Pillar of Yita

The Lizard Warrior Leader stood incredulously amidst a pile of corpses, on a street within the ruins. Between the ancient, mottled walls, the bodies of night lizards and adventurers lay scattered across the ground, clearly showing that both sides had put aside their differences and fought shoulder to shoulder before their demise—but to no avail. The battle had been fiercely brutal, with blood flowing over and filling the gaps between the cobblestones, wetly dripping down the steps, ticking away.

Beyond that, there was no other sound in the darkness.

Only the gaping mouths of the dead, their hollow and silent eyes gazing in one direction, seemed to emit a silent scream that still hovered in this dark underground. In the center of the battlefield, an Avenquin elf and a night lizard stood back to back against their enemies, a space cleared out in front of them, surrounded by the twisted corpses of undead creatures.

Corpse ghosts, skeletons, zombies, and the tattered cloaks of ghosts.

The Priest of Silver Vislan gazed at the pale face of the elf, covered the eyes that wouldn’t close in death, and then spoke softly to Fang Hong beside him, ”This person was the chairman of a well-known guild in Fenris, kindly and reputable, representing the third major force in Fenris after the Blood Oath Alliance and the Rain Listeners.”

”He was very strong personally, once a core member of a professional guild before stepping back to establish a smaller guild of his own after retiring.”

Fang Hong naturally recognized this as well—the scattered undead corpses around seemed to be the man’s medals of honor.

In his mind, the image of the two facing their last moments in a desperate situation arose unbidden: surrounded by the enemy like a tide with no way to retreat, a rusty spear pierced through the elf’s chest and impaled him onto the night lizard behind, nailing them to the ground. The night lizard, wearing a luxurious crown, appeared to be of higher status than the Warrior Leader, locked in its final position, its eyes now devoid of any luster.

”We’re too late,” the Priest replied.

”Were they attacked by the undead?” Fang Hong asked.

”There were also some of Dragon’s Claw minions, but I can’t say for sure—they were somewhat similar, yet not quite the same as those who ambushed us earlier,” the Priest struggled to describe what he had seen. After thinking for a moment, he said, ”They were born from the shadows, swift in movement, but not in human form, it would be more accurate to say they were...”

”Dragons.”

Hilveld’s voice came from behind.

The two men turned around to see Hilveld looking intently at claw marks on a wall, each mark spaced tens of centimeters apart, extending for several meters, deeply cut into the granite wall, with stone chips crumbled, some reaching as deep as two inches.

She leaned forward slightly, lifting her skirt and using her pale fingers to measure the approximate width of the marks on the wall before turning back, ”It came from this direction, flew might not be the right word, more like a low sweep, leaving these three claw marks on the wall. Whether in terms of length, depth or width, it’s identical to that of a young dragon.”

”How do you know, Miss Hilveld?” Fang Hong inquired.

”I’ve seen similar specimens a few times at the Golande Royal Museum,” Hilveld replied, ”Just like these claw marks.”

”A few times, you frequent that place?”

Hilveld nodded slightly, ”I stayed there for a while, but it wasn’t very pleasant.”

The Priest of Silver Vislan, not understanding their exchange, couldn’t help but ask, ”But underground here, other than Toragotos, where would a young dragon come from?”

”Perhaps its offspring?” the Ranger, who had been following Fang Hong and the others, interjected at this point.

”That’s even less likely, I have never heard of Toragotos having a mate,” the Priest shook his head.

”Toragotos indeed has no mate, and since it returned here from traveling abroad in its youth, it has rarely left Fenris, with the last time being the Battle of Bain thirteen years ago,” Hilveld agreed with the notion.

But Fang Hong shook his head.

Toragotos truly had no offspring.

”But it had siblings,” he suddenly said.

”Siblings?” The Priest seemed surprised, ”That’s something from a thousand years ago, isn’t it? I heard that of all Toragotos’s siblings from the same clutch, only it survived. It’s rare for even two dragons to survive from the same nest, let alone more.”

”Indeed, Toragotos mentioned this to us in the Phantom Realm too,” Fang Hong responded.

”But now it seems that explanation might have been somewhat disingenuous,” Hilveld blinked her keen eyelashes, curiously looking at Fang Hong, ”It’s denial indicates that actually, beneath this place, its siblings have always been here.”

”They are indeed dead,” Fang Hong nodded, looking at the claw marks, feeling a bit troubled, ”but they are still here, corroded by the Dark Forces, becoming a part of them.”

”This could be troublesome.”

The Priest furrowed his brow too, ”A dragon’s clutch can contain dozens of eggs, and if half of those survive to their juvenile years and then get corrupted by the darkness, it would be difficult for us to deal with. Even if controlled by Dark Forces and having lost their innate spellcasting abilities, they remain dragons.”

Fang Hong didn’t respond; his mind was preoccupied with another matter.

He looked at Hilveld, only to find the noblewoman also looking at him, ”Did you think of it too?” Fang Hong asked.

Hilveld nodded softly and whispered, ”I’ve heard your analysis with Miss Sophie, and the underground Dark Forces should originate from that sealed entity, whether it’s Salrutaka or Sarus, but it shouldn’t be in thrall to Toragotos.”