Chapter 584: Vicious Cycle
"But I swear to you, I never wished for Luke to end up like that. If anything, I wanted him to become the next Dragon just as much as I wanted it for you." The Twelfth Elder swore, as Leo carefully observed the aura around his body, noting that it did not flicker black to signal deceit.
"I only ever wanted to become the next First Elder, and I did not care how it happened.
The Cult is a broken place, filled with civilians who care for nothing except the Dragon and the endless war against the Righteous Faction.
Which, although unfortunate, is the only obsession of our people.
So it never mattered how well I governed my territory, or what development I brought to Vorthas.
What mattered to the masses were grand, public spectacles:
Like the Fourth Elder orchestrating a terrorist strike on the Sky-God Arena, or his bold effort to raise Veyr as the next Dragon Candidate....."
*Sigh*
"Over time, I stopped caring about administration or prosperity, because what was the point of raving about development when all the people wanted was blood and revenge?
I became a self-centered fool, I admit that, but it is not unique to me, it is the curse of everyone who sits in the Council." He explained as he tried to justify himself, his words heavy with bitterness as he compared his corruption to theirs.
"It took me thirty years to realize that the First Elder had played me from the very start.
After Noah’s death, when public outrage burned at its highest, there was a chance the balance of power within the Council could have collapsed. If I had sparked a revolt then, who knows what the structure of our governance might look like now?
But instead he cut that possibility short, pulling me into the sphere of politics, where step by step I was reshaped until I became nothing more than another dirty politician.
Yet I do not hate the Cult, nor am I disloyal to it.
I am only selfish." He admitted, as he finished his confession.
*Clap* *Clap* *Clap*
Leo’s applause rang out, sharp and deliberate, as the pieces of the puzzle finally came together in his mind.
He now saw the Cult of Ascension for what it truly was—not a council of wise leaders guiding their people, but a nest of predators locked in an endless struggle for influence, each willing to sacrifice anything, even the lives of Dragon Candidates, to secure their own rise.
Here, the lower ranked Elders sent potential Dragons on suicidal training trials, not to forge them into warriors for the glory of the Cult, but to ensure that if a Dragon did emerge, it would be tied to their hand and not another Elder’s.
And for them, every life placed on the line, every youth pushed to the brink of death, was nothing more than a pawn in the race for political dominance.
At the center of it all stood the First Elder, the untouchable King, and every other Elder clawed and scraped for his throne.
Unfortunately for them, the only way to ever claim that seat was through popularity that stretched across the entire Cult.
But popularity did not come from governance.
Nor did it come from building cities, raising standards of living, or advancing science and medicine, as those things barely registered in the eyes of the commoners.
The people of the Cult had been shaped from birth to believe their purpose was singular: fight, bleed, and reclaim the Cult’s glory.
From the classroom in schools to the family home, from long-standing traditions to open demonstrations, every voice echoed the same creed—serve the Dragon, destroy the Righteous Faction, and restore what was lost.
That was all the citizens ever cared about, because it was all they had ever been allowed to care about.
So in such a world, an Elder’s worth was judged not by his wisdom or fairness, but by the blood he spilled and the Dragons he raised.
The Fourth Elder had etched his name into history not with reforms or vision, but by orchestrating a terror strike on the Sky-God Arena and parading Veyr as the next great hope.
These were the acts that stirred the masses, not decades of careful governance.
It was a vicious cycle, a trap without escape. Any Elder who dared to chart a different course, to speak of prosperity over vengeance, would be devoured in the next election by rivals who spoke the language of blood and Dragons.
And No one resisted the cycle, because the cycle defined survival itself.
Leo’s jaw tightened, his fists curling so hard that his knuckles turned white.
"So this is why the Elders sabotage the Dragon before he reaches his peak," he said at last, his voice low with seething fury. "Because the moment a Dragon grows beyond the Council’s grasp, he ceases to be their weapon and becomes his own master. And that is what they fear the most."
Leo said, as the Twelfth Elder lowered his gaze and nodded.
"Noah was on the verge of becoming a Monarch, and that’s exactly why I think he was killed.
If he became a Monarch, he would no longer be subservient to the Council’s whims, nor be obliged to follow their commands, which would not be a good look for them.
And it is also why you having two Monarch level servants under you has put you in our cross-hair.
Currently, it’s election season, so no Elder wants to risk taking a big step.
But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone set you up in the near future.
Afterall, a Shadow Dragon who has more power than the Council is not good for politics." The Twelfth Elder admitted, as Leo shook his head in disbelief.
The Elders Council was a cancer for the Cult.
They were the butchers who clipped the Dragon’s wings before he could fly, just because they feared not being able to catch him once he left.
"So they want to set me up, huh? Alright.... Let them come...." Leo said as he unsheathed his dagger and began walking menacingly towards the Twelfth Elder.