Here is a long chapter today!
The 2nd arc is coming to a close check out patreon if you wish to see how it concludes right now!
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The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale and haunting light over the Hollow Marshes. It was a land of perpetual decay, where the air smelled of rot and the earth was soft and treacherous. Here, Artorius had come to face his final trial in this biome before they moved on, the dungeon on his list before he could proceed with his plans. The Hollow Marshes had a reputation for breeding nightmares, not just in the form of monsters, but in the very essence of the environment itself.
The land was a labyrinth of dense, twisted trees and fetid swamps. He gripped his lance tightly, the weight of his recent losses still heavy on his mind. The faces of those he had lost, including Kelthar the water lindwurm, Velkra the wyvern, and countless others, haunted his every move. Yet the fire inside him had not been extinguished. It burned brighter with each step forward, urging him onward. He could not afford to let himself falter.
The final chamber lay ahead, an ancient stone temple, overrun with vines and marsh sludge. A cold, oppressive feeling emanated from the entrance. Inside, the air was thick with magic, and Artorius could feel the eyes of something watching him from the shadows. He stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind him, sealing his fate.
The boss of the dungeon stood before him, a towering figure draped in tattered robes of darkness. His eyes glowed a sickly red, and his bony form stood up as he entered.
[Accursed Master — Level 28]
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/473018767127993221/
Without saying a word, Artorius flew headlong into the fight. The battle was a whirlwind of fury. The creature's strength and dark magic collided with Artorius' precision and raw power. The chamber shook with the force of their blows. Artorius was fast, but the decrepit monster was faster, weaving in and out of the shadows, its attacks coming from every direction.
But Artorius had trained for this, he had faced horrors before, and this was no different. He fought with purpose, with the weight of his fallen comrades pushing him forward. After all the pain and anguish he felt from the losses he suffered, this felt like catharsis as he pushed himself to the limit.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Artorius landed the killing blow. The creature let out a gurgled scream as his body collapsed, its power fading into the damp air like a fading nightmare. Artorius stood over the fallen monster, chest heaving with exertion, and the weight of the moment began to sink in. The battle was complete.
You have slain[Accursed Master — Level 28]
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Class: [Storybook Squire] → Lv. 19
+1 Str, +1 Con, +1 Will, +1 Char, +1 Luc!
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Race: [True-Blood DragonMen] → Lv. 20
Gained New Mutation: Draconic Empowerment
Finally at long last he hit level 10. Feeling the energy coursing through him, Artorius felt as if he just crossed a milestone which he guessed he did. Now that left only two more which he hoped to hit level 10. He prayed he was able to hit them before the final battle. Looking over in detail over the new mutation, he read what the system held.
Draconic Empowerment (Rare) - You can draw strength, power, or vitality from other dragons or draconic sources. This allows you to enhance your physical capabilities, gain temporary access to their powers, or absorb their draconic essence. This is an energy mutation!
It was quite fascinating as his mind already processing the implications, he wanted to start testing it right away but held back. He needed answers first on what exactly this mutation entitled and the person for that was Ouroboros who wasn't with him right now.
Lotting the corpse of the boss, there was one time that interested him. Sacrificial Dagger(Unique) - One time use item, with the blood of your foe use them to empower yourself!
Holding it up, this was a very sinister looking weapon but he still kept it at hand, he had a lot of enemies which he needed to put down. Wrapping up in the chamber, his eyes fell upon the final part of the dungeon: the trial. It beckoned.
He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the dark chamber. The marsh's air felt even thicker now, the mists swirling as though they were alive, feeding off his every step. In the center of the chamber, a pedestal rose from the ground, on it a simple, bloody knife radiating an ominous presence. He approached it then reached out and touched the knife.
Immediately, the world around him began to dissolve. And he appeared in a cavernous room, the walls covered with mirrors, their surfaces blackened and cracked. The floor was covered in a fine dust that seemed to shimmer with a faint, unnatural light. Then, a voice spoke, deep and echoing, vibrating within his very bones. "Welcome to the Trial of Fears."
