Chapter 49

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Chapter 49: Dragon Knight

"Dragon Knight Douglas: Without a dragon, a Dragon Knight is not much better than a computer expert traveling back to ancient times. At least he can ride a horse. His ancestors once made a pact with a real dragon by courage and bloodline. After advancing as a Dragon Knight, his weak dragon blood in his veins was revived. If all his blood is sacrificed, maybe only a tiny bit of true dragon blood could be extracted."

According to Victor, Douglas’s entire worth is not even comparable to a tiny bit of dragon blood.

If we categorize the various creatures of Aryan, most races can be classified into two categories: natural life and magical beings. The former is more common than the latter, such as humans, orcs, dwarves, and all beasts without magical abilities. These species that grow naturally and have no innate magic abilities belong to natural life. Elves fall in between, with High Elves and Dark Elves leaning towards magical beings, while Forest Elves lean towards natural life.

This classification only describes differences in characteristics and does not indicate strength. A human with job levels can easily defeat a pure magical being like a slime. A sea nymph and a mermaid, one being magical and the other natural, have been fighting in the same sea area for centuries without a clear winner. In fact, the criteria for classification are quite vague, leaving almost everyone, except scholars and wizards outside the academic tower, confused: How do you determine if a creature’s acid attack is magical or natural talent? As for natural growth…please, Aryan is a magical continent almost devoid of reproductive isolation.

However, the dragon race cannot be placed in either category.

Even the Elf King, with semi-divine powers, went through countless learning and adventures before wearing the crown. His strength does not come from being an Elf King but from being a legendary level archer. His elven bloodline only helps him go further on this path. Among the strong individuals who have reached the peak of the Primary Material Plane, the influence of racial gifts has become blurred, and their professions rather than their races better represent their achievements.

Dragons are different.

Dragons do not have professions, only age. They seem to be favored by the creator, as they grow stronger just by living each day. Their knowledge is inherited in their bloodline, with abilities and wisdom unlocking continuously with time, ensuring no loss of heritage.

Scholars call them "mythical creatures."

Dragons are like myths come to life. Their breath can turn plants near their lairs into valuable herbs, and a small bird they raise to clean wounds evolved into a magical creature by feeding on scabs. Most proud dragons don’t like taking other forms, and many aren’t interested in mating with other species. However, over time, their presence has created many mixed-blood and hybrid beings.

Like the Dragon Knight.

Perhaps ancestors bathed in dragon blood, or maybe they were descendants of dragon servants. These people (or other intelligent races) thus gained access to the path of becoming a Dragon Knight. Lesser dragons only allow dragon descendants to ride them, let alone the mighty dragons. The ancestor who bestowed Douglas with dragon blood was exceptional, earning recognition from a dragon who used dragon magic to bestow a constant flow of dragon blood to him.

Though very rare, Douglas’s veins carry true dragon blood.

Tasha received a definite answer at the moment the agreement was reached, and the outcome was even better than expected.

[Dragon Blood Bath]: A sword bathed in dragon blood grew dragon scales! You can temporarily extract dragon blood from the Dragon Knight to use on any dungeon structure, object, or member, granting them dragon attributes. However, due to the extremely small amount of dragon blood – less than one-tenth of a milligram – this skill can only be used once on a single target. Using it a second time will erase the Dragon Knight profession and the Dragon Knight himself.

"Two slots available, who do you plan to empower?" Victor asked. "I bet you’ll use one on the little dog. I recommend Heart of Nature; a Druid with dragon attributes could be quite interesting… um, useful."

He coughed discreetly, but Tasha had no intention of heeding any of his advice from the start.

There was one most suitable choice.

Among the runes on all four sides, the flame rune has never been activated.

The reason why this rune has not been activated so far is not because of insufficient magic. The dungeon has developed to this day, and gathering enough magic to activate the flame rune is no longer a problem. But Victor once said that the summoned Little Devil comes from the Abyss, and Tasha, who has signed the Forest Convention with the Oak Elder, does not want to take any risks.

