The echoes of the celebrations still lingered in the air of Orario, a ghost of the laughter and cheers that had defined Monsterphilia two days prior.
Above ground, the city was slowly exhaling, shaking off the adrenaline of the festivities and the lingering dread of the monster breakout.
But deep beneath the surface, within the reinforced foundations of the Bahamut Familia estate, the atmosphere was anything but celebratory.
Boom! Boom!
The vibrations traveled through the bedrock, muffled only by the sheer thickness of the dragon-form-rated walls.
Crack!
A concussive blast of energy rippled through the chamber, followed immediately by the sharp, crystalline crack of reinforced stone yielding to overwhelming pressure.
Draco skidded across the uneven floor, his heels digging furrows into the rock as he braced against the shockwave of his own making.
"Huff... huff..."
He straightened slowly, his chest heaving.
With every exhale, a plume of translucent steam hissed from his nostrils.
Sweat didn't just bead on his skin; it poured, carving glistening paths through the dust that coated his dark, muscular frame.
Across his shoulders and spine, the intricate hieroglyphs of his blessing glowed with a dull, pulsing light.
He reached back, his fingers brushing against his long silver hair, which was now matted and damp.
Despite the exhaustion threatening to turn his limbs to lead, Draco's mind remained sharply focused.
He hadn't planned to push himself this hard today, but the image of Bell Cranel...clumsy, desperate, yet unnervingly quick growth....played on a loop in the back of his consciousness.
He had watched the boy during the Silverback incident.
Bell was a novice, a fledgling in every sense of the word, and yet there was a "density" to his growth that was pressuring.
Draco wasn't a man prone to jealousy, but he was a man who understood the weight of his own destiny.
He was currently the "Strongest" of this generation, a pinnacle that others looked toward.
But titles were fragile things.
'Dragons are inherently lazy' he thought with a self-deprecating smirk, wiping sweat from his brow.
It was a biological truth.
The ancient dragons of legend spent centuries slumbering atop piles of gold.
As a dragon-kin, some level of the same lethargy tugged at his being, tempting him to settle for "good enough."
But the circumstances of his birth wouldn't allow for such luxury.
If he stayed still, he would be overtaken.
If he became complacent, he would fail his family, friends and the deities who had made his current life possible.
Since his recent transition into his young adult phase, Draco had been grappling with a new wellspring of power.
His physical frame was denser, his magic pool deeper, and his instincts sharper.
He hadn't even fully explored his draconic transformation yet.
Luckily, he had planned for this years ago.
When he had commissioned the Goibniu Familia to construct the estate, his requests had been deemed "absurd" and "excessive."
He had demanded a training ground a few stories beneath the earth, reinforced with layers of adamantine-infused bedrock and dampening magic tools.
He had used the colossal dimensions of his goddess, Bahamut, in her true form as a reference point, then tripled the scale.
Even so, as he stood in the center of the massive hall, it felt… cozy.
Draco sat cross-legged on the floor, ignoring the jagged debris.
He closed his eyes, forcing his erratic heart rate to settle.
He reached for his tail...a powerful, scaled appendage that acted as both a rudder in combat, a lethal whip, at times a magic focus…..and pulled it into his lap.
He frowned, his fingers peeling away several shattered fragments of his obsidian scales.
"Pushed it a bit too hard," he muttered.
The injuries weren't from an opponent, but from his own magic.
Having studied some theoretical nuances of magic under the tutelage of Riveria five years ago, Draco had developed a tiny bit of insight over "spell keys."
For the average falna mage, a spell was a linear progression: chant, manifest, release.
Spell keys changed the game.
They were linguistic or mental triggers that functioned as activation codes, allowing a caster to manipulate a spell mid-flight.
To the untrained eye, it looked like Draco was playing a deadly game of catch or some form of magical masochism.
He would launch several elemental orbs, then, with a sharp mental command, use a spell key to cause it to shatter into a dozen homing shards, or detonate with a concussive blast right before it hit him.
But to him, it was the ultimate training for his physical and magical stats.
If he couldn't survive his own magic, how could he expect to survive the terrors of the deeper floors?
The mental strain was immense.
Managing multiple spells and spell keys while maintaining high-speed physical maneuvers required a level of "Mind" and "Strength" control that most adventurers couldn't even fathom.
But it was working.
He could feel the familiar itch of his stats climbing.
As a by-product, it also pushed his related…..Development abilities…further along.
After a few more minutes of meditation, Draco felt his stamina returning.
He stood up, the joints in his knees popping like small firecrackers.
He needed to transform.
The sensation of being "cramped" in his humanoid form was becoming an itch he couldn't scratch.
He hadn't transformed for more than a week.
Just as he was about to begin the process...a voice cut him.
"Draco!"
The shout came from the top of the long, spiraling stone staircase that led to the surface.
It was Bahamut.
Draco looked up, his brow furrowing.
"Yeah? What is it?" he yelled back, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
"You have some visitors!" Bahamut's voice was cheerful, entirely unbothered by the fact that she was interrupting his training session.
"Visitors?" Draco repeated.
He hadn't scheduled anything.
He wasn't expecting delivery, and he certainly wasn't in the mood for social calls.
"Do you know who they are?"
"Uhm, one of them is a very pretty girl, she looks as though she is ready for battle… as for the other two, you know what? Just wait a minute, I'll just bring them down!"
"Wait, I'm not…."