Artorius' heart quickened at those words. In the first mirror, Artorius saw himself facing his father in his study without looking up his voice echoed full of pride and disdain, echoed in his ears: "You were never enough."
The voice crushed him, and for a moment, the air became suffocating. The weight of his family's expectations, the burden of his bloodline, and the guilt of running away from it all pressed on him. He could feel the crushing loss, the isolation. He was weak. He had always been weak.
The image began to shift, this time he saw his dragon followers; the Black Dread, the Thunder dragon, the Golden Imugi, the Frost Dragon. Along with them he saw his family followers; Ser Ector, Gavyn, Kay, and more. "You failed us."
The guilt of their deaths. a burden he carried on his shoulders came crashing back. He could feel it, that ache in his chest, the weight of leadership that had led them to their deaths. Every loss felt like a personal failure. The faces of his men haunted him.
The next mirror shimmered to life. He saw himself, but it wasn't him. It was a twisted, nightmarish version of him, cloaked in darkness, with glowing red eyes, sharp fangs, and monstrous claws. The reflection sneered at him, its voice mocking.
"You are nothing. A puppet, a shadow. You don't even realize who you truly are!"
The final mirror glowed with an eerie, white light. As Artorius stepped forward, he saw something far more terrifying than any of the previous fears. He saw his girlfriend. "Why did you have to cheat on me?"
Artorius stood in the center of the chamber, breathing heavily, the weight of the trial pressing on him. [Trial of Fears — Completed]
Reward: +3 Willpower
Standing up, he set aside all he saw in the trial, it was best not to dwell on them now. It was time to return to the stronghold.
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Back at the stronghold, the battle had left its mark, and the remnants of Artorius' forces had been reorganized. His once-thriving army had been reduced to a fraction of its former size, but it was still formidable. The final count was 2,500 dragon soldiers now. 1,200 of his original men, 800 from the Oblivion Dragon's former faction, and 500 from the White Lady's forces. The remaining dragons who refused to join Artorius were slain to provide exp and out their bloodlust.
The new recruits, though they came from different factions, had sworn oaths of loyalty to their squad leaders, ensuring unity within the ranks. Artorius was no fool. He could not afford to have enemies within his forces. He made sure the oaths were ironclad, ensuring the loyalty of his soldiers, loyalty that would be tested in the coming war.
The grand funeral was ready along with a feast, one that had much darker undertones then he would like to think about. It would be a remembrance, and a way to honor those who had fallen in battle.
Artorius came to the center command chamber, where his commanders were: Viserion, the Frost Dragon; Shiun, the Golden Imugi; Raijin, the Thunder Dragon; Zoklath, the Black Dragon; and Ouroboros, his ever-constant advisor. They stood at attention when he entered.
"We have sent word to the Dragonblood nobles and monarchs in the Nest," Viserion spoke grimly, his icy tone cutting through the silence. "None of them are coming. Not a single one has pledged their allegiance to us. We are on our own."
Artorius' expression darkened. "We knew this might happen. But we can't afford to waste any more time. The enemy is growing stronger by the day."
Zoklath, the Black Dragon, growled low in his throat. "I will also have to add that none of the mercenaries we've tried to recruit will join us either. They sense the instability and the precarious situation."
Raijin's eyes narrowed, lightning crackling around his form. "We are being painted as outcasts. No one wants to stick their neck out for us, not now, when the tides of war are so uncertain."
The conversation was bitter, but it was the reality they faced. Their only allies now were those who had sworn oaths to Artorius dragons who, like him, had nothing to lose.
"The only comfort I can give is that the dragon queen will most likely not personally enter the field or send all her soldiers. She will need to keep her reserves if any of her rivals see any weakness," Ouroboros noted.
"Also," Ouroboros added. "We do have the option to make our way somewhere else. If the odds are stacked against us, we can exist the field!"
"A strategic retreat," Zoklath nodded his head. "There are always more biomes to conquer which are not backed by the dragon blooded monarchs and sovereigns."
Artorius listened to their points, they were right the odds were stacked against them and stepping back a moment to step back and regroup, hitting up a place not too tough to crack was a good option. Already down south the lands of the Oblivion dragon awaited and more biomes.