Dragons are not Abyssal Creations.

Douglas signed the contract without even looking, and as soon as he put down the pen, his body softened.

The use of the "Dragon Blood Bath" skill temporarily removed the blood of the dragon from his veins, causing the Dragon Knight to fall to the ground with a sudden sense of powerlessness. In a place invisible to him, the only rune in the Magic Pool that was not lit up was changing.

Magic merged into the rune, causing the flame rune to emit a layer of dark red light. Just before the rune took shape, something else flowed into it. One-tenth of a milligram of dragon blood flowed through the rune, and the ominous dark red suddenly lit up, turning into bright red, then into golden red. The color of blood shone brightly like light. Tasha heard a faint ringing noise, as if something was collapsing, and then something else was being reshaped.

The rune turned into a bottomless black hole, like a long whale sucking in water, swallowing the magic. Tasha set a bottom line in her mind, if the consumption exceeded this value, she would choose to give up this shaping.

A second long roar came from somewhere, this time, the sound was like a giant beast roaring skyward.

Douglas had no idea what was happening now.

Sweat covered his skin, his arms and legs felt weak, his vision was blurry, and he felt drained. Has the ghostly lady turned on him after deceiving his soul? Douglas wasn’t disappointed, he had already risked everything and didn’t mind dying now.

The rider felt a strong gust of wind, something was flapping, and a sudden breeze indoors almost made it hard for him to open his eyes. His squinted eyes caught a bright red glow, like stagnant fire. He heard a "whoosh" sound, somewhat resembling Joey snorting, but instead of Joey’s spit, it was sparks with heat and the smell of burning.

What is that red shadow above? Is it the red-skinned demon from the story, planning to burn him alive?

Oh, not bad. He liked the red fire much better than the dim blue lights around, the fiery red fire suited to accompany the passionate Dragonrider’s funeral. Douglas crossed his hands over his chest, getting ready in a position of waiting for death with closed eyes, but unfortunately the next spark ignited his beard. The rider, who was solely seeking death, endured for a moment before struggling to defend his beard. He leaped up, patting his beard, only then he realized the power that took away his body heat had started to return, letting the warmth flow through his hands, feet, body, and eyes again.

His blurry vision cleared up, his confused mind recovered, and Douglas found himself standing in the middle of a hall, facing a giant beast.

Its scales shone like rubies, glittering under the surrounding light. Its double wings covered the overhead of the entire room, flapping so strongly that it could knock down anyone not standing steadily. Its face was both frightening and captivating, its eyes shining brightly like lava. The solidified flame ignited Douglas’s blue eyes, reflecting the shadow of the red dragon in his wide open eyes.

From the blood of this lonely Dragon Knight, Tasha reshaped the dragon of his dreams.

Douglas ran a few steps as if in a dream and predictably fell in the wind. The dragon swooped down, stopping half a meter away from him. Douglas didn’t even have to struggle to stand up, he crawled and rushed forward, embracing those huge wings, the dragon’s scales and spines on the wings pricked his arms. This fantastical creature did not vanish like in every dream, it arrogantly blinked at him and did not shake off his hands.

"Oh my goodness…" Douglas trembled and said with a moistened smile, "Hey, dear, you’re thirty years late."

On his thirtieth birthday, the Dragon Knight finally met his dragon.

The "Wyvern" created by the flame rune lacked the power, wisdom, and ability to use magic of a true Wyvern. Only one Wyvern-like creature could be created, any subsequent dragons made by the rune were magical pseudo dragons. Despite this, Douglas was overcome with tears of joy, and Tasha was also pleased.

Or rather, this outcome delighted her even more. Besides the current one, in the future, the pseudo dragons produced by the flame rune would only consume magical power without a set limit. Riding this kind of pseudo dragon was similar to riding a griffin, not requiring the Dragon Knight profession. With enough mounts and an experienced teacher, given time, Tasha could raise an air force.

