For three days in a row, Robert entered the abandoned mine at dawn and returned only when the sun had set, his clothes covered in dust and grime.
He still hadn't found the Silver Dragon, but he hadn't returned empty-handed either. Deep inside the mine, he had discovered scattered beast bones bearing the marks of teeth—evidence that some predator made its home there. Farther in, he found dry, clotted droppings that carried a faint sulfurous tang mixed with a metallic scent.
"Empty-handed again?"
By the campfire, Bolin's tone dripped with mockery. He scraped the mud from his boots with a dagger and spoke without looking up. "Our Lord must think he can find gold between the cracks of rocks."
A few old soldiers chuckled under their breath.
One of them added, "Lord Bolin is right. This frozen wasteland is colder than an ice cellar at night, and we're living on dry rations and roasted meat. No hot soup, no rest. If this goes on, we'll freeze and starve before we achieve anything."
"Quiet!" another knight hissed, glancing nervously toward Ade, who stood not far away. "If Captain Ade hears you, you'll be in for it."
At the mention of Ade, the men fell silent.
Knight Ade was like a silent iron tower—steady, dutiful, and always watchful. He had long noticed the unease spreading among the troops and had considered speaking with Robert several times, hoping to learn what drove their Lord to explore the forsaken mine so obsessively. But Robert's focus never wavered long enough for conversation.
Robert was well aware of the murmurs and discontent stirring within the camp, yet he had neither the time nor energy to pacify each man. His goal was simple and absolute: to find the young Silver Dragon rumored to dwell somewhere in those mountains.
So he took the most direct approach.
He rewarded every soldier with five gold dragons and instituted a rotation—five knights each day would head to Blackstone Town under the pretense of gathering intelligence. In truth, it was a disguised form of rest, giving the restless knights a brief reprieve.
The system that guided Robert was not all-knowing. Its clues were often vague—mere fragments of information, like markings on a half-faded treasure map. Where the real treasure lay, he still had to uncover for himself.
A deposed noble, a barren fief, and a disheartened band of knights—Robert knew his situation was precarious. To turn the tide, he needed something extraordinary, something powerful enough to restore both his standing and his name.
And the rumored young Silver Dragon, brimming with limitless potential, was the perfect chance.
Dragon Knight.
Those two words alone carried the weight of glory and command—enough to silence anyone who looked down on him.
That evening, when Robert once again emerged from the mine, he carried something new in his hand—a small, metallic scale glinting faintly in the twilight. He had found it wedged in a hidden crevice. The scale was no larger than a fingernail, its edges worn smooth as if shed naturally. Without revealing his excitement, he slipped it quietly into his pocket and maintained his calm expression.
Dinner, as usual, was roasted meat.
Robert sat apart from the others, beside a smaller campfire, with Ade seated across from him, silent and vigilant. Robert picked up a skewer of sizzling meat, chewing slowly, his gaze wandering toward the dark treeline at the edge of the camp.
Three days of searching had turned the mine nearly inside out. Aside from bones, droppings, and that single mysterious scale, he had found nothing. Perhaps the creature hid deeper underground—or perhaps it no longer stayed in the mine at all.
Disappointment tugged at him, yet giving up was unthinkable. He had already traveled ninety li of a hundred-li journey. To stop now would be to waste everything.
As the night deepened, the cold grew harsher. Most of the knights had retreated to their tents, leaving only the sentries pacing in the biting wind. Robert remained seated by the fire, its glow illuminating his young yet resolute face.
He opened his palm and looked down at the tiny scale. Under the flickering light, it shimmered faintly with a silvery hue.
"Silver Dragon…" he murmured, a flicker of fervor gleaming in his eyes. "Where are you?"
A faint rustle broke the stillness.
Robert didn't move, but his eyes shifted toward the sound. Ade instantly tensed, one hand on his sword.