However, was that what he wanted, to tuck his tail and run away? He was never a coward, but now he held in his hand the lives of thousands of dragons that followed him. He could not toss their lives away.
"Retreating back sounds reasonable," Viserion commented, "but it's a bad solution. We risk getting hunted down and picked off by other forces."
Raijin, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms, "We've already weakened the White Lady's forces. We've bled her dry, we just need to finish the job. We've been given a window, and if we don't strike soon, we might not get another one."
Zoklath cut in then, "But if we go for broke and fail, we'll be left with nothing. The forces arrayed against us are formidable, and we don't know all her cards
Artorius absorbed every word. He had been through enough battles to understand the delicate situation they were in. The stakes had never been higher, and each decision could very well be his last.
Shiun who was watching the conversation unfold spoke up, "I have been peering closely at the tapestry of fate unfortunately both options are not great. If we try to hold out here or retreat then we will be grinded down and fall one by one under the hands of countless foes. If we advance forth and fight then we might make it through but the future is dark and uncertain. I see a grinning bloody shadow with a sword."
Ouroboros couldn't help but in with a joke, "Well looks like we are fucked either ways. Why don't we just go out in a blaze of glory!"
Artorius drew a deep breath and made his decision. He already made his bet when he chose the hard path, there was no more second guessing himself. "We have only one way out though this maelstrom of death and chaos, forward. There will be no retreating, there will be no hesitation, there will be no fear. We will go on the offense and throw everything we have at our enemies!"
Everyone nodded in unison, their faces hardening with resolve once he gave his order. As Artorius turned toward the door, the weight of his decision settled upon him, but it was no longer a burden. It was a call to arms. "Prepare the forces," Artorius commanded. "We will hit the last obstacle in our path, the Scorched Plains before invading the Pale Snowfields."
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The torches lining the cold stone corridors flickered with an eerie, ghostly light, casting long shadows that seemed to move on their own. The atmosphere of the dungeon felt heavy, as Artorius walked the familiar path, his feet echoing softly against the smooth stone floor, the only sound in the otherwise oppressive silence.
Despite the uncertainty in the air, Artorius knew that he needed more power. His current army was formidable, but it lacked the true power that would make or break their campaign. To that end, he made a difficult decision: he would go back to the Oblivion Dragon, still imprisoned in the stronghold's dungeons, and try to persuade him to join his cause.
The great door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit cell beyond. The Oblivion Dragon lay coiled in the center of the chamber, his enormous body a mass of shifting shadows. Artorius stood at the threshold of the cell, his posture rigid but composed. The tension in the air was palpable.
The Oblivion Dragon's voice broke the silence, "You've come back," he said, his tone flat, almost mocking. "What is it that you want this time, young one? More threats? More torture?"
Artorius took a slow step forward, his gaze steady. He wanted nothing more than to strangle the creature, thanks to it they suffered so much losses, but he quickly reigned in his anger. "I've come to offer you a way out of here, dragon. I offer you an alliance. A chance to fight alongside me and my forces. The White Lady's forces are gathering strength, and the Fragrance Queen is no small threat. Alone, we may be crushed. But together, we can reshape the fate of this area in the Nest. You and I can rule here unopposed if we win."
The Oblivion Dragon let out a low, mocking laugh, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "And what makes you think I will help you, child? You think I would bow to you? Join your cause?" His amber eyes gleamed with disdain. "You are nothing but a fool in a game you cannot comprehend. And I? I am no one's servant."
Artorius's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "You misunderstand. I'm not asking for your servitude. I'm offering you a chance to have revenge. Yes we might all die. Yes this might be a fool errand fighting a dragon blooded monarch but do you want this to be the end of your tale?"
"You think I'll just throw my lot in with a failed cause," the dragon growled, his voice a venomous whisper.
"Sure, call it what you want, but this will be the end of the line for you Xytherion. You have much to pay for and worse yet you will always be remembered as the old dragon bested and slain by a young new upstart. Forget your revenge, you will become nothing, you will be a joke all dragons will tell tales of."
