Pillar of Yita

In that ancient and dark land lies the birthplace of the Rogsel family. Since the era of the Ancient Monarch, uncountable secrets have been buried there. He believes that the three names written in the diary are deeply connected to that ancient family, holding secrets beyond anyone’s imagination.

And one end of those secrets is currently tied to this mysterious wanderer before him.

Who exactly is he, and where does he come from?

He merely tried speaking a few words, and unexpectedly achieved such an effect.

However, the experiences the other claimed to share with his own youth do not align with the life experiences of Alte Erlingran. Perhaps he himself hadn’t realized that an inadvertent remark left the biggest flaw. And coincidentally, the youth before him—

Held in his hand, a scepter from a Pride One.

One end of the scepter was gripped by the long, pale, blank stare of an undead figure, whose deep gaze seemed to penetrate the shadows of time and lock onto him. On its tattered robe, the family crest on its chest belonged to the Winter Territory’s prowling wolf—

At this moment, it seemed no longer just a matter of demanding justice, but also deeply rooted grudges.

The maiden of Aimumu Fortress, Dolifen’s slumbering ghost, when the scepter was handed to Fang Hong, a story was already penned in the nether. Yet even now, it was far from reaching an end—

If this wasn’t qualification, then what truth could there be in the world?

This was the first time Fang Hong felt the power of destiny—but it was by no means an unchanging cycle; rather, it was the visions that people pursued, converging together, driving an ordinary person step by step to such a position. The so-called circumstances, the so-called heroes, they were merely ordinary people forced to make choices like himself.

And Fang Hong did not know if he could bear anything...

But he only knew that at this moment, he could only move forward without retreating.

And at this very moment.

The anger in his heart had long transformed into a golden flame, the Dragon King’s Blood burning fiercely within his body. He felt, for the first time, the same sensation Lady Misu did, as the Dragon’s Power descended upon him. Eve widened her eyes, watching layer upon layer of dense scales grow over Fang Hong’s arms.

”Dragon’s Heart...?”

Delice let out a strange cry.

The wanderer immediately turned around, his gaze coldly fixed on his daughter: ”Did you give him the Dragon’s Heart!?”

But Eve remained silent, her face pale, her hands and feet cold, watching the scene. She had never imagined that the Dragon’s Heart would have such an effect—Mr. Ade was transforming into a dragon, how could this be? Would he become the next Dragon King Leifgard, or a puppet of the Dark Dragon King?

She suddenly knelt on the ground, her heart not understanding what she had done wrong.

And the wanderer turned back, feeling a threat from Fang Hong for the first time.

It was just at this moment, unnoticed by both, that the Bone Dragon suddenly shook its body and slowly rose from the ground. In its hollow eye sockets, two points of burning phosphorus looked in this direction. But after a moment, it slowly turned its head back.

In the direction of its gaze, the ground’s surface loosened slightly. Then, from the shadow there, a slate sliding with gravel was pushed open, and a small, chubby hand reached out from inside.

Then that short, rotund form—a Papalarian, emerged like a groundhog from there. Behind him was a human Nightingale girl, and further back were two people—or rather, one person and one being that might still be considered ”human”.

The Bone Dragon glanced at the latter, then folded its bone wings and turned its head back.

Above the plaza, after a brief shock, the wanderer finally calmed down. ”Dragon’s Heart, Dragon’s Golden Eyes,” he sighed: ”Fortunately, Leifgard’s soul is not in you. You do not possess the true Dragon King’s Power; at most, you’re just a shadow of Nikopolas.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand, and an unformed storm once again unfolded behind him.

But the next moment, he saw a double shadow superimposing on Fang Hong. In that instant, the wanderer was stunned, his eyes widening.

Those pointed horns, long tail, claws sharp as knives, hair like flowing flames. He/She raised his head, revealing snow-white teeth and fangs, gleaming with the unique cold light of the Giant Dragon’s fangs—”Nikopolas?” The ’Delice’ behind the wanderer was shocked: ”No, how could there be Dark Divine Power?”

”Who exactly are you?”

But Fang Hong did not answer.

The wanderer waved his hand, and the dark storm behind him immediately took shape. He pointed forward fiercely, and the surging storm immediately slashed out distorted shadows, rushing toward the forward Fang Hong.

Fang Hong seemed unmoved. The cold light flickering within his golden pupils reflected this scene. He then raised his claws and gently grasped, snatching the spell as if it were tangible—like tearing down a vast curtain, pulling the entire spell storm down from mid-air.

He gently squeezed it, and the spell shattered into pieces, the Elemental Ether turning to dust in his hand, falling to the ground.

Then he took a step forward.

Just that one step.

Within the vision of everyone in the plaza—even including the wanderer—a lingering shadow remained in their eyes.