Draco started to protest, but the sound of her retreating footsteps told him she was already halfway back to the foyer.
He let out a long, weary sigh, then looked at the state of the training ground.
It was a disaster zone.
Scorch marks, water puddles, ice shards and much more marred the floor, chunks of the ceiling lay in piles, and the air smelled of blood, sweat, and burnt meat.
With a tired flick of his hand, he summoned a localized vortex.
The wind whipped through the chamber, gathering the debris and dust into a neat pile in the far corner.
It wasn't perfect, but it was better than looking like he lived in a rockslide.
He grabbed a nearby towel, wiping the grime and blood from his torso before splashing his face with water from a stone basin.
He didn't have time to find a shirt...his last one had been incinerated during a particularly aggressive test....so he would just have to hope the guests weren't easily offended.
The sound of footsteps returned, more numerous this time.
Draco squared his shoulders and turned toward the stairs.
Bahamut appeared first, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Behind her followed three figures.
The first was no surprise.
The minute Bahamut had mentioned someone "ready for battle," Draco had known.
Ais Wallenstein stood there, her gaze immediately sweeping the arena.
She was clad in her light armor, her hand resting habitually on the hilt of her sword.
She looked exactly as she always did: focused, ethereal, and slightly disconnected from the mundane world.
However, the other two guests caused Draco to blink in genuine surprise.
"Hello, I came to visit," Miach greeted, raising a hand in a friendly wave.
The god of healing looked as humble as ever, though there was a new light of determination in his eyes.
Next to him, Naaza was practically vibrating with nervous energy.
She kept her head low, her prosthetic arm twitching slightly.
She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else…..likely suspicious that Draco was about to pull her patron into some kind of dangerous scheme.
"Miach? Naaza?" Draco wiped his hands on the towel, tossing it aside.
"I'm glad you came. Sorry for the mess. I wasn't expecting company."
Miach smiled, though his eyes lingered on the fresh wounds on Draco's shoulders.
"We didn't mean to intrude on your… intense training. I see the rumors about your dedication aren't exaggerated."
'There are such rumors?' Draco mused, his expression one of shock.
Naaza nudged Miach with her elbow, her voice a low whisper.
"I told you we should have sent a messenger first."
Ais, meanwhile, was ignoring the social niceties entirely.
Her golden eyes were fixed on the cooling scorch marks on the floor, then they drifted to Draco's back, curious about what his status sheet looked like.
She could feel the weight of the air in the room.
It was heavy, saturated with the kind of power that only came from someone pushing their limits.
Draco noticed her scrutiny.
He knew that look.
It was the look of a predator observing another.
"I'm glad to see you, Miach," Draco said, his tone shifting to something more professional.
"I take it you've thought about our conversation from two days ago? Though, I'll admit, I didn't expect an answer so soon."
"Events have a way of moving quickly in this city," Miach replied.
He looked around the massive space, his expression turning thoughtful.
"But I can see you have other matters to attend to first."
Draco nodded once, his expression hardening as he turned his full attention to the Sword Princess.
"While I would like to get down to business quickly, I have to resolve something else first."
He gestured with his chin toward Ais.
"Ah, take your time," Miach said, stepping back toward the edge of the training floor.
Naaza followed him closely, her eyes darting between Draco and Ais.
She had heard the stories…..everyone had…..but seeing the two of them standing in the same arena made the air feel thin.
"So, little Ais," Draco said, his voice softening slightly but retaining an edge of challenge.
"How have you been? We didn't get to talk much at the tavern, but I'm glad to see you're well."
"Hmm," Ais replied.
Her responses were always brief, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes….half-respect, half-impatience.
Naaza blinked at the exchange.
"Little Ais?"
To call one of the most promising women in Orario "little" was a move only a few could get away with.
But Draco had the history, and more importantly, he had the strength to back it up.
"Honestly, I was expecting you to visit much earlier," Draco continued, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
"But I'm glad you eventually found your way here."
"Waiting," Ais said simply.
"Sword repair." She added.
Draco hummed in understanding.
He remembered Gareth mentioning the Loki familia's half failed expedition on the fiftieth floor.
If Ais had been pushing herself as hard as she usually did, she likely would have pushed her weapon to the breaking point.
A sword like hers wasn't something you could just sharpen at a local stall; it required a master's touch.
"I see. In that case…" Draco's casual demeanor evaporated.
He stood taller, his presence expanding until it seemed to fill the vast underground chamber.
The lazy dragon was gone, replaced by the apex adventurer.
"I would love to see how much little Ais has grown in the last five years."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
The humidity from Draco's sweat and steam vanished, replaced by the sharp, biting chill of Ais's focused intent.
Ais didn't say another word.
She didn't need to.
She stepped forward, her boots clicking softly against the stone.
She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of her rapier.
A shiver ran down her spine…..not of fear, but of anticipation.
Five years ago, she had stood before him and realized the vastness of the world.
Today, she wanted to see if the gap had narrowed, or if the dragon had moved even further into the clouds.
Draco felt the shift in her aura.
He felt the weight of Miach and Naaza's gaze from the sidelines.
He felt the silent support of Bahamut, who had moved to sit on a raised ledge, swinging her legs like a child waiting for a show to begin.
"Don't hold back, Ais," Draco warned, his silver hair changing colour as he began to channel his magic once more.
"I certainly will, if you are still weak"