The following morning, over forty individuals stood in front of the western gate with determined expressions on their faces. These were the chosen from the eight kingdoms.
Nox stood at the forefront, upright, his armor gleaming under the glare of the sun. Several gazes pierced his broad back—some filled with envy and scorn, while the majority carried admiration and respect.
He could feel all those gazes and easily understood the reason behind them. It was because he was powerful. Dragons were proud, mighty creatures that rarely bowed their heads to anyone.
To gain their respect and admiration, one had to be strong enough to make them kneel. Nox's victory in the tournament had already erased most doubts, but deep down, he knew there would still be those who'd want to challenge his leadership.
Standing beside him was Drake, who handed him a map showing the route they would need to take to reach the Marked Zone.
"Have you been there before?" Nox asked, not lifting his eyes from the intricate markings.
"No, I haven't. But Father has been there a couple of times. He's the one who drafted the map," Drake replied.
"I see," Nox muttered as he studied the map. The Frost Monarch had put considerable effort into its creation, even including estimated hours to reach key locations.
Nox's impression of the king rose once more.
Just as he was examining the map, a voice called out from behind. Nox swiftly turned, only to find Nyxirith—the shadow dragon.
He raised an eyebrow, curious. "Yes? Do you have anything to contribute?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Although I haven't reached the Marked Zone, I've been very close to it before."
That piqued Nox's interest. His expression turned serious. Upon closer inspection of the dark-haired beauty, he realized she was one of the oldest in the group.
"If you don't mind, I could be of assistance," she offered.
Nox thought for a moment, then nodded. "Very well."
After the short exchange, the group began their journey. One after another, they transformed into their dragon forms. Flying would be much faster.
As for Nox, he had no choice but to mount Drake, since a certain someone was still keeping her distance from him.
'I wonder what's wrong with her,' he thought. 'After our short conversation this morning, she hasn't said a word.'
Still, it was the least of his problems. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand.
Moments later, the sky was filled with wings.
Massive wings that stirred the clouds and bent the wind itself.
The dragons soared in a triangular formation—a battle tactic used by ancient war squadrons. It allowed for rapid regrouping and better protection of the core unit.
At the tip of the formation flew Nox, mounted on Drake in dragon form. Behind them on the left flew Nyxirith; on the right, Lumi. The flanks were filled with elite dragons, while the rear formed a solid line of defense.
Valkor flew further back.
This wasn't due to dislike. The rear guard was a crucial role—one that required strength and awareness.
Still, the distance between them felt wider than mere meters.
Nox kept his eyes forward.
The wind lashed against his cheeks. His armor gleamed in the sun. His greatsword remained sheathed across his back.
And in the corner of his vision…
[4 Days, 3 Hours, 47 Minutes Remaining]
They flew over snow-capped cliffs, down frost-split valleys, and across ice-covered rivers shimmering with unnatural green veins.
They landed on a high ridge surrounded by blizzard-worn trees and giant rocky stones. There was no fire, but that wasn't a problem—the flame dragon quickly conjured one.
The frost dragons could endure the cold without fire, and the water dragons were unaffected, but warmth was still essential for others.
Nox walked alone toward a cliff edge, gazing out into the mist-covered horizon.
Somewhere beyond the fog… was likely the Marked Zone.
Where the Alpha waited.
"The mission is simply to investigate and return… but why do I feel like something terrible is going to happen?" Nox mumbled to himself.
Just then, he heard a loud scream from the camp.
And then came a familiar scent.
Nox's instincts flared.
"Scourge dragons," he muttered, eyes flashing sharply.
Meanwhile, in the Supreme Dragon Courts…
In the lowest depths beneath the Court's meeting chamber—far below the glowing archives and elder conclaves—stood a room unknown to anyone in the dragon realm.
Zhun'Var stood before a sealed vault.
The core was behind this door.
A pulsating red glow bled through the seams of the frost-forged vault, as though the corruption within was alive—breathing.
The elder placed a palm on the central glyph, and with a subtle groan of shifting stone, the vault split open.
The core hovered in stasis.
Roughly the size of a child's heart, it floated above a silver pedestal. A dense, seething mass of crimson-black crystal, throbbing like a heart that refused to die. Faint screams echoed from it if one stood too close—though no one who heard them ever remembered what was said.
Zhun'Var stepped forward.
He raised a hand—and the illusion he had maintained for centuries faded away.
First, his skin shifted, darkening in shade and texture. His eyes turned crimson light. The facade of a regal elder was gone.
What now stood in the underground chamber… was no light dragon.
But a Scourge Dragon.
And not just any corrupted beast.
He was a Champion—a chosen vessel of the Alpha itself.
One who had mastered the art of patience, politics, and betrayal.
He stood still, basking in the core's hum.
Then, he spoke—not to the room, but to the core itself.
"I must say, I'm impressed. Even I doubted I could mask the corruption for this long. Fortunately, it will soon be over." The humanoid Scourge Dragon smiled cruelly.
"The time for our grand conquest is drawing closer. Let them enjoy their fleeting peace—by the time they realize, the corruption will already be in their bones."
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