"Growl, growl, growl." (After hundreds of millions of years of natural evolution, ferns with true roots and leaves appeared.
They were taller than their predecessors, more efficient at absorbing sunlight and water, and held an absolute advantage in the struggle for survival. Thus, they ruthlessly replaced the primitive vascular plants, driving them to extinction.)
Asterion's sudden, sweeping historical narrative left Mirrorblade utterly bewildered. His lungs were tight with suppressed rage, but he could only stand there with his mouth agape. A look of "clear-eyed ignorance" filled his gaze; he had no idea what his father was trying to express at such a tense, sword-drawn moment.
"Growl, growl, growl..." (Be patient and keep listening, boy. In short, hundreds of millions of more years passed, and nature underwent a cataclysm. The world's climate became exceptionally dry and cold. Those giant ferns, taller even than I am now, could not adapt and died out in massive numbers. They were eventually replaced by gymnosperms, which could produce hardy, shelled seeds.)
"Growl, growl." (But the ferns did not vanish entirely. They shrank in size, hiding in dark, damp corners, where they continue to survive tenaciously to this day.)
"ROAR!" (What are you actually trying to say?! What does any of this have to do with us?!!)
Mirrorblade grew increasingly irritable and impatient. He understood the concept of "hundreds of millions" as a unit of measurement, but the things his father spoke of—events spanning eons—felt far too distant and irrelevant. It was beyond his current grasp, and he struggled to see the deeper meaning.
"Growl, growl..." (Do you still not understand? Your vision is far too narrow. That 'Ape-Wyvern' talk was just a joke I made. Humans are different from us; the gap in physical strength and lifespan is simply too vast. Yet, you are trying to use the body of a Dragon to understand the thoughts and values of humans. Don't you find that ridiculous?)
"Growl, growl, growl." (A human's lifespan is barely a century. Under normal circumstances, a century isn't even enough time for a dragon to become a Tempered monster, let alone evolve new powers to become a Subspecies or a Variant.)
"Growl, growl." (Do not view a day or a year as something so long. You are a dragon, boy. No matter how close you are to humans, you are not one of them, and you can never become one. Your lifespan is long enough to sit quietly and watch a human kingdom go from its glorious birth to its utter ruin.)
"Growl, growl." (The humans you see are but a small fraction of their civilization. They are indeed the most elite and proactive part of humanity, but they can never represent the whims or the nature of the human race as a whole.)
Silence fell once more over the Confluence of Fates. Mirrorblade forced himself to calm down, pushing his mind to comprehend everything Asterion had said. He had the capacity for it.
"Growl... I... I think I understand a little..." (Are you saying... that everything currently happening in the Ancient Forest—the mutations, the deaths... are just like the changes those plants went through over millions of years... right?)
Asterion's explanation had been rough, and Mirrorblade still couldn't distinguish a fern from a gymnosperm, but he grasped the core message.
"Growl. Precisely." (You can look at it that way. What is happening now is simply the compression of millions of years of natural evolution into a few short decades.)
On this point, Asterion was unexpectedly candid, offering no deflection. It was hardly surprising; for someone like him—who now drew energy directly from the Dragonveins and grew stronger with every passing day, rapidly molting into a Forbidden Species—this environmental evolution was an irreversible and unstoppable reality.
Like a flood of the eras, one could either merge with it or be crushed by it. There was no other choice.
"Growl." (Is this the wisdom... passed down through the bloodline of an Elder Dragon?)
"Growl?" (Then... what about the lives that cannot adapt to your energy? Or those who suffer negative mutations? Their deaths?)
Mirrorblade questioned him again, his sharp teeth clicking together. His body was coiled tight, looking as though he might lung and bite Asterion at any moment if the answer didn't suit him.
"Growl, growl." (Is death... so rare? In nature, every minute and every second, countless lives die silently while countless new ones are born. You and I are included in that cycle. Every living thing you have seen so far, whether plant or animal, looks nothing like their ancestors from hundreds of millions of years ago. Are you going to attack all of nature because of that?)
"Growl, growl." (It took countless iterations of natural cycles—countless years of evolution and regression, life and death, the total extinction of species and the lucky survival of others—to finally create the New World you see today.)
"Growl, growl?" (Even the Ancient Forest you know and love so much is not eternal. In this world, the only truth that never changes is "change" itself. Any life that cannot keep up with the shifting environment will be naturally weeded out and turned to dust.)
"Growl." (This is what has been happening for countless years. It was so before we were born, and it will be so after we die.)
"Growl." (No matter how many beautiful words or theories you use to sugarcoat it, this truth remains unchanged.)
Compared to Mirrorblade, who remained emotional and burdened by a strange sense of guilt, Asterion's attitude was consistently calm—a cold, patient serenity he rarely showed his son.
"Growl?" (The only difference is... this time, the forest's change isn't a decision made by nature over vast ages. It's your decision... isn't it?)
Mirrorblade's breathing was heavy, his chest heaving violently.
"Growl, growl." (Never, ever anthropomorphize nature, silly child. Nature has no will of its own.)
Asterion looked at Mirrorblade with a hint of pity in his eyes.
"Growl, growl." (You and I—beings like us—are ourselves a part of nature. My very existence caused all of this. From that perspective, my decision is nature's decision.)
"Growl? Roar?" (So you're going to keep hiding here, spreading Bio-energy? Until every living thing in the New World—plant and animal alike—evolves into something new? Until they all become "Blue-tinged" lifeforms?)
"Growl?" (Bio-energy? Blue-tinged life? Is that what the humans at Astera are calling it?)