The Oblivion Dragon's head tilted slightly, his gaze narrowing but Artorius could see he got under his scale. And he went in for the killing blow, "You can choose to die here and now, or you can die fighting against your old foe and her master."
He was silent for a long moment, his massive form unmoving. Finally, he spoke, his voice slow and deliberate, "You drive a hard bargain," he mocked. "Very well," the Oblivion Dragon finally said. "You have a deal!"
Artorius nodded solemnly. "Your oath then," he said. Very reluctantly the dragon swore to the eternal flame, then Artorius asked him if he had more of that superweapon which as he figured it didn't.
Nodding his head as Artorius left the dungeon he made sure to rub some of the blood of the Oblivion dragon on his new knife.
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The night was dark, there was no stars in the sky as the winds screamed through the jagged battlements, carrying the iron scent of blood and the faint, sweet tang of burned scales. Below, the fortress had transformed into a cathedral of death.
The courtyard was lined with the fallen dragons and draconids alike their bodies arranged in vast concentric circles around the center. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Their scales glistened faintly under the pale light, glimmering like dull gemstones. Frost dragons lay beside fire drakes, wyverns beside kin, enemies beside allies. In death, there was no distinction.
At the head of it all stood Artorius, his figure wreathed in shadow and weariness. His harness was scorched from battle, streaked with blood both red and black. Behind him, the Obsidian Pillar of Remembrance had been finished, a monolith of volcanic stone etched with the names of the dead.
Around him gathered his commanders and high ranking officers. The air was heavy with silence, the kind that comes before storms. Artorius stepped forward and raised his hand. The silence deepened. "Tonight," he said, voice ringing with the weight of the ceremony, "we honor the fallen. Not with tears, nor graves, nor songs of mourning. We honor them the only way dragons can with fire, with blood, and with hunger."
A deep rumble echoed through the assembly not a roar, not yet, but the low growl of creatures holding back something primal. It was times like these Artorius remembered he wasn't around humans but strange and alien creatures.
Artorius continued, steeling himself for what he was about to begin. "From birth we are taught the first truth of our kind that death is not the end. The flesh of the fallen feeds the living. The spirit of the devoured becomes the devourer. Through this act, they do not fade. They become eternal."
His eyes burned brighter. "The weak call it barbaric. The soft call it profane. But to us it is sacred. It is the cycle that makes us dragons!" He spread his wings, "Let the feast begin. Let the dead join the living!"
The stronghold shook with the roar that followed. Thousands of throats bellowed as one, a sound so immense it made the ground tremble. Then, with a single beat of wings, the first of the dragons descended upon the corpses. The Feast of Devouring had begun.
At first, it was a ritual. Dragons bowed their heads before their fallen brethren, murmuring ancient words, guttural hymns in Draconic tongues, each verse an invocation to the spirits of flame and sky. Then, one by one, they bit down reverently, carefully, taking the first flesh as offering. Blood spilled like rivers. But reverence never lasts long among dragons.
The moment that hot, metallic taste hit their tongues, restraint melted into frenzy. The ancient instincts roared awake hunger older than civilization, stronger than sorrow. Fire burst from maws. Wings unfurled. The dead were torn open.
The air filled with the sounds of devouring, the wet tearing of sinew, the crunch of bone, the hiss of fire on flesh. Blood steamed on the stones. Ash fell like snow. Lightning and flame intertwined in violent ritual, shadows dancing on the walls like the ghosts of those being consumed. Artorius watched it all, the savagery and horror.
Dragons did not bury their dead in the traditional sense. Instead, they devoured their fallen kin, believing that by consuming their flesh, their strength and memories would be passed on. Artorius was no stranger to this practice, but even still, the sight of it unsettled him. Hundreds of dragons, dead and dying, were laid out for their comrades to feast upon. It was an odd mix of reverence and brutality, but it was necessary. Every dragon who fought for him had given their life in a way that could never be repaid and he had to boost their morale before what was to come.