Douglas was completely engrossed in his (one-sided) communication with the Wyvern, and Tasha kindly allowed him to bond with the dragon for a while, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see anything else for a while.

Capturing and taming another member was easier compared to convincing a Dragon Knight with a dragon. Tasha simply produced a contract, and Jacqueline didn’t ask any questions, didn’t say anything, and quietly signed her name.

Tasha felt like she was kidnapping a child.

—— This thought lasted less than a second.

"Minstrel Jacqueline: aged twenty-six, you won’t get arrested for dating her! With a voice that bewitches the heart like a sea siren, and hands that hold innate magic like a fairy, but who knows after multiple generations of mixed blood, she’s mostly just good at singing and playing music and has a youthful face."

"Indeed," Victor said mockingly, "the fairy folk are forever children."

At twenty-six years old… Tasha quietly glanced at a child who looked no more than ten years old, recalling a horror movie she had seen before about a thirty-year-old orphan who looked like a child and kept killing the families who adopted her.

The skill attached to minstrel is called "Increase Volume": Increase Volume! Speed up the rhythm! Louder! Stronger! Farther! You can amplify the effect of something hundreds or thousands of times, completely getting high on it! Anything living can be boosted to the max! Even things that are dead can be amplified for you to see!

According to this explanation, most likely it’s another skill with a side effect that turns the amplified object into a disposable item. And when it says "anything living," does it mean dragons will be killed to show you?

Jacqueline’s signing and accommodation went smoothly, following wherever others took her, obediently eating, bathing, and sleeping as if she had never changed places before.

She was truly obedient, so much that Tasha suspected she might have a bit of autism. Minstrel still remained silent, showing no emotion upon learning about Paladin and others’ deaths, only slightly softening when she saw Douglas. The rider, who had finally calmed down a bit from the initial excitement of meeting the dragon, came floating over to her, chattering about a bright future, as if the roles of adults and children had been reversed. Even though Jacqueline was twenty-six years old, she seemed younger than Douglas.

"I wasn’t joking earlier," Douglas said, "Jacqueline was… essentially bought into the ‘circus’ as a Hybrid, she’s actually my senior. Although it’s not the worst, it’s still not a good place to be."

Mavis deeply resonated with this, probably the most suitable person in the whole dungeon to be a preschool teacher. Knowing that Jacqueline was twenty-six years old didn’t change her attitude, she still took care of Jacqueline like a child.

"Children without a childhood, of course, don’t really grow up," Mavis said, carrying a pot outside and pouring a drink into Jacqueline’s cup.

This time, Jacqueline drank it.

Tasha always felt that Mavis not only talked about Jacqueline, but she also had a lot of motherly love every day, waiting to share with everyone she considered as her children – apart from the Old Oak Man, everyone here was like a child to her. She took care of the wounded, looked after Marion, and even took care of the Pastor of Saro, even though the latter was not very friendly towards her. When Tasha appeared in front of him, she could hardly recognize him.

The Saint Child in Saro was not doing well.

Since the end of that battle, Samuel never returned home. He had been helping out in the dungeon infirmary, eating hastily, and sleeping clothed. His eyes had deep blue circles underneath, his cheekbones sunken, his face haggard, even worse than when he had overused the Prideful Sun Rod. He rushed around self-destructively, trying to do everything, mechanically swallowing the food Mavis brought over. When Tasha appeared before him, he was almost unrecognizable.

Samuel had always kept himself quite neat, bathing daily, shaving before going out, tidying himself up, even if he was just wearing a washed-out doctor’s coat. Now his chin was covered in unruly beard growth, his cheeks had a fuzzy yellow layer, looking rough and unkempt like dry hay. He stared numbly at the ghost before him, gazed for a moment, and walked past.

"Patricia is a kind goddess," the ghost said.

Samuel stopped, frozen in place, like a statue with a hunched back. In his mind flashed the image of the blind and legless soldier again, a bit distorted, considering it had been appearing in Samuel’s nightmares.

