Artorius stood at the base of the tower's grand staircase, his eyes flicking over the towering structure before him. The silver-gray metal of the building's exterior was cracked and scarred from the previous battle, yet it still held a sense of immense majesty.
This Tower was a place of knowledge and research that spanned 15 floors, each serving a unique purpose in the grand design of the Silver Dragon. The scent of burnt metal, ozone, and ancient knowledge lingered in the air. There was a stillness here now, a silence that was eerily profound, a stark contrast to the chaotic battle that had taken place only days earlier.
The battle had left its mark, and yet, the tower still stood. Now, it was time for Artorius to assess what remained, for he and his forces would need every advantage to survive what was to come in this deadly place.
"Let's take stock," Artorius muttered to himself, stepping forward.
The entrance hall was vast, its vaulted ceilings stretching high above, supported by the spires of ancient stone columns. The intricate mosaics that once decorated the walls were now shattered, their pieces scattered across the floor like fallen shards of forgotten history. Artorius could see remnants of the battle; charred patches of floor, some broken pieces of crystals and the occasional overturned lab equipment. But beneath it all, there was still the presence of something greater, a legacy of knowledge.
He turned left and began moving deeper into the tower, passing through hallways lined with doors. On his right, a laboratory door creaked open, and Artorius peered inside. The lab had once been a pristine place of study, where the Silver Dragon had dabbled in the most forbidden of magics. But now, it was a scene of devastation, papers scattered across the floor, glassware shattered, and bubbling concoctions still smoking faintly in the corners.
Yet, some parts of the lab had survived, including an ancient bookshelf lined with dusty tomes on advanced transmutation, soul magic, and geometric theories. Also he had focused on genetic modification, creating hybrid draconic creatures and experimenting on their abilities
It was here that Artorius felt the pull of the Silver Dragon's obsession with experimentation, particularly with other draconic creatures. These research notes were priceless, and he knew he would need them.
Continuing upstairs he came upon the Crystal Forge, where the Silver Dragon had forged powerful artifacts and weapons infused with draconic essence. The forge itself was an impressive feat of engineering, an intricate lattice of magic and technology woven together. Though the forge had been damaged, the core spark of magic still glimmered. There were resources here; rare ores, enchanted gemstones, and fragments of arcane tech that could be used to craft magical items. This was a treasure trove waiting to be reclaimed.
Ascending the stairs to the Observatory, it was one of the most magnificent chambers in the tower, though it too had suffered from the destructive forces. The large, circular room was mostly intact, and the cracked glass ceiling offered a stunning view of the storm-shrouded sky. A massive runic telescope, though damaged, still functioned at a basic level. It was used to survey the surroundings to scan for approaching threats, spot enemies, and monitor the distant biomes.
With a deep breath, Artorius turned and exited the Observatory. The tower was a vast labyrinth of research facilities, training rooms, and personal chambers that the Silver Dragon had filled with countless relics of knowledge. But it wasn't all treasure; there were dark memories here as well, and Artorius had no intention of lingering too long in these halls of scientific madness.
Artorius descended again, the echo of his boots reverberating through the broken corridors. He'd seen the laboratories, the forges, and the observatory, all priceless but they alone wouldn't feed his forces or rebuild the ruins. He needed resources. Something tangible.
"Where did the Silver bastard keep his hoard?" Artorius muttered, running his hand along the cracked wall. If there was one thing he knew about dragons, no matter their nature, they always had a hoard.
"Ah," Ouroboros drawled from behind, deciding to join him in his touring of the tower as he lazily floated through the air with an almost smug air of amusement. "So you finally start thinking like one of us."
"I'm not a dragon," Artorius said, but there was no bite in his voice.
"Could've fooled me. You've killed one, taken its soul, and now you're looking for its treasure. That's three out of four."
"Just show me where the vault is."
With a flick of his tail, Ouroboros gestured deeper into the tower. "Basement level. The Silver One was paranoid even by dragon standards. Layered seals, runic locks, and an obnoxious number of security glyphs. But it should still open for you now you did kill the owner, after all."
They descended past broken staircases and shattered runes until they reached a sealed archway of gleaming argent metal. It pulsed faintly when Artorius approached, sensing his presence. The runes flickered and rearranged themselves before a deep rumble echoed through the air, the sound of ancient wards disengaging.