Asterion didn't get angry at the interrogation. Instead, he let out a couple of interested chuckles. "Growl." (No, you are wrong again.)
"Growl, growl." (You have the order of events backwards. It isn't that I am actively spreading energy. It is that as long as I exist here, as long as I exist in this world, everything around me will naturally be changed.)
Meeting Mirrorblade's shocked gaze—a look usually reserved for a monster of nightmares—Asterion made his declaration without hesitation.
"Growl." (Do you understand now? I do not need to adapt to the environment. The environment adapts to me.)
"Growl?" (And what about you all? You and your companions... are you ready to adapt to a new environment?)
Mirrorblade eventually left. He didn't fight Asterion again, nor did he stay for another lecture.
Unlike his arrival, where he had been a whirlwind of fury seeking out the "culprit," he looked incredibly melancholy as he departed... or perhaps shell-shocked?
It was as if something inside that body had shattered, or as if he had suffered such a massive shock that he could no longer control himself. His mind was elsewhere—so much so that his massive frame stumbled as he walked through the Confluence of Fates, even bumping into a large, sharp shard of Bio-crystal because he wasn't looking.
But Mirrorblade didn't seem to feel the pain. He kept his head down and trudged forward until his silhouette vanished into the tunnels leading back to the surface.
Asterion, watching his "silly boy" leave in such a state, didn't chase after him or offer comfort. Instead, he felt quite satisfied.
He could tell that, compared to a few years ago when he had kicked the boy out, Mirrorblade had actually listened to his words this time... though he didn't know how much of it would stick.
Time is the best catalyst. At this stage, Asterion was no longer the weak, helpless creature he was when he first transmigrated into this strange world.
His power had increased exponentially multiple times, giving him the confidence to face any threat. Many of the problems that used to trouble him regarding survival in this cruel world were no longer issues; they were trivialities not worth his mental energy.
For instance, Asterion didn't care what reaction or consequences would follow if Mirrorblade returned to Astera and told the Hunters everything he had said today. If any bold humans dared to challenge him, Asterion would not hesitate to bring down a strike of retribution, destroying their cities or even their kingdoms as a warning.
Just like the Fatalis of legend, only pure power could defend one's status and rights.
Asterion could feel himself getting closer and closer to that peak, for the most precious organ in his body was nearing maturity—his Internal Heat Organ.
Xeno'jiiva had been like a miserable laborer, enduring eons of loneliness in the Confluence of Fates, sleeping and absorbing massive amounts of Bio-energy, only for Asterion to swoop in and take the prize.
That Bio-energy hadn't been consumed for nothing. When Asterion took over, he inherited an Internal Heat Organ that was already highly developed and near maturity. It was no exaggeration to say he was only one step away. He just needed one more massive feeding of Bio-energy, and that organ would break through its final threshold, evolving into a perpetual motion machine that defied the basic laws of physics.
Asterion had already decided what the final piece of the puzzle would be—the one that would allow him to molt into a Forbidden Species: the Zorah Magdaros, whose lifespan was reaching its end.
In the Elder Dragon hierarchy, the larger the body, the more Bio-energy it naturally contained. Zorah Magdaros was a "Mountain Dragon" renowned for its sheer scale. Moreover, near the end of its life, it still held all the energy it had accumulated over a vast lifetime perfectly intact.
It wasn't like that old Kushala Daora he had found years ago, which was discovered too late, with most of its Bio-energy already leaked away.
In Asterion's eyes, the walking volcano that was Zorah Magdaros was like a massive treasure chest overflowing with wealth, just waiting for him to open it.
To ensure success and avoid leaving things to uncontrollable luck, Asterion had specifically spent a portion of his Bio-energy to evolve six glowing, orange circular organs on his body.
These were the three pairs of circular light-sensing organs once found above the eyes of a Xeno'jiiva. They were specialized organs used by those Elder Dragons to locate Dragonvein energy. Aside from the specific Xeno'jiiva that Asterion had consumed, normal members of that species relied on these organs to find the richest deposits of energy.
They were essentially nomads, though they followed energy instead of water and grass.
Similarly, these three pairs of light-sensing organs were the root cause of why Xeno'jiiva could accelerate the Elder Crossing. By using them, a Xeno'jiiva could hide in the Confluence of Fates and call out to elderly dragons whose lives were ending, guiding them to the New World to die within the Dragonveins, thereby maximizing the absorption of the massive Bio-energy released upon their death.
Now, Asterion possessed this ability as well. However, he would not lure the elderly dragons into the Confluence of Fates to die. If a "meal" as heavy as Zorah Magdaros died in the Dragonveins, the resulting release of energy would trigger catastrophic natural disasters, such as massive volcanic eruptions across the New World.
Despite the cold words he had spoken to Mirrorblade and his lack of regret for the damage his Bio-energy caused in the Ancient Forest, Asterion was actually quite pleased with the New World's current geography and ecology. He had no desire to change it.
If Zorah Magdaros truly died in the Dragonveins, the ensuing eruptions and volcanic ash would inevitably "cleanse" the surface of the New World. The first to go would be the Coral Highlands; that beautiful scenery would be swallowed by heatwaves and sky-blocking ash.
This was a cycle that had happened countless times in the past. Every time a heavyweight Elder Dragon died in the Dragonveins, the surface ecology was wiped clean, followed by a period where plants sprouted anew and life began to flourish once more.
Asterion didn't want to wait for a reboot. He wanted his meal, and he wanted his world intact.
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