Chapter 658: The Supreme Dragon, Survival of the Fittest
Time flowed across the continent of Atlan faster than imagined.
New Calendar year 743.
Nearly forty years had passed since the battle between the Red Emperor and the Bronze Dragon King.
Forty years was nearly two generations for short-lived species, but for dragons, it was merely a few extra subtle lines on their scales.
The development of Sacred Aola never stopped.
The empire's borders pushed outward in all directions, the former boundaries gradually expanding, old territories continuously consolidated and fortified. One after another, new Dragon Nests, mines, and cities rose from the earth, dragon banners flying over more and more lands.
The population of all races continued to grow, and new generations of dragons matured in waves.
The legions' scale and average life level advanced in tandem, technology accumulated steadily, dragon-forging techniques and alchemical industry grew increasingly refined, and the teleportation network covering nearly all key points of Atlan began to take shape.
The circulation speed of resources and information had undergone a qualitative leap compared to the kingdom era.
The foundations had been sunk deep enough.
However, this great beast still crouched peacefully dormant on the continent of Atlan, showing no intention of extending its claws and fangs toward other empires or other continents.
But how long could this last?
No one could say.
Time continued to flow until the first winter snow fell upon Atlan.
Snowflakes drifted slowly from the white sky, covering the top levels and plaza of the dragon court, laying a thin layer of white over scales and steel.
The empire's operations did not slow in winter.
Snow was no obstacle for dragons and their followers—just the temperature dropping a few degrees, the wind turning a bit colder.
The gears that needed to turn kept turning.
The iron dragon Sorog had already been in the affairs hall for over ten consecutive days and nights.
He had taken humanoid form, retaining only his dragon tail instead of his full true body.
A dragon's claws were better suited for battle—sharp and dangerous—but lacked precision when grasping fragile objects; one careless move could crush whatever was held.
Humanoid fingers were far more agile when flipping through documents.
No scratches were left when turning pages, and the pressure was more even when marking seals.
Sorog sat in a high-backed chair, with roll after roll of magic paper spread out before him.
They were covered in numbers, entries, and brief military intelligence summaries.
He lowered his head slightly, revealing a sharp, chiseled profile. His gaze moved from one document to another, occasionally pausing to tap a mark beside a number, or lifting his tail to hook a newly delivered scroll closer.
The serpent woman attendants nearby had long grown accustomed to this rhythm.
They waited quietly nearby, occasionally stepping forward to replace a batch of new documents or to take away reviewed scrolls for archiving. Throughout it all, not a single unnecessary sound was made.
When the Iron Royal Duke worked, he needed silence and focus.
Any unnecessary noise was an act of profanation against the empire's efficiency.
Time continued to pass.
The snow fell thicker.
The light outside the window shifted from noon's white to evening's gray, then from gray to the darkness of settled night. The blizzard grew denser, weaving a thick curtain outside the windowpanes.
Sorog remained unmoved.
He maintained absolute focus until the final scroll—a report on the resource reserves of the new dragon city—was reviewed and set aside. Only then did he slowly lift his head.
He exhaled a long, slow breath.
Sorog's tail gradually curled to his side, his eyelids involuntarily drooping, the gaps between them growing narrower.
Fatigue surged in like a tidal wave.
"Withdraw."
He spoke, his voice low and hoarse.