Chapter 424: The News Breaks Out
(Across Cult Territories, The Day of the Announcement)
When the announcement about the next Dragon being chosen finally became public, the emotions it aroused from the masses were nothing short of cataclysmic.
They had been waiting for their next messiah for over three long decades—thirty years of silence, thirty years of fractured hope, thirty years of watching the Cult stagger through uncertainty without its spiritual leader.
And then, without warning, one fine morning as sunlight cracked over the horizon, it happened.
The skies on each and every single Cult controlled planet flickered with shimmering glyphs and projection banners, each spelling out a singular message.
[ In 57 days, the next Dragon will be chosen! ]
The news burst through radio towers and satellite streams, rolled off the tongues of holographic anchors, and echoed across every corridor of the Cult’s domains.
From high-tech metropolises to mountain-side hamlets clinging to the edge of the world, the same message rang out in perfect unison.
["The Elders Council declares: The Next Dragon shall be chosen in 57 days’ time.
Two candidates, Leo Skyshard, a Grandmaster-tier warrior, and Aegon Veyr, a Transcendent-tier warrior, have been shortlisted by the Council.
These two will face one another in a public match to determine who shall bear the title of the Dragon.
Further details regarding the venue and combat protocols will be released shortly..."]
The moment those words were spoken, entire city blocks came to a halt.
Work ceased without command.
Schools released children mid-lesson, shoppers stood mid-bargain in market streets, hands still gripping half-weighed produce.
Even trains paused mid-transit as conductors choked on the breath they were holding.
And for one brief moment, a silence deeper than any dead battlefield’s fell over every Cult-controlled world.
Until it shattered—
With sobs.
Old men wept openly beneath stone statues of Dragons long passed, reaching out with wrinkled fingers as if trying to grasp the presence of something divine.
Elderly women collapsed to their knees right where they stood, clinging to prayer beads as if the announcement itself had poured holy mana into the world, weeping uncontrollably with joy they hadn’t dared feel in decades.
Veteran soldiers stood in parade stance by instinct, turning to face the notification screens in their cities as they raised trembling hands in salute, while battle-hardened warriors who had long buried their emotions behind scars and protocol now bowed their heads, overcome by something no words could encapsulate.
Mothers clutched their children tighter than ever before, kneeling beside them, whispering dreams into their ears through tear-streaked cheeks.
"Grow strong, my love.
Grow fast.
Train with pride and honor.
For the Dragon shall rise again... and perhaps you will live long enough to serve under him."
Even in places where the light of the Cult barely reached.....
Remote border towns, swamp colonies, half-forgotten spaceports and cliffside monasteries...
Even there, people gathered barefoot in dusty squares, huddled together around flickering old-world screens powered by salvaged cores, straining to hear the names as they were read aloud.
Leo Skyshard.
Aegon Veyr.
Two names.
Two warriors.
And a promise so old and sacred it was etched into the bones of the land itself.
"The Dragon would walk again....."
As within a few hours of this announcement being made public, recruitment offices that had been shuttered for years reopened with a renewed enthusiasm, only to be mobbed by a flood of new pledges.
Teenagers too young to wield a blade and elders far past their prime stood shoulder to shoulder in those lines, unified by purpose, unified by faith.
They came in droves, declaring with clenched fists and proud eyes that they would train, they would bleed, they would serve, because the Dragon was returning and they wanted their lives to mean something when he did.
This wasn’t politics.
This wasn’t propaganda.
This was faith in its absolute purest, blindest form.
Ballads thought lost to time were sung again, echoing from balconies, taverns, and temple steps alike.
Ancient verses were dusted off and given new breath, as flames of old pride flared back to life in every forgotten corner of the Cult’s shattered territories.
Fireworks ignited the night sky without ceremony or order, as the commoners expressed their joy over the Dragon’s return.
And yet, buried beneath all the faith and fervor, a different energy stirred in whispered corners.
Curiosity.
Doubt.
Wonder.
Leo Skyshard.
Aegon Veyr.
These names now belonged to mythic figures.
They were debated over steaming tea in kitchens and shouted across training halls.
They were the first and last words on every channel.
They were written into chalk drawings by children and chiseled onto the walls of alleys by wandering monks.
But who were they... really?
Aegon Veyr was a mystery. A name never heard before today, a prodigy raised away from the public eye, molded in secret by the Council’s hand, rumored to be powerful but untested.
And then... there was Leo Skyshard.
Leo, the prodigy from the Righteous Territories, the boy who crossed over and emerged as the Circuit’s Champion of Rodova.
A name whispered with reverence among elite students and feared within military academies across the universe.
A warrior who didn’t need any introduction even within the Cult, where he had many fans after his circuit’s performance.
But he was a Grandmaster.
And his opponent was a Transcendent.
So why had he been chosen?
How was this fair?
Some jeered at the absurdity.
Some claimed corruption or spectacle.
But many, far more than anyone expected, felt excited.
Because when they reviewed Leo’s old match footage....
When they rewatched the Circuits and saw Leo fight without fear, without pause, without weakness.....
When they read the rumoured reports of his battles and the trials he had endured during his time within the Black Serpents, the public opinion shifted.
"Maybe... he is no ordinary Grandmaster."
"Maybe the Elder’s Council sees something in him that we do not."
"Maybe he’s just that special."
"Maybe... he’s someone who transcends tiers."
And so the countdown began.
Fifty-seven days.
Fifty-seven days until the next Dragon rose to reshape the world.
Fifty-seven days until history was carved into stone and blood.
Until one name soared into legend, and became the next holy leader of the Cult Of Ascension.