The vault door cracked open with a hiss of escaping magic. What lay beyond stole Artorius's breath. Mountains of scales like shimmering piles of metallic color spilled across the chamber like rivers of treasure. Not gold, not jewels, but scales of dragons. Each one gleamed faintly with inner light, resonating with life and power.
There were chests filled with crystallized mana stones, shelves of preserved organs and draconic bones that pulsed with latent energy, and racks of weapons forged from fang and claw. "By the gods…" Artorius whispered, stepping forward.
"Told you he was a hoarder," Ouroboros said, curling lazily around one of the crystalline pillars. "Behold, the Silver Dragon's legacy wealth beyond mortal counting."
Artorius knelt, picking up a shard from one of the piles. It was smooth, warm to the touch, and faintly translucent. He turned it in his hand, studying the shifting patterns of light inside it. "What are these worth?"
Ouroboros gave a satisfied hum, clearly enjoying the moment. "Well you see, in the Dragon Nest, scales are the lifeblood of trade and commerce, whatever little that goes on here. They are the currency. When dragons die, their bodies become part of the Nest, and their scales are harvested, traded, and reforged into wealth."
He slithered closer, gesturing with his claws as he spoke. "It's very convoluted with scales of different dragons of the same rank being equal to different amounts and subranks of scales converting different amounts, but to simplify it for you there are three primary grades:
Lesser Dragon Scales — those come from common or feral dragons, like the one you're holding. They're the most abundant and serve as the base currency. Greater Dragon Scales — rarer, harvested from noble bloodlines or elder descendants. Supreme Dragon Scales — now those…" His tone dropped to something almost reverent. "Those come from true Dragons. A single one of those is worth ten thousand. They're rarer than starlight and can buy armies, artifacts, or even allegiance."
Artorius looked around the vault, noticing that the scales weren't all of one kind. The deeper he looked, the more variation he saw; faint differences in size, sheen, and aura. Some glowed with a dull bronze glimmer, others pulsed with radiant blue or gold.
Artorius moved forward, brushing aside a heap of scales until his feet struck something solid, a small, runic coffer embedded into the floor. The lid was engraved with a crest of interlocking sigils. When he touched it, the crest flashed once and dissolved, recognizing him as the victor.
Inside was a shimmering scale the size of his palm, gleaming like molten silver laced with threads of pale gold. Even Ouroboros went quiet for a moment. "Supreme Scale," the dragon said finally. "How on earth did it find one?"
Artorius picked it up, watching its surface ripple like liquid light. "And what do we do with all this?"
"You rebuild," Ouroboros said. "Use the Lesser ones to pay the warriors, the crafters, the laborers, the scavengers. Trade the Greater scales with nearby factions for resources, metals, herbs, enchantments. Keep the Supreme for yourself. If anyone ever finds out you have one the amount of people coming for you in the Nest will be endless."
-
There was one final stop that Artorius came to, the door hissed open with the sound of something exhaling. A wave of cold air rolled out from the darkness within; sterile, metallic, wrong. Artorius stood at the threshold of the Silver Dragon's main laboratory, his hand resting against the cracked frame. He had thought himself prepared to face anything after the battle… but this place still made his skin crawl. This was his torture room.
The air was too clean, scrubbed of life. Every surface glimmered faintly with dried residue and faint traces of silver dust. Tubes hung from the ceiling like translucent veins, still pulsing faintly with residual energy. He could still hear them if he listened too long faint echoes of screams caught between the crystals, ghosts of the things that had once been trapped here.
Ouroboros drifted in behind him, golden eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "Ah, nostalgia," he said softly. "Nothing says progress like a room full of tortured souls and bad decisions."
"You're enjoying this." Artorius shot him a look, he did not know if he was trying to lift his mood or mocking him, most likely it was both.
"Only because you're not," the small dragon said with a smirk. "Now come along. Try not to brood too much; we have work to do. If you want to survive, you'll need to use what's here. The Silver One's work was deranged, but brilliant. And his research on draconic physiology…" He trailed a claw across the desk, scraping away a thin layer of ash. "It might just be the key to training your body."
"I hate this place," Artorius said under his breath, stepping inside. The echo of his feet sounded far too loud, as if the very walls were listening. Artorius glanced around. Tables lay overturned, glass vials shattered into glittering dust. Yet beneath the chaos, the structure of the lab remained rings of containment glyphs, vats of suspended fluid, arrays of runic interfaces built into the walls. The Silver Dragon's obsession was everywhere.
