a being from myth itself.”
The memory of that dragon—its wings blotting out the sky—had stirred a flicker of fear in even Heloviz’s violet irises.
She paused, then continued: “It’s like the legends speak of monsters—serpents that swallow the world, giants with a hundred arms. The Root of such a creature should never have emerged in the Third Era, where gods have withdrawn and mortals rule their own fates.”
Duke Aiden sighed, his voice heavy. “Indeed. Such a dragon—its power is beyond our reach. If the glory of the Holy Faedran Empire still stood, I might feel a little more at ease. But now? The three kingdoms tear at one another, the Empire of Ashen from the North looms like a storm, and I fear…”
He looked up, his gaze fixed on the massive map of the Feiansuo Continent hanging on the wall. “I fear that on some future day, that Red Dragon will march south, annex the Thrace Kingdom, and leave us utterly defenseless. And Victoria Harbor—our most prosperous and wealthy city—will fall into the hands of a greedy, fire-breathing tyrant. What then, for the Silver Family?”
He turned to Heloviz, his expression grave. “Only an ancient Metal Dragon could stand against such a beast. Heloviz, you may have just found our last hope.”
Heloviz replied, “Father, King Wilhelm of Thrace is no ordinary man. He is a divine offspring of an Angel, equal in power to any dragon. And besides—whether the Empire of Ashen will even move south remains uncertain. Some dragon scholars claim the Red Dragon is merely a greedy lord, easily appeased with enough gold.”
Duke Aiden gave a wry smile. “Perhaps I’m overthinking. But the North is rife with dragons, the East teems with warring kingdoms, the South harbors the Dragon Witch Cult, the seas are filled with Naga, the Abyss sends forth demons, and the undead stir in the shadows. The continent is chaos incarnate. I’m on edge every moment, sleepless with dread that my family’s legacy—built over centuries—might be lost in my hands.”
Heloviz stepped beside him, whispering, “It won’t happen, Father.”
In the hearts of Victoria Harbor’s people, Duke Aiden was known as a noble of cold dignity. His tenderness was reserved solely for his only daughter. Only when he was with Heloviz did his stern mask soften into rare, genuine smiles.
Suddenly, Duke Aiden noticed the dust smudges on her clothes. It struck him—his daughter had just survived a long-planned ambush. Had it not been for The Hermit, she might not have returned at all.
His expression darkened. His gaze turned icy. “By the way, Heloviz—describe the cult again. Who dares attack our caravan near Victoria Harbor? They must be eager for death.”
His voice was colder than winter.
Heloviz answered calmly. “Father, they call themselves the Cult of the Lord of Dominion. They claim their deity is all-knowing, all-powerful. Their leader wields powerful psionic energy—certainly at the level of a high-tier mage. The void he summoned was no less potent than the spells of Old Division Koshik.”
“The Lord of Dominion… I’ve heard that name before,” Duke Aiden murmured, stroking his neatly trimmed beard in thought.
After a pause, he turned to the servant standing at the door. “Vinsent. Go to the Family Archive Room. Find every piece of intelligence we have on the so-called ‘God of Dominion.’”
“Yes, Lord Duke.”
Vinsent bowed and departed swiftly, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Victoria Harbor, the largest and most bustling port city in the Silvermoon Bay, was a melting pot of chaos—home to hundreds of armed factions and countless cult regiments. As commander of the Mithril Hand Mercenaries Regiment, Aiden collected every scrap of intelligence from his subordinates, storing it in the archives for future use and to maintain order within the city.
Within moments, Vinsent returned, holding a stack of documents—newspapers, search warrants, wanted posters.
“Lord Duke, all available intelligence on the Cult of the Lord of Dominion is here. The cult first emerged eleven years ago, initially recruiting desperate souls from the lower districts. For a decade, it remained obscure—nowhere near as infamous as the Church of the Deepsea Dominion, The Returners, or the Baal Cult.”
He pulled out a fresh stack. “But since last July, their activities have surged. Twenty-one disappearances, twelve murders—all linked to them. The Mithril Hand has investigated repeatedly, but never found their nest. And outside the city, they’ve been recruiting massive numbers of Goblins, Ogres, and other monsters as followers. That’s all we have on the cult, Lord Duke.”
Vinsent laid the documents before Duke Aiden, then bowed slightly and stood at attention.
Aiden flipped through the papers slowly. “Recruiting monsters in bulk to form an army… That explains it. No wonder the roads north have been plagued by raids. A full-fledged monster army has emerged.”
Slam!
He slammed the documents onto the table—sharp, cold.
Hmph. They dare to attack near Victoria Harbor? They must have powerful backing. And to even think of kidnapping my daughter… They won’t get away with it.
“Simon Amorim.”
“Sir.”
The Knight Commander of the Mithril Hand, standing guard at the door, entered with swift, confident strides. He dropped to one knee in respectful salute.