"The Divine Artifact of the Moon Goddess does not kill, although it does not save either," the ghost said.

Her tone was very calm, not comforting him, just stating a fact, which made Samuel believe, or at least want to believe. His fist subconsciously clenched, reopening the small recurring wound in his hand, and the fresh blood slowly flowed through his fingers.

Like his increasingly withered pain, his wound also became numb.

"It’s broken," Samuel said in a dry voice, "Cup of Flowing Moon, Moon Goddess’s special object, because I…"

"Yes," the ghost answered coldly, "Moon Goddess is a pure deity. You used her sacred object to hold water for the dead without permission, that’s why it broke."

Saro’s special stick stood still, his eyes blinking, looking a bit confused – better than being like a walking dead just now. Tasha smiled and said, "Did you think I would comfort you, saying it was just old and not your fault?"

"No!" Samuel turned around, angrily argued, "I know this is my fault!"

"So you think this is your way of making up for it?" The ghost pointed at his cracked hands, "Keeping scars, letting yourself be hungry and tired, wasting your life, will that make you feel any better? Your way of self-satisfaction is so cheap."

"You, you don’t know anything," Samuel said urgently, gasping, "You don’t know… you don’t know…"

"I don’t know what?" Tasha asked, partly mocking and partly curious, "What do you know?"

Samuel’s mouth opened and closed for a long time, without saying anything.

"Forget it, I’m not interested," the ghost said, "Not everyone enjoys entertaining children like Mavis does."

The ghost floated away just like that.

Samuel watched as the ghost departed, feeling a mix of heaviness and lightness on his shoulders. He didn’t know what to say, or who to say it to.

The responsibility of killing was lifted, as well as the anger towards the Moon Goddess. Feeling doubtful and angry at the Moon Goddess made Samuel feel ashamed and scared, as he thought he was avoiding responsibility. Despite trying to punish himself, these thoughts wouldn’t go away. The ghost’s words relieved Saro’s Saint Child, but the doubts still lingered.

The Moon Goddess’s Holy Grail didn’t help the wounded, and the Prideful Sun Rod and Saro’s God powers were powerless against the injured. Why didn’t the all-knowing and compassionate god save them? Was it because Samuel’s prayers weren’t devout enough? Because those people weren’t believers? Because Saro had already left? Samuel felt lost and powerless, thinking he couldn’t do anything, and felt Saro…

No, stop. How despicable am I! Samuel’s heart clenched in pain, realizing he dared to question the gods just because they didn’t respond?

The name Samuel means "heard by God," but it seemed like God had never heard him.

If his grandma, who raised him, knew about these sacrilegious thoughts, she would surely be furious and reaffirm his beliefs with teachings and stories from the past, right? However, it had been many years since he last heard his grandma’s teachings. As Samuel struggled to find guidance in his mind, he was suddenly reminded of the face of an old knight.

"Humans don’t need gods," he coldly stated, "nor do they need useless priests meddling in worldly affairs."

Samuel walked back into the ward in a turmoil of emotions. The sky was now dark, most visitors had left, and the majority of patients were already asleep. Saro’s Saint Child sat on a chair by a bed, as if his spirit was wandering, futilely trying to convince the knight in his mind that humans indeed need gods, they need the Cult of Saul…

Is that so?

Samuel remembered the uninterested faces one by one. Even in the southeast corner where preaching was allowed, not many people were willing to listen to Saro’s teachings. He had a hard time convincing a few old folks, but their children came out and drove him away, calling him a money-hungry cheat, strongly opposing the idea of donating money to rebuild the Saro God’s temple. He remembered the children who threw candy wrappers at him. To them, Saro’s teachings and virtues were not as important as a few candies or a meal. Reflecting on it, those who were willing to hear him preach seemed to treat him as a source of entertainment rather than genuinely desiring Saro.

"Humans don’t need Saro," the old knight said coldly.

"Doctor?"

