Chapter 297: A tattoo’d man
"When the true Dragon rises... the cult will rise with him. That, I am sure of!" Soron said confidently, and it was that unwavering certainty that finally put Mavern at ease.
It wasn’t that Mavern did not believe in the ancient prophecy.
Like every true follower of the cult, he too believed in the eventual rise of the Dragon. But centuries of failure had slowly begun to wear down that faith.
"There’s a boy," Mavern said carefully. "He was born on a mana-less planet, but after a series of life-altering events, he’s now a prime candidate to become the next Dragon.
The Twelfth Elder is nurturing him currently, though he refuses to bring him into the cult’s fold until the boy is truly ready."
"A mana-less planet, you say? Haha... yes, I remember," Soron chuckled, his tone lightening.
"My father— being the shameless womanizer that he was— used to frequent those planets outside the Rainbow Stream, always convinced that true beauty could only be found where mana did not reach."
He paused, then added, "I’ve never met the Twelfth Elder personally, but if I recall correctly, he was the sworn brother of the previous Dragon, wasn’t he?"
When Mavern nodded, Soron smiled faintly.
"If he’s the one nurturing the next Dragon... then I have high hopes for the boy."
Mavern shook his head.
"The boy is nothing like Noah... he’s cold, ruthless, calculating. The kind of warrior who’d sell out the cult to save his own skin— and sleep just fine afterward.
I’m not sure I want someone like that carrying the title of Dragon. But even so, he still feels like a better candidate than what the Fourth Elder is raising."
Soron smiled faintly at the words.
"You and all the First Elders before you have been fixated on raising a Dragon with the right ethical standards. But it might be time to reconsider. Perhaps it’s wiser to place your faith in someone who values survival over ideals. A pragmatic Dragon who looks after himself might outlast a noble one who throws his life away for others. In the end, a colder Dragon could be exactly what the cult needs right now."
With that, Soron slowly rose to his feet, prompting Mavern to do the same.
"I understand... thank you for your time, my lord," Mavern said, bowing deeply before making his way toward the exit, with Soron silently accompanying him.
"Don’t worry about the cult being wiped out just yet, child," Soron said, stopping by the doorway. "I may be growing old, but I’m still strong enough to protect us for at least another century. Even if the righteous faction attacks, they won’t get far. That much, I assure you."
With that, he shut the door behind Mavern, sending him off with a rare peace of mind.
Mavern had come seeking guidance on how to stabilize the cult. And though he received no clear instructions, he left with the resolve he needed to face the storm ahead.
’Trust and nurture the next Dragon.’
That was Soron’s advice, and so that was exactly what he intended to do.
But the question remained: who would that Dragon be?
’Can Leo Skyshard really become the next Dragon?’ Mavern wondered, as he made his way back from the Lost Forest.
Leo might not have been his first choice, but right now, he was the only candidate they had left as the Fourth Elder’s pick was simply an abomination that wasn’t even worth considering.
—-----------
(Meanwhile, at an undisclosed training ground, domain of the Fourth Elder)
A tall man covered in glowing runes and countless tattoos stood amidst a field of fresh corpses, his body drenched in blood while his expression remained devoid of emotion, as though slaughter was no different from breathing to him.
There was nothing human about the way he looked or moved, as his form resembled that of a half-demon more than any man alive, and if only a pair of horns jutted from his skull, he could have passed for one without question.
From head to toe, his skin was inked with shifting sigils that pulsed faintly with light, wrapping around his limbs like living circuitry, as the markings were not ornamental but alive, flickering with energy while feeding off something unseen..... something stolen.
He crouched beside the nearest body, placing one hand over the chest of the slain warrior, as for a brief second, the air around them shimmered— and then, like smoke pulled into a flame, a thin stream of silver mist began to rise from the corpse.
The man inhaled slowly as the essence from the corpse was drawn into his palm, the runes along his forearms flaring brighter with each passing second, while his muscles tightened, his eyes darkened, and his entire body drank in the spirit without leaving a trace behind.
[Spirit Drain]— that was the name of the method he had just used to steal the energy of a dead man’s soul, as within the cult, it was considered one of the forbidden techniques, taught to no one but the true Dragon himself.
"Haha..."
Chuckling softly, the man rose to his feet, his breath calm and measured, while the ground around him still bore the chaos of the slaughter he had unleashed.
Seven kills. Seven spirits harvested. And still, his hunger remained.
"L-Lord Veyr..." a voice stammered from behind, timid and uncertain, as an assistant stepped into view, trying not to look at the broken bodies that still twitched in death. "The Fourth Elder has asked for a progress report... he wishes to know when you will break through to the Transcendent realm, so that you may be presented as the next Dragon."
Veyr did not turn to face him.
He raised his hand instead, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek while studying the crimson trail it left across his fingers, almost as though the texture fascinated him more than the question.
"Tell him I’ll reach the Transcendent threshold in two months," he said plainly, while his voice remained unshaken and composed. "Tell him he can unveil me then."
The assistant nodded quickly, bowing without further question as he backed away, for everyone under the Fourth Elder’s service knew the truth now.
Veyr wasn’t just another Dragon Candidate.
He was a prodigy unlike any seen in centuries— one who had already received some of the cult’s most sacred and coveted techniques to set him on the path to inheriting the Dragon’s mantle.
From the Second Elder, he had received the ancient power ritual that etched most of the glowing tattoos across his body, while from the Fourth Elder, he had been granted [Spirit Drain]— a forbidden method designed to help the true Dragon ascend realms faster than any traditional warrior.
But Veyr cared little for the honor of such gifts.
To him, the prophecy and the mission of saving the cult meant nothing.
While the prestige of becoming the Dragon meant even less.
Being someone through whose veins the blood of the Timeless Assassin flowed richly, there was only one thing that mattered to him, which was his own strength.
And if pretending to be the next Dragon would help him obtain strength faster, then he was ready to play the part of the Dragon...until there were no benefits to extract from playing it anymore.