Chapter 589: The Vertical Pupil of the Red Dragon
"True Dragon Sorcerer, Elemental Master, Bloodscale Berserker, Carved Scale Dragon... possessing four prestige classes, I suppose I could be called a hexagonal warrior among dragonkind."
Lowering his head to gaze at the softly glowing mystical runes etched into his scales, Cassius supported his body with his powerful limbs and slowly stood up.
He spread the wings on his back. The trailing edge of the wing membrane extended far behind his hind legs and tail, its surface glowing with a faint blue hue like metal burning in fire.
Cassius lifted his large, dignified head high. Four massive horns swept back, atop which the Supreme True Dragon Crown gleamed brilliantly.
His entire body was covered in red metallic scales, and with the complex, exquisite runes layered upon them, he looked like a masterfully forged suit of armor, emanating a mighty presence.
The red dragon had sharp spine ridges and tail horns. His mouth was full of fangs as sharp as scimitars, and his thick tail resembled a battering ram—clearly a colossal machine born for war.
After months of blood refinement, Cassius had raised the purity of his ancestral dragon blood to a higher tier, nearly matching the progenitor dragonkin from ten thousand years ago.
During this time, he had greedily absorbed the energy within Karrikex's body. The entire Ember Empire supported him with national might—providing all kinds of rare metals and minerals.
Thus, during this rapid developmental phase, the red dragon devoured like a glutton. His belly became a black hole, swallowing everything that entered his maw.
And the effect was obvious—his body rapidly grew, constantly breaking racial limits.
Though still a juvenile by dragon standards, not even having reached his first mating cycle, the red dragon had already reached a terrifying body length of fifty meters.
That figure, even during the age of draconic dominance tens of thousands of years ago, would place him among the elite. In this Third Era—where dragons are withered and the gods withdrawn—he was a true rarity.
If draconic scholars learned Cassius's real age and saw his absurdly massive frame with their own eyes, they'd cry out: This guy's eight years old?!
Note that even the largest common true dragons, like ancient gold or red dragons, typically only reached around thirty-six meters.
And only the most gifted dragons—tempered by millennia—could become ancient dragons. Most wouldn't even survive long enough to reach that age due to weakness or being hunted.
A red dragon just over twenty years old, but already fifty meters long—what does that mean among dragonkind?
Among humanoids, it would be like a toddler babbling and wobbling around growing to three meters tall.
It was simply inconceivable!
The Ember Empire was now known throughout the continent of Feianso, and the subject of greatest debate was its emperor—a fearsome red dragon.
In many research papers on the Ember Emperor, even the boldest scholars only dared estimate his age at around two hundred. Even so, their views were often met with skepticism from academic authorities.
If that number were changed to twenty, those same scholars would likely be ridiculed—or outright attacked verbally.
Cassius casually picked up a fire elemental crystal over a meter long and tossed it into his mouth like a snack.
Instantly, the sound of crunching rang from his giant maw, along with popping bursts of flame and air rupturing.
Terrifying heat exploded within his mouth. Wisps of green smoke leaked from between his teeth, while the bulk of the energy flowed down his throat, fueling the red dragon's rampant growth.
As Cassius chewed the crystal, he looked southward, his pale golden pupils flickering with flame, unable to hide his intense ambition.
"Now, with the Empire's support, the three great kingdoms are at their weakest. My pawns in Victoria Harbor, the Highland Kingdom, and Serenia have all been laid. It's time for the Empire to step onto the stage of the Feianso continent."
"After so long lying dormant, I wonder... can I kill those true god-chosen ones now, or even the avatars of the gods?"
Cassius wasn't blindly confident. As of now, he ruled the Ember Empire and wielded the power of four prestige classes: True Dragon Sorcerer, Bloodscale Berserker, Elemental Master, and Carved Scale Dragon.
Whether in spellcasting, melee combat, or wealth, Cassius far surpassed whiteboard dragons and beings of equal rank.
Compared to him, sorcerers and wizards were fragile. Warriors and monks looked clumsy.
Cassius had once feared losing control, being invaded by abyssal will—but with the Demon Slayer and Iron Will feats, even that final weakness was now gone.
At this point, only raw overpowering strength could hope to defeat him. His so-called "weaknesses" were nearly impossible to find.
He stared at the panel before him. Amid the dense data of his character sheet was a small, easy-to-miss line.
[Challenge Rating: 30 (155,000 XP)]
Cassius's lips curled into a fierce smile. Reflected in his golden pupils were countless cities and regions.
"People of Feianso, prepare yourselves... for the coming of the dragon."
Southeastern Ugo Prairie, White Bone Wasteland.
This was the outlet of the largest river within the Highland Kingdom—Bindler River.
The river's alluvium formed vast open plains, making it one of the rare fertile lands on the barren Ugo Prairie.
As such, the White Bone Wasteland had long been contested by the clans. The orcs fought over it in more than a thousand battles—big and small—with ownership changing hands a dozen times.
Not until the Redblood Tribe unified the Ugo Prairie and consolidated all orc clans did the fighting for this land temporarily cease.
As for the name "White Bone," it made sense: during every territorial skirmish, orcs slaughtered each other, leaving countless mangled corpses behind.
And whenever the orcs invaded the Highland Kingdom from the south, their corpses would fall into the river, their white bones carried downstream and buried in the soil.
After each war, the orc blood would dye the Bindler River red. Orcs even mockingly called it the "Beastblood River."
Now, after the brutal Blackstone Mountain battle, orc blood once again stained the river red—this time mixed with pollutants from explosions.
Under the leadership of Batu Skullcrusher, the orcs nearly broke through Evendeldan. They came terrifyingly close to achieving a goal they'd pursued for millennia—but in the end, they fell just short.