Samuel was startled awake from the continuous playback of memories, looking at the person speaking on the bed. The soldier was not missing any limbs, but had been cut open with a knife, barely saved and now lying sickly in the hospital room. Samuel forced a smile and asked, "Can I help with anything?"

"Can’t sleep," the soldier grimaced slightly, "in a lot of pain."

"Oh," Samuel said, feeling helpless and nodded. A sense of powerlessness crept over him, bending his back further. What can I do? What can the Pastor of Saro do? Besides watching you suffer and die, what else can I do?

"Sing a song, please," the soldier said, looking a bit embarrassed.

Samuel hesitated.

"Yes, sing a song, priest," the armless soldier lying on the bed next to him whispered softly, "The one you sang that day was very nice."

"Sing one!" someone else said.

Many pairs of eyes opened, finding it difficult to sleep in the midst of pain and after the war. Most soldiers were ashamed to express how nightmares and pain troubled them, they couldn’t tell how Saint Child of Saro’s voice accompanied them to sleep that night of miraculous escape, pulling them awake, like a gentle but powerful hand, leading them from hell back to earth.

For them, that was the joy of life.

"Okay, okay," Samuel said nervously, clearing his throat under the gaze of trusting eyes.

Saro’s prayer song echoed in the ward.

——————————

Tasha fell asleep that night.

Before closing her eyes, Tasha had a subtle premonition, a force pulling her consciousness downward. She only managed to say a word to Victor before he could respond, Tasha sank into a dream.

She fell, fell, then flapped her wings and flew up.

The sky was so wide, with clouds swirling around her. The land stretched far and wide, making everything look small. Tasha felt like she could flatten the houses on the ground with just one finger. Despite the peaceful surroundings, she felt dissatisfied, finding the space too cramped and the air heavy, not knowing where the complaints came from.

Dragons were approaching from a distance, flying towards the same place. Above the clouds, countless dragons were perched on a pile of rocks, like humans sitting in an open-air theater. Tasha folded her wings and sat down. Soon, a huge dragon appeared.

It was a massive creature, much larger than Tasha herself and taller than the surrounding dragons. The golden dragon opened its mouth, its voice echoing throughout the space.

"Humans have won!" it said, "dwarf…"

Its voice contained a terrible power, causing Tasha a headache. The image and sound were like a TV show with bad signal, shaking violently. Tasha had a splitting headache, but the dragons around her remained unaffected. She even heard a nearby dragon sneering softly, "Isn’t that good, those troublesome little ground mice…"

The next clear image appeared, after who knows how long.

"Everyone, it’s time," the golden dragon said, "the fissure will open tomorrow, and I will lead all willing dragons to depart. Any dragons can stay, but I must emphasize once again, once you choose to stay…"

Another signal disturbance.

Tasha jumped higher this time and when she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the sky. There were no dragons around, only a human standing in front of her, who looked so small.

"I will miss you," the tiny human said. "Oh, I can’t imagine a day without you."

The dragon Tasha was on was so huge that it had to lie on the ground with its head down to meet the human’s gaze. Through the dragon’s golden-red eyes, Tasha saw a tear-streaked face of a man who looked over sixty but cried like a child.

"As for me, I have foreseen this," the dragon said. "The lifespan of humans is just a moment for me, but your moments are so splendid. Our parting has come decades earlier than I expected, but the time spent with you will shine in my remaining years, until the end."

"Decades are too long for us," the small human said. "My grandson has been born, but I can’t introduce him to you, or you to him. The thought of my descendants possibly never seeing a giant dragon again makes me sad for them but glad for myself."

A mischievous smile appeared on the old man’s face, the small human with sky-blue eyes. He walked up and hugged the dragon, only able to reach its snout. The dragon gently breathed out, blowing his hair.

"Your descendants will see dragons again," Tasha heard herself say. The dragon extended its paw and lightly tapped the human’s chest, as if blessing and foretelling. "My dear friend, my blood flows within your veins. Even if one day, there are no more dragons in Aryan, the remnants of dragons will soar in the blood of the Dragon Knight."