From the shadows, a small head poked out—a feline, no larger than a domestic cat, its fur pure white except for a few dark tufts at the tips of its ears and tail. Its pale golden eyes glimmered warily in the firelight as it sniffed the air, drawn by the scent of roasted meat.
"A lynx?" Robert whispered, surprised.
Such creatures belonged to the northern forests and snowy plains, not these barren Blackstone mountains. And its snow-white coat was even rarer still.
The lynx hesitated, startled by the fire and the unfamiliar humans. After peeking out, it retreated into the brush, leaving only a pair of curious eyes fixed longingly on the meat in Robert's hand.
That gaze, full of hunger, softened something in him. Moving slowly, Robert extended the skewer toward it, careful not to startle the timid creature.
The lynx tilted its head, studying him. The aroma of the meat wafted through the air, tempting it beyond restraint. After a moment's hesitation, it stepped fully from the bushes.
Under the mingled glow of moonlight and fire, its fur gleamed like fresh snow. It crept closer—three, then four paces—before stopping. When it sensed no threat, it stretched its neck and sniffed the meat Robert held out.
Seeing this, Ade's tense expression eased into a faint smile. In their bleak and restless camp, the sudden appearance of such a charming creature was a welcome sight.
Robert tore off a small piece of roasted meat—crispy on the outside, tender within—and placed it on a flat stone beside him.
The lynx darted forward, snatched the morsel, and retreated to a safe distance, devouring it in a few quick bites. Then it looked up again, golden eyes gleaming with expectation.
Robert couldn't help but chuckle at its greedy look. The tension that had weighed on him these past days began to lift. He placed the rest of the meat on the same stone.
The little creature gave a soft purr of delight and pounced, eating voraciously until not a scrap remained. When it finished, it licked its muzzle and wiped its face with its paws, content and satisfied.
"Looks like it was starving," Ade murmured.
Over the following days, the white-furred lynx became a familiar visitor. Each evening, when the fires were lit and the aroma of roasting meat filled the air, it appeared on cue—padding over to Robert's fire with expectant eyes.
Robert grew fond of its company and always shared part of his meal. The spices he carried from the Duke's mansion were few but carefully chosen, and the lynx seemed to relish every flavor.
With time, it grew bold. It would rub its furry head against Robert's boots, purring contentedly. Its warmth and liveliness brought a quiet comfort to the camp.
But the longer Robert observed it, the more he sensed something was… off.
Its appetite, for one, was astounding.
Once, the knights had roasted a whole wild boar, nearly a hundred pounds in weight. Robert and his men had eaten half, hanging the rest near the fire to preserve it. He fed the lynx five or six pounds—surely enough to fill such a small creature.
Yet when he woke later that night, he found the carcass stripped clean—nearly fifty pounds of meat gone. The lynx sat nearby, licking its paws contentedly, not bloated or sluggish in the least.
The sight defied all logic.
How could such a tiny body hold so much food?
Several nights later, the mystery deepened.
That night, the wind howled, and the flames flickered weakly. As usual, Robert offered the lynx a freshly roasted beast leg, still tinged with blood.
The little creature examined it, then glanced toward the fire, seemingly displeased with how undercooked it was.
Robert frowned, curious.
Then, under his and Ade's stunned gaze, the lynx opened its small mouth—
—and breathed out a thin, controlled jet of orange-red flame.
The fire licked across the meat, crackling softly as it browned the surface to perfection. The aroma deepened instantly, rich and savory.
When it finished, the lynx calmly withdrew its flames, lowered its head, and began eating, perfectly content—as though nothing unusual had occurred.
Robert: "..."
Ade: "..."
The two men exchanged looks, both seeing disbelief mirrored in the other's eyes.
A fire-breathing lynx?
Robert's heart raced. A spark of realization flashed through his mind, sharp as lightning.
White fur. A rare species. A monstrous appetite. And now—the power to breathe fire.
His breath quickened as he stared at the creature devouring its meal by the firelight.
Could it be…
The thought struck him with sudden, thrilling certainty.
This was no ordinary lynx.