Simon was in his late thirties, tall and powerfully built, a jagged scar stretching across half his face. Rescued from the War Flames as a child, he’d been raised by the Silver Family, trained in the finest knightly arts. He’d served Duke Aiden for over twenty years and was known as the sharpest blade in the family’s arsenal—rumored to be nearing Legendary status.
Aiden tossed the documents at him. “Simon, I want you to deploy the Mithril Hand’s most elite forces to investigate this ‘God of Dominion’ cult. But—don’t alert them. Move quietly. Keep them from discovering us.”
Simon picked up the page bearing the cult’s intelligence, scanning it swiftly. “Yes, sir.”
He was a man of action—efficient, loyal, and ruthless in execution. He followed orders without hesitation.
Suddenly, Heloviz snapped her fingers. “Father! I just remembered something—The Hermit called the cultists ‘insects.’ And he seemed… familiar with them. This wasn’t his first encounter.”
“Ah?” Duke Aiden’s brows snapped together. His expression hardened.
The Hermit—an Ancient Bronze Dragon who had slumbered for four centuries. Before that, Victoria Harbor didn’t even exist. If he knew of this cult, then it couldn’t be a new, insignificant sect. It had to be ancient—rooted in the depths of history.
A new cult versus a centuries-old faith were worlds apart. And the Silver Family itself—though powerful—had only risen from the War Flames two centuries ago.
The thought chilled him. He turned to Heloviz. “Is The Hermit still in Victoria Harbor?”
“Yes. He said he’d wander around for a while.”
“Can you reach him?”
“Of course.”
Heloviz pulled a pale green ancient coin from her pocket. “This is his token. He said if I toss it into the air, he’ll appear instantly.”
Duke Aiden raised a hand. “Wait. Don’t use it yet.”
He turned to Vinsent. “Fetch Koshik, and the other two Knight Commanders. Now.”
“Yes, Lord Duke.”
Moments later, a mage in deep blue robes, holding a mithril scepter, entered with graceful poise, bowing deeply. “Good morning, Duke Aiden. Forgive the delay.”
This was Koshik Haiden—the Silver Family’s chief mage, master of the Coastal Mage Tower, and disciple of the Great Sage Tralfranlo. A man of vast knowledge, one of the few High-level Mages in the Feiansuo Continent—nearly a Legendary, just one spark of inspiration away from greatness.
“Koshik,” Duke Aiden acknowledged with a nod.
Then the door opened again. Two knights in silver armor hurried in, dropping to one knee.
“Lord Duke.”
Fyodo Pet and Jenny Aldis—co-commanders of the Mithril Hand, loyal and formidable in battle.
Koshik glanced at the two, sweat still glistening on their brows. “Duke Aiden, you’ve summoned us urgently. What is it?”
“More than urgent,” Aiden replied. “This could change the fate of the Silver Family.”
Koshik’s expression darkened. The other commanders stilled, their eyes fixed on their leader.
Aiden nodded slowly, surveying the gathered nobles and warriors. “Today, we welcome a guest unlike any other. His status… you would never guess.”
He paused, letting the silence hang.
“A Bronze Dragon. An Ancient. Awakened after four centuries of deep slumber.”
“What?!”
The room erupted in shock. Even Koshik gasped aloud.
Koshik gripped his scepter tightly, voice trembling. “Duke… forgive me, but I must correct you. Ancient Dragons are typically between eight hundred and a thousand years old. A Bronze Dragon capable of sleeping for four centuries… that would have to be Ancient—at the very least.”
An Ancient Bronze Dragon.
As Tralfranlo’s student, he understood the weight of such a being. The famed Silver Wings Oszedro, who had saved the Prime Material Plane and repelled Abyssal invasions, was only an Ancient Silver Dragon.
Even Tralfranlo, his master, treated Oszedro as a guest of honor—courteous, humble, and reverent.
To have an Ancient Bronze Dragon step into Victoria Harbor? For the Silver Family, it would be an honor beyond measure.
Koshik’s breath quickened. He straightened his robes, adjusting his collar—afraid of any imperfection.
Servants brought in mountains of gold. Based on The Guide to Dragons of Feanso, they gathered items a Bronze Dragon might enjoy—crystals, rare ores, enchanted artifacts—and arranged them with care.
After hours of discussion, guided by Koshik’s advice on proper Dragon etiquette, the grand hall was finally ready.
Aiden adjusted his beard one last time, smoothing it into perfect order. “Heloviz,” he said, “begin the preparation.”
“Yes, Father.”
Heloviz nodded. In the tense silence, she drew the ancient bronze coin from her pocket and gently tossed it into the air.
Ping—
The crisp chime rang through the hall. All breaths stilled.
The space before them warped—then shattered like glass.
The protective wards Koshik had cast throughout the room? They remained silent. As if the rift had bypassed them effortlessly.
Then, a calm, deep voice echoed through the hall.
“Miss Heloviz. Forgive the wait. But you were right—Victoria Harbor is indeed a fine city. I rather like it here.”
All eyes turned toward the rift.
A man stepped through—clad in a gray cloak, wielding a bronze staff.
(End of Chapter)
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