"See those containment rings?" Ouroboros gesturing toward the central dais. "Those were used to simulate elemental stress; fire, frost, lightning, corrosion, even space exposure. You'll use them to force your draconic mutation to react. Adapt. Harden. It's what we dragons do naturally, only you're cheating."
Artorius exhaled slowly. His instincts screamed to walk away from the room. But he also remembered what Ouroboros had said earlier: "The Nest only respects strength. And strength demanded risk."
"What is this device anyways?" he asked curiously, staring up at the machine.
"The Silver One called it the Draconic Vector Engine. It bends mana levels and gravity fields to simulate extreme environments. The fool used it to push his subjects until they broke." Ouroboros's eyes gleamed. "You, however, can push yourself until you ascend."
Image: https://dragonball.fandom.com/wiki/Gravity_Machine?file=Gravity_ChamberHD.jpg
"Place your hand on it," Ouroboros said, "It's time we take over this machine."
Artorius hesitated, then obeyed, he went over to it and placed a hand on it. The orb was cold to the touch, yet pulsed faintly when his fingers brushed its surface. Then the machine hissed opened, runes unfolding like blooming petals. The light of the Vector Engine reached out, merging with it in a slow, almost reverent motion.
The air rippled. The broken walls of the laboratory seemed to fold, drawn inward toward the orb. Machinery, glyphs, and energy arrays melted into light and were absorbed, collapsing into the device.
Then he watched it shrink, it seemed to collapse in on itself until it became the size of a giant silver orb the size of a bed. Still massive but much smaller than before. "What… happened?" he asked quietly.
"This is your new training room. A portable crucible. Scaled to suit your needs," Ouroboros's grin was pure satisfaction.
Artorius looked at it and asked, "How does it work?"
"Simple," Ouroboros said, clearly pleased with himself. "You feed it mana or blood and it unfolds into its own contained space. The interior exists in a compressed dimensional pocket. It can simulate gravity up to a hundred times normal, saturate the air with elemental energy, even conjure mana storms. Perfect for testing your Adaptability."
He tilted his head. "Though I'd advise you not to start with the hundred-fold setting unless you want your bones to implode."
Artorius couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Noted."
"Want to go for a test run?" Ouroboros asked. "There is no time like the present. If you want to refine yourself into the perfect being you have to get started at some point."
"Maybe another time," he shook his head. "I had enough from before," he muttered.
"Fine," Ouroboros smiled, serpentine and sly. "Then welcome, Artorius, to your Crucible of Evolution. May it burn you into something worthy of your own legend."
-
Artorius walked up to the central courtyard of the tower, where his followers had gathered in a loose formation. Standing before them, he took a moment to survey his forces. A pitiful number, all things considered, and many of them still weak. Only a handful were even near level 5, and the vast majority of them were classless and archetypesless. However, they were his, and he had to make do with.
Deep down there was a sense of excitement in his chest. He could chart his own course, be his own man, and do what he desired. Best of all he had his men… or more like his dragons behind him!
"We have thirty-six of them remaining," Ouroboros said aloud, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Including myself and you."
Artorius said nothing for a long moment, studying the creatures before him. Their eyes watched him some with reverence, some with apprehension, others with nothing but exhaustion.
He looked them over: a diverse mix of draconic creatures, each with its own unique appearance and mutations. Most of them were common draconic types; fire dragons, storm drakes, and venomous wyverns — dragons of lesser rank, feral, scavenger types, some wounded, some raw. But there were three who stood out, whose presence Artorius could feel more acutely.
There was his first follower, the wyvern with the mismatched scales, whose eyes seemed to have life now. Despite its unusual appearance, it was loyal and fierce. Artorius knew this one had the potential for something greater, but for now, it was a wildcard.
Second was the Azure Serpentine Dragon, a majestic creature with shimmering blue scales that reflected the light of the world around it. Its long, sinuous body was both elegant and deadly, and it carried an intelligence in its eyes filled with mischief.
The third was a creature that Artorius had come to know well, the Bull-Headed Snake Dragon. A towering beast with the muscular build of a bull, but the long, serpentine body of a dragon. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a force of nature waiting to be unleashed.
"Each of you will be given a role as War Sergeants," Artorius began. "You will be split into squads. Each squad will have a leader. I am assigning you to these leaders based on your abilities and potential."
