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Morning settled over his domain with a soft, pale light. Mist clung to the forest floor, curling around roots and stones like a living thing as John descended from his night patrol. The silence was the same as ever—heavy, watchful—but internally, he felt more awake than he had in days.
His encounter at the lake had changed something in him. Maybe it was the sense of being watched by a higher existence. Maybe it was the realization that he'd outgrown this forest. Or maybe it was the growing hunger in his chest—an instinct pushing him toward something greater.
John landed atop a ridge of stone, folding his wings slowly as he looked out over the horizon once more. His gaze drifted east, to where the forest gradually thinned and distant mountains framed the rising sun. Somewhere beyond those mountains, he'd heard whispers—rumors carried by monsters with enough intelligence to speak.
He replayed the memory, the voice of a defeated beast echoing in his mind:
"Long-ear beings… east… not human… dangerous…"
Long ears.
John didn't know much about this world, but even he could guess. "Elves," he murmured.
The name felt strange on his tongue. He remembered them only faintly—fragments from his past life, stories, games, mythology. Graceful, proud, magically gifted. But those were human tales.
What elves here were like… he had no idea.
But he needed someone.
Not a beast. Not a mindless predator. Someone who understood the world. Someone who could speak, reason, explain. Someone who could tell him more than just instinct-driven growls.
Because for all his growing power, for all the confidence simmering under his scales, John understood something painfully clear:
He knew almost nothing about the world he now planned to conquer.
The thought soured his pride, but he accepted it. Pride without knowledge was just stupidity wearing armor.
He needed information.
He needed an ally—at least temporarily.
And the only intelligent race he'd heard of so far… was east.
But the idea of flying straight into an unknown settlement—while in his towering, monstrous dragon form—made even his instincts hesitate.
If elves existed, they would not welcome a dragon.
They would hunt him.
They would fear him.
And fear led to arrows, traps, magic, and war.
John snorted, a puff of dark smoke curling around his snout. "The moment they see me? I'm a threat."
He wasn't wrong. He had no humanoid form. No way to hide. No way to communicate beyond growls and roars. Even intelligent monsters barely understood him. A civilized race would see him first, judge him first, and attack first.
Worse, if they were magically skilled—as elves were often rumored to be—he might face enemies far beyond the Tier 5 monsters he'd been hunting.
John flexed his claws, feeling the stone crack beneath him. "I can't go there weak."
It wasn't fear that made him say it. It was caution. Even dragons needed caution.
His gaze drifted back west, toward the deeper wilds where colossal beasts roamed unseen. He wanted to challenge them someday. Wanted to prove himself. But not yet. Not until he learned more.
His tail curled and uncurled slowly.
"So my next step…" he murmured, "…is to grow stronger. Much stronger."
The forest rustled below him—small beasts stirring in the underbrush. They sensed his presence, his aura, and scampered away. Once, that would have amused him. Now, it just reminded him how far below his ambition this place had fallen.
His domain was a cradle. Safe, familiar. But dragons didn't grow in safe places.
John paced along the ridge, thinking.
He needed strength. He needed information. He needed allies—or at least neutral ground. And to get any of those, he had to be strategic.
He found a clearing and sat, coiling his tail neatly behind him. The morning sun glinted across his black scales, reflecting streaks of violet from the mana pulsing beneath his skin. He lifted his gaze east again.
The elf territory, if it existed, would be dangerous.
And full of powerful monsters.
Stronger than the beasts he hunted now.
Stronger than the ones that fled from his aura.
Perfect.
His lips curled into a smirk. "If the east is stronger, then that's where I grow."
He didn't intend to meet the elves immediately. Not until he reached a point where their strongest couldn't simply kill him in a single strike.
Not until he could command attention—not fear.
And to achieve that…
He needed evolution.
He needed his next rank.
Dragon Child. Tier 5 High.
Almost Tier 6.
Almost, but not enough.
John narrowed his eyes, a hot pulse of determination rising inside him. "I need to reach Tier 6 before I approach them."
The system remained silent, but he could feel its cold acknowledgment. Tier 6 was a threshold—one that separated lesser monsters from apex predators. A Tier 6 creature could crush forests. A Tier 6 creature was acknowledged across the wilds.
A Tier 6 dragon…
Would be impossible to ignore.
Not a beast to be hunted.
A force to negotiate with.
John lowered his head, tapping his claws on the ground thoughtfully. "So the plan is simple."
Simple, but not easy.
"Grow stronger. Push my limits. Hunt beasts beyond this forest. Expand my domain." His tail swished, scattering leaves. "And once I hit Tier 6…"
He paused, imagining it.
Meeting elves.
Not as prey.
Not as a random monster.
As a dragon.
As a power.
He didn't want to conquer them—not yet. He didn't even know if they would be enemies or allies. But they were his first step toward understanding the world.
And understanding was the foundation of conquest.
The wind shifted again. John felt it from the east—a faint pulse in the air. A current of mana brushing against his senses. Something powerful moved in that direction, far away but unmistakable.
He froze, instincts sharpening.
Another presence.
Large.
Old.
Silent.
Something that wasn't watching him from shadows like the lake entity—but moving with purpose, carrying an aura that felt almost… ethereal.
A higher-tier existence.
John's heart pounded once, hard. "So the east isn't just elves…"
No.
There were predators there.
Predators that made even his blood heat with both fear and excitement.
He rose to his full height, wings spreading wide enough to cast a long shadow over the clearing.
"Good," he rumbled.
His instincts thrummed in agreement. To grow, he needed pressure. He needed challenges. He needed to step beyond the comfort of his forest and into territory where even dragons were not guaranteed survival.
He lifted his wings, ready to take flight—but then stopped himself.
Not yet.
Preparation first. Training. Hunt the remaining strong monsters near the borders of his domain. Sharpen his instincts. Strengthen his mana core. Grow in both body and power.
He wasn't running into the east blindly. He wasn't stupid.
He had ambition—but ambition paired with caution was how dragons survived.
"How ironic," he whispered. "A dragon planning."
But he didn't smile.
He meant it.
He took one last look at the eastern horizon, eyes glowing bright with determination.
The world beyond the forest was vast, filled with unknown dangers, unknown races, unknown powers. And he was still young. Still a child by draconic standards.
But he would not remain a child for long.
His wings snapped open.
He roared—long, sharp, echoing across the trees. A roar not of dominance, but promise.
"I'm coming."
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
But soon.
He would grow.
He would meet the elves.
He would step onto the world stage.
Dragon Child or not—
The world would feel his presence.
And it would remember the name John Davis.
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