Chapter 589: Red Dragon's Vertical Pupil
"True Dragon Mage, Elemental Master, Bloodscaled Fury, Carved Skin Dragon. Four Advancement classes combined into one. Even if I’m just a dragon, I’d say I’m definitely a Hexagonal Warrior among my kind."
Kai Xiusu glanced down at the glowing runes etched across his scales, then used his thick, powerful limbs to steadily push himself upright. He spread his wings wide—the membrane’s trailing edge connecting far behind his hind legs, beneath his tail, its surface shimmering with a pale blue hue like metal burning in fire.
His massive, dignified head lifted high, four great horns curving back, each crowned with the Supreme True Dragon Crown, blazing with radiant power. Every scale across his body shimmered with a metallic red luster, adorned with intricate, masterfully carved runes that formed a living armor, radiating an overwhelming aura.
Spine and tail bristled with sharp, dagger-like scale spines. His maw was lined with fangs as sharp as mortal-curved blades, and his tail—thick as a siege hammer—was a weapon in itself, turning him into a colossal war machine forged for battle.
After months of Blood Alchemy, Kai Xiusu had elevated the purity of his Ancestral Dragon Blood to a new tier, now rivaling that of dragons from ten thousand years past. During this time, he had greedily absorbed energy from Karex’s corpse, and the entire Empire of Ashen had poured its collective might into sustaining him—precious metals, rare minerals, every resource imaginable.
As a result, this rapidly developing Red Dragon devoured like a ravenous beast. His stomach was a bottomless void, consuming everything that entered his mouth. The effect was undeniable—his body grew at an explosive rate, constantly breaking through the boundaries of his race.
Now, though still in the teenage stage of a dragon’s life—well short of his first mating season—his length had already reached a terrifying fifty meters.
Even in the era of the ancient Dragon Sovereignty, when dragons ruled the Earth, such a size would have marked him as a prodigy. In this Third Era, where dragons were scarce and the gods had vanished, he was nothing short of a miracle.
If Dragon Scholars knew his true age and saw his current form, they’d surely gasp in disbelief: “Wait… he’s only eight?”
Even the largest among common True Dragons—Primordial Golden Dragons and Ancient Red Dragons—rarely exceeded thirty-six meters in length. And only a select few with innate talent could endure for millennia to reach the rank of Primordial Dragon. Most dragons fell before reaching the Ancient stage, worn down by time or slain by enemies.
So what did it mean for a Red Dragon, only twenty-something years old, to grow to fifty meters?
In the eyes of humanoid beings, it’d be like a toddler—still learning to walk—suddenly growing to three meters tall. It defied all reason.
The Empire of Ashen was now known across the Feiansuo Continent. And the most controversial topic? Their Emperor—a terrifying Red Dragon.
In all scholarly reports, even the most daring researchers estimated the Emperor’s age at around two hundred. Yet even that claim was met with skepticism from the academic elite.
If someone claimed he was only twenty… the Dragon Scholars would scoff, mock, and perhaps even launch a full-blown scholarly condemnation.
Kai Xiusu casually picked up a fire essence crystal over a meter long, tossed it into his mouth like a snack. A crisp crunch echoed from his bloody maw, accompanied by the crackling of air and roaring flames.
Intense heat erupted inside his jaws—so fierce that wisps of blue smoke curled from between his teeth. Yet most of the energy surged down his throat, flooding his body like a torrent, fueling his relentless growth.
As he chewed, Kai Xiusu gazed southward. His pale golden eyes flickered with flame-light, their depths brimming with uncontainable ambition.
"Now, with the Empire’s backing, the Three Great Kingdoms have been reduced to weakness. Victoria Harbor, the High Mountain Kingdom, Serrynia—our agents are in place. It’s time for the Empire to step onto the stage of the Feiansuo Continent."
"Lurking in concealment for so long… I wonder, now, if I can truly defeat the true Divinely Chosen Ones, the Manifestations of the Gods."
Kai Xiusu wasn’t blindly confident. He now commanded the Empire of Ashen, wielding four elite Advancement classes: True Dragon Mage, Bloodscaled Fury, Elemental Master, and Carved Skin Dragon. His spellcasting, close-combat prowess, and wealth far surpassed even other dragons of his rank—let alone the blank-slate ones.
Sorcerers and mages were fragile beside him. Warriors and monks seemed clumsy in comparison.
His old flaw—uncontrollable rage, susceptibility to Abyssal Will—had been erased after acquiring the Demon Slayer and Iron Will talents. His final weakness was gone.
Now, the only way to defeat him was through sheer, overwhelming strength. His so-called "weakness" had vanished.
He stared at his character sheet, scanning the dense data in the human-supplies tab—until a small, unassuming line caught his eye.
[Challenge Rating: 30 (155,000 experience points)]
A fierce grin tugged at the corner of Kai Xiusu’s lips. His golden eyes reflected countless cityscapes, regional projections—visions of empires yet to fall.
"Residents of the Feiansuo Continent… prepare yourselves. The Dragon’s descent is coming."
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In the southeast of the Ugo Great Plain, the Bonefield Plain.
This was the river mouth of the Bindler River—the widest stretch within the High Mountain Kingdom. The river’s silt had carved out vast, open plains, making it one of the few fertile regions in the otherwise barren Ugo Great Plain.
As such, the land had become a battleground for clans. Ogres fought over it for over a thousand years, changing hands more than ten times in endless skirmishes.
Only after the Crimson Blood Tribe unified the Ugo Grasslands—merging all the Ogre clans—did the conflict finally subside.
The name “Bonefield” was no mystery. Every war left behind countless broken corpses. And during each orcish invasion of the High Mountain Kingdom, the fallen bodies would tumble into the river, their bones carried downstream, buried beneath the soil.
After every battle, the river ran red with blood. The Ogres, mocking the tragedy, called it the “Beast Blood River.”
Now, after the brutal Battle of Black Stone Mountain, the river ran red again—this time tainted with the residue of explosions.
Under Batu Skullcrusher’s command, the Ogres had nearly broken through Aivendeldan. They were closer than ever to achieving their dream—after thousands of years of striving.
But in the end… they were still just one step short.
(End of Chapter)
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