Chapter 219

Chapter 219: The Legacy of King Bacal of the Tyrant Dragon

Legends about King Bacal of the Tyrant Dragon are countless.

He ruled over dragons, bore the title "King of Flames," and once waged war against the entire Demon Realm in what became known as the Dragon War.

After his defeat, he fled to the heavens, drained all magic from them, and severed the passageway linking the heavens, the Demon Realm, and Arad. He turned these lands into his private domain, ruling for five hundred years.

Though the People of the Heavens eventually overthrew him through their Mechanical Revolution, the fury Bacal unleashed in his final moments shattered the heavens’ sole continent into fragments. Countless lives were lost during the collapse, and falling debris caused disasters across Arad.

Though Bacal lost every major conflict, he remained a True Expert—one whose mere presence shook continents. His deeds, whether noble or vile, and his image, whether hero or tyrant, have been etched into Arad’s history for millennia.

To modern adventurers, King Bacal of the Tyrant Dragon isn’t a hero or legend, but…

A figure from history books.

Midi wouldn’t falter over a name from Arad’s myths. His shock came from realizing the obelisk’s signature proved Bacal himself had left something in this hall—a relic of that supreme expert.

Memories of the Delos Empire’s desperate defense of this place in his past life solidified Midi’s certainty. Excitement surged.

*What’s hidden here?*

Steadying himself, Midi tilted his head back, squinting as he scrutinized the obelisk’s inscriptions.

The truth soon unfolded.

The Seventeen Halls of the Azure Rock and the Floating City beneath were built by Bacal to block contact between the heavens and Arad, acting as the core magical artifact of a sealing magic array. But after Bacal’s defeat and final explosion shattered the heavens, these structures drifted from their original flying paths, sinking through the Sea of Clouds until anchoring in their current position.

Over centuries, the halls shifted from sealing the heavens to stabilizing the Sea of Clouds.

As for Lord Segarth of the Light City—the fearsome warrior who could fight thousands alone—he wasn’t some first-awakening practitioner. Bacal had crafted him as a magical entity.

Segarth’s terrifying aura? True dragon’s might, amplified by the Tyrant Dragon’s own power.

The obelisk’s narrative ended here. What followed were intricate alchemy formulas for creating magical entities. Clearly, Bacal cared little for explaining his motives but obsessed over preserving his alchemical research.

*If someone could replicate Segarth… Arad would fall under their rule.*

Midi’s gaze lingered on the cryptic formulas.

Yet this remained fantasy. The Delos Empire had occupied these halls for decades in his past life without creating a single magical entity. The formulas weren’t as straightforward as they seemed.

The reason soon became clear: Bacal’s material list demanded "vast quantities" of rare resources—many extinct in modern Arad. He’d written these formulas without considering future resource shortages.

This raised new questions.

If the formulas were useless, why had the Empire garrisoned elite troops here? Maintaining a fortress in the firmament required staggering costs for supplies and equipment. They wouldn’t waste resources guarding a historical monument.

Midi narrowed his eyes.

He read the obelisk again, word by word, no longer seeing a famous tyrant’s ramblings but a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Once, then again, ten times, then twenty.

Though Midi couldn’t grasp the complex principles behind these alchemy formulas, he’d unintentionally memorized every line through sheer repetition. Each symbol and punctuation mark grew more familiar, settling naturally into his mind.

Yet the more he memorized, the more Midi sensed something unnatural lurking within the inscription.

After another reading, his throat felt parched.

Just as he sought a hidden corner to rest, the golden small sword inside him hummed violently. The pure magic in his veins surged like a tidal wave!

Amid this resonance, a single symbol on the Obelisk blazed with golden light. Like a falling star, it arced through the air and landed in Midi’s palm.

Studying it closely, Midi understood.

What appeared as a mere symbol in the formula was no symbol at all—it was a rune.

A magical rune imbued with the aura of King Bacal of the Tyrant Dragon.

No words were needed. Midi closed his eyes, letting the rune’s energy guide him. Step by step, he moved past the Obelisk, through maze-like corridors and vast, opulent halls.

At last, he reached the deepest chamber of the Seventeen Halls of the Azure Rock—the Throne Hall.

There, the championship of Lord Segarth of the Light City stood silent, overlooking all like its absent master.

Suddenly, the golden rune tore free from Midi’s palm. It spiraled upward, trailing starlight, before embedding itself in the throne’s center.

The hall shuddered—like a rusted lock finally turned.

Hidden defense formations whirred to life while deadly mechanisms stilled. Gears ground and magic thrummed, weaving a deep, resonant symphony. When the last note faded, the championship shifted, its massive base sliding backward to reveal a hidden passage.

The tunnel seemed ordinary—narrower than expected for a lord’s palace. Yet standing before it, Midi felt crushing spiritual pressure.

Invisible magic howled like a storm, whipping his black hair wildly.

A glint flashed in Midi’s dark eyes. Though uncertain of the path ahead, such overwhelming energy demanded exploration.

Without hesitation, he descended.

The deeper he went, the heavier the pressure grew. Yet Midi pressed forward, unflinching.

Suddenly, the tunnel opened into a vast underground space. Gone was the palace’s grandeur. Instead, lush trees and vibrant flowers flourished, creating a paradise of birdsong and blossoms.

But Midi’s gaze locked on the colossal centerpiece—a dragon’s skeleton.

Translucent as glass yet harder than steel, the hundred-meter-long remains coiled in a circle, half-buried. Its skeletal wings spread wide, as if shielding against ancient storms.

Within the dragon’s embrace lay a mercury-thick pool of blood-red liquid. Platinum lightning flickered beneath its surface. Each spark sent ripples cascading, unleashing spiritual pressure storms that shook the air.

“Dragon’s Blood White Crystal Pool?” Midi breathed, voice trembling.

Now he knew what the Delos Empire had fiercely guarded in his past life.