Viserion, the Frost Dragon, tore the heart from a slain ice wyrm, his breath freezing it before he swallowed it whole. Raijin drank the blood of the noble Metal Dragon, lightning sparking from his tongue.
Zoklath crushed the skull of the Shadow Hydra between his jaws, the black ichor dripping like tar from his fangs. Shiun closed her eyes as she swallowed the flesh of a golden scaled follower, whispering, "Be reborn in me."
Artorius sat back and watched it all unfold, Ouroboros came up with a leg of a dragon. "Hey I saved you some juicy bits. You want it."
"I'm fine," Artorius held up his hand in abstinence. All he had been eating since he came here was dragon flesh but today he let his human sensibilities overrun him.
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The Pale Snowfields stretched beyond the horizon in every direction, a desolate and frigid expanse that had long borne the weight of isolation. The winds howled across the barren land, swirling the snow in every direction, making the landscape appear like a never-ending sea of white.
The White Lady stood at the edge of the highest balcony of her crystal palace, her sharp, icy gaze scanning the horizon. She had felt it, the shift in the air, the strange warmth in the breeze. The scent of the Fragrance Queen was carried on the wind, distant but unmistakable, a perfume that hung in the air like a thousand petals pressed together, delicate and overpowering. The Queen's emissaries were here.
A distant rumble broke the silence, a low and powerful vibration that could be felt even in the heart of the Snowfields. Her keen vision caught sight of the glittering form of the approaching convoy. At its head was a massive dragon, golden and radiant, his scales gleaming like metal against the icy backdrop. Auxithkox. The Radiance Dragon.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/57420963997669243/
He was flanked by two other figures, one was a shaggy looking emerald green, her scales covered by a coat of moss. She was the Moss Dragon.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/72198400271166035/
The other was an upbeat pale green dragon with antennae of dandelions, the Pollen dragon.
Image:
Then, came the soldiers. Two thousand dragons. Among them were a dozen champions, dragons with aura-like strength that radiated around them like a wave, casting deep shadows in the snow. And further still, there were the elder dragon-blooded, who were advisors and strategists. They formed a perfect, unyielding line, marching forward in perfect formation. The ground beneath their feet trembled as the air around them rippled with energy.
As the procession neared, the White Lady descended from her balcony to greet them. The first of the Fragrance Queen's forces reached the gates when she landed and Ravagan standing by her side.
Auxithkox, his golden form blinding in the pale light, landed with an elegant thud, his wings folding neatly at his sides. The two dragons flanking him touched down beside him, their movements synchronized in an eerie, unnatural way.
Auxithkox turned toward her, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity and amusement. "Isylith," he said, his voice smooth and resonant, "the Pale Snowfields look... different than I last remember."
The White Lady did not respond immediately to her old lover. She simply watched him, her icy gaze unyielding.
The emerald dragon beside Auxithkox stepped forward. "I am Avendryn, of the Verdant Clans," she said, with a yawn. "The Fragrance Queen sends her greetings, and my power shall bolster your forces. We shall do what is necessary to ensure your survival."
The pollen dragon who was zipping about the place greeted, "I am Erythra. Consider my powers at your service."
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/54184001762484943/
"Isylith," Auxithkox said again, his voice no longer warm with courtesy but edged with authority. "We have come to fight. The Fragrance Queen has sent her finest. I will lead them. You will fight alongside us and so shall your forces. Though you and them will all fall in line and serve."
Ravagan bristled at that, but held his tongue. The White Lady's wings twitched. "They will fall in line," she said, her voice low and steady. "I will make sure of it."
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Author Note: I wanted to keep the dragon to be their own thing with alien practices that are quite alien, so what better way than this!
Also the title of the chapter comes from Andor(star wars). MC and his army have only one way forward!
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Chapter 30 Recap!
Leveled up Class: Storybook Squire to Lvl. 19!
+1 STR, +1 CON, +1 DEX, +1 CHA, +1 LUC!
Leveled up Race: True-Blood DragonMen to Lvl. 20
Gained New Mutation: Draconic Empowerment
[Trial of Fears — Completed] +3 Willpower Gained