He turned to the Bull-Headed Snake Body Dragon first. "You shall lead one of the squads. You are a natural leader, and your strength will guide your squad to victory." He presented the Lancer Class Token to the dragon, watching as its eyes gleamed with recognition. The Bull-headed dragon bowed its head in thanks.
Image: https://www.craiyon.com/en/image/qxPMmB_yS_anvy9mi2sLHg
Next, he turned to the Azure Serpentine Dragon. "You, with your cunning and arcane knowledge, will lead another squad. I bestow upon you the Magician Class Token." The dragon hissed in pleasure, its serpentine form coiling with energy.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/139330182216079360/
Finally, he turned to the Wyvern. "Your time will come soon. You'll get your token, but not yet. For now, you shall lead a squad until we acquire the resources necessary to grant you your Class."
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/14214555069215665/
He nodded, and the three dragons stepped forward, acknowledging their roles. The rest of the forces were divided into squads of ten, with each squad under the direct command of one of the three new squad leaders. There were whispers of excitement among the troops, and Artorius could sense their energy building.
Artorius stepped back, surveying the gathered survivors. "Three squads," he said. "Ten in each. You lead them. Train them, strengthen them. From this day forward…"
His voice carried through the chamber like fire rolling over oil. "You are not prey. You are Draconis Reborn. My flame will be your law."
A ripple went through them first disbelief, then hope. The lesser drakes straightened. The wyvernlings lifted their heads. Even the kobolds' eyes gleamed faintly.
But, as Ouroboros looked over their forces, it was clear that there was little to be proud of. "Pathetic," Ouroboros muttered, his eyes scanning the assembled dragons. "This army is a joke. Anyone could come in and tear them apart. Even you, Artorius."
Artorius looked at his sort of mentor, Ouroboros. The words stung, but he knew they were true. Artorius had no delusions of grandeur this motley crew of broken creatures could barely do much.
He flexed his hand slowly, feeling the quiet thrum of his power. Ouroboros had the right of it, he could break them himself. A single Heroic Blow, charged with the Word of Flame… he could turn them all to vapor.
"Do you think so little of them?" Artorius still asked, though he already knew the answer. "They can't be all bad, they held their ground against the elites of the silver dragons."
"This is a joke of an army, and you know it," Ouroboros replied bluntly. "But you'll be able to make it something more. You'll need more than just leadership, Artorius. You'll need power."
Artorius nodded grimly. "True, but how? So far I noticed a lot of issues but the main thing is this class tokens. I wasn't even able to give enough to my sergeants."
"That is true, the reason is because not only are they very rare and sought after, but they are also shortcuts. You skip the grind of understanding what you are, and the System just shoves it into your soul."
Artorius frowned. "So it's forced enlightenment?"
"Of a sort. Imagine stuffing a library into someone's skull and calling them a scholar. They'll know how to read, sure but they'll never understand the stories."
He turned to his small army that was getting into the swing of training, his sergeants were putting them through the ringer already. He found most draconic creatures to be like draconic creatures. "Then how do most people earn a class?" he turned back to Ouroboros.
The snake stretched, tail curling idly through the air. "There are two ways, the old-fashioned way. Training. You find a master who already holds the class, you learn under them, and once you reach the System's threshold of understanding, it unlocks naturally. It's the steady path, strength built from repetition, discipline, blood, and time."
Artorius nodded his head. "And the other way?"
"The idiot's route." Ouroboros bared a toothy grin. "Do it yourself. You want to be a swordsman? Swing a sword until the world believes you are one. The System follows conviction more than technique. If you fight, you're a fighter. If you protect, you're a guardian. If you burn, you're a pyromancer. The cosmos rewards consistency."
He looked up toward the wyvern, who was overseeing the others as they sorted salvaged weapons. Her mismatched scales shimmered dully under the forge-light. He exhaled slowly. "Ouroboros," he said at last, "what do we do about them? None of them have classes. They can fight, sure, but not well. Can they… learn? I mean, the second way you mentioned, the intuitive path."
The old dragon's tail flicked lazily, golden eyes glinting in the firelight. "Hmm. It's possible. The System doesn't care what you are only that you become something. If they act like warriors long enough, believe it deeply enough, the System will recognize it."
"Then we'll have to earn it the hard way," Artorius spoke. He looked across the chamber at his three newly promoted commanders; Velkra, Tzharun, and Sereneth. The wyvern was overseeing weapon repairs; the bull-headed dragon drilled spear thrusts into dummies of melted crystal; and Sereneth traced glowing runes in the air, teaching younger wyrms to follow the flow of mana.
"They can't all be magicians or lancers," Artorius muttered. "We'll need structure. Cohesion."
Ouroboros yawned, stretching his coils lazily. "Then start simple. The System loves rudimentary basics. They're the bones everything else grows from. You want something quick, stable, and strong? Stick to the basics."
Artorius raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
"Three that have stood the test of every world and age," Ouroboros said. "Spearmen, swordsmen, and archers. Those who thrust, those who cleave, those who strike from afar. They're simple paths, but foundational. Once the System binds them, you can build specializations later — priests, duelists, mages, hunter… whatever fits the bill."
Artorius nodded slowly, already dividing his forces in his mind. "Three squads. Three paths. One per commander."
Ouroboros's tail flicked approvingly. "Good. Let them live their class every waking hour; train, spar, hunt, bleed. Once their intent burns hot enough, the System will take notice. It's how civilizations used to do it before Tokens cheapened everything."
"Then it's decided," Artorius said, voice rising over the hum of forges. "From now on, each squad trains to master one path. Velkra's unit — spears. Tzharun's — swords. Sereneth's — archery. Every day, without fail."
The dragons looked up at him, uncertain but listening. "Eat, fight, and sleep by your weapon. Live by its rhythm until it's part of your soul," he commanded. "We'll earn our classes the hard way, the right way."
Ouroboros chuckled behind him, low and pleased. "Now you're speaking like a real warlord."
-
The lower terraces of the tower had once been a place of storage and transit, just another layer in the Silver Dragon's machine of cruelty. Artorius turned them into a killing ground.
The training ring was open to the Nest's simmering air, encircled by half-collapsed pillars of argent crystal. Molten veins ran through the floor and walls, glowing like buried lava, throwing wavering light over everything. The forge fires in the Atrium below rose through the cracked stone in gusts of heat. It smelled of ash, metal, and old blood.
Perfect place to teach monsters how to be soldiers. Days blurred together. Sleep, eat, train, bleed, repeat. It reminded him of when his father made him train with his family's personal armed forces under the purview of Ser Ector.
Tzharun's squad took the inner circle. Ten draconic shapes of wyverns, drakes, scaled brutes and others moved in halting unison, spears breaking the air in stabbing patterns. Their weapons were ugly things but solid: hafts forged from the Silver Dragon's bones, tips made from sharpened shards of crystals. When they struck the practice dummies, constructs cobbled from broken constructs and melted glass sparks jumped in bright bursts.
"Thrust! Recover! Guard!" Tzharun barked in a gruff tone, tail smacking in rhythm. "Again!" They lunged as one, formation ragged but improving, spearheads hammering the same points over and over until cracks spiderwebbed through the dummies' chests.
On the outer ring, Velkra's sword squad clashed with jagged crystal blades. The wyvern was amongst their midst mismatched scales slick with sweat and blood. "Feet wider," he snarled at a trembling half-drake. "You're not dancing, you're killing. If I can knock you over, so can everything else."
He demonstrated, crystal sword sweeping through a precise arc, stopping a hair's breadth from the soldier's throat. Then he nodded, and the drills resumed, parry, step, cut, repeat the sound of crystal on crystal ringing out like a broken choir.
On the far side of the terrace, Sereneth and her archers occupied a raised platform overlooking the ring. Arcane circles glowed faintly beneath their feet. Each held a bow made from fused crystal and bone, their strings spun from silver dragon sinew. The arrowheads were polished teeth from the Noble Silver's jaw.
"Breathe in with the draw," Sereneth said calmly, her serpentine body coiled in a loose loop. "Let the mana ride the breath. Exhale with the shot."
Translucent fins along her head glowed as she raised her own bow. Ten lesser dragons mimicked her, hands shaking with effort. She conjured a point of light with a flick of her fingers, a hovering orb of condensed mana and sent it drifting in front of them. "Target."
The terrace flashed with motion. Arrows sang through the air, leaving trails of faint blue and white as they flew. Some went wide. Some skittered off the floor. But more and more began to hit, the mana orb jerking as it absorbed the impact.
"Good," Sereneth murmured. "Again."
Roars, grunts, the grind of claws on stone, the hiss of arrows, the ring of blades; the tower, once a sterile laboratory of horror, now sounded like a barracks. The rhythm of it all sank into the walls. From a broken balcony above, Artorius watched them move.
They were clumsy. Incomplete. Scales didn't match, limbs were missing, wings failed to spread properly. Some still flinched at sudden noises like beaten dogs. But there was something else there now, too. Pattern. Purpose.
"They are working hard," Ouroboros remarked, he was coiled beside him on a jut of stone, head resting on his forelegs like a lounging cat. His golden eyes tracked every movement.
"They were slaves," he said quietly. "Scavengers. Failed experiments. But even broken glass can cut."
"True enough," the little dragon rumbled. "And if you grind glass long enough, you get dust. Dust gets into everything. Eyes. Wounds. Lungs. Weak things kill too, given time."
Artorius watched as Sereneth conjured three mana orbs now instead of one, her squad trying to track and hit all of them. Velkra had his swordsmen practicing in pairs, forcing them to coordinate. Tzharun spearmen thrust in sync. It was working. Slowly. Roughly. But working.
Still, a tight knot twisted in his chest. He blinked and pulled up the faint System overlay, checking the pale-blue tags over each soldier one by one. Level 3. Level 4. Level 2. Level 3. No classes. No level ups. Worse of all not a single one had cracked Level 5.
He let the display fade and exhaled through his teeth. "They're not growing fast enough," he said. "No classes unlocked. Levels barely nudged. At this rate, the Nest will eat them before they matter."
"It takes time," Ouroboros replied, unbothered. "Class thresholds, level ups…the System isn't a charity. You don't get stronger just because you're trying hard. You get stronger because you survive things that should've killed you."
Artorius's jaw tightened. "We don't have time. Not with whatever else is out there sniffing around this place." Already he noticed when he had been using the telescope in the observatory that other forces were scouting out this place.
He did not know how they got word that the silver dragon had fallen, but the word seemed to be out and soon who knew who would come knocking. They needed to be prepared and at the rate they were going they would be in deep trouble.
"Perhaps it's time for something else," Ouroboros stated.
"What did you have in mind?"
Ouroboros's grin turned sharp, a glint of fang in the forge-glow. "You need to stop treating this place like a training yard and start treating it like what it is, boy."
"And what's that?"
The little dragon uncoiled, stretching his body like a cat waking from a nap, eyes bright with something dangerous. "A Nest." He nodded toward the horizon, where the broken glass dunes of the Crystal Expanse glimmered beyond the tower's ruined walls. "And in a Nest, if you want to grow fast, there's only one real answer."
Artorius looked out over his panting, bleeding, determined legion. "What answer?"
Ouroboros smiled wider. "Power leveling," he said. There, beyond the tower's ruined gates, the world shimmered in waves of silver and blue. "Most of your people are below Level 5. Weak. Barely sapient by higher-realm standards."
"So to fix that we need to take advantage of the Crystal Expanse?"
"Excatly, this is the perfect hunting ground. And you already know the old adage… Explore. Expand. Exploit. Exterminate." Ouroboros's laughter rippled through the chamber, low and musical. "A philosophy as old as conquest and the foundation of every empire that ever mattered."
He coiled atop the glowing display, his serpentine form reflected in its light. "There's prey enough out there to feed your rise. Crystal beasts. Glass wraiths. Mana parasites. Kill them. Devour their life essence. Take their exp for your own. The System respects only blood and survival."
Artorius's expression hardened, though a flicker of grim amusement tugged at his mouth. "The tried and true method," he murmured. "Killing, and more killing."
"Exactly," Ouroboros purred. "Nothing feeds growth like the death of your enemies. The Expanse will test you but it will also feed you. Also in the heart of it awaits the dungeon which will grant you great boons and a trail to sharpen yourself against."
The chamber fell silent. Below, his troops were still training; sweating, straining, bleeding. He drew a slow breath, then spoke, his voice carrying through the hall. "Then we begin our true journey. We will venture into the Crystal Expanse!"
-
A/N: I simplified the money system of the dragons by a lot, it is a lot more convoluted with each dragon scale in each group equalling to a different amount.
And it's time to grind some levels!
The Draconic Vector Engine is based on dragon ball z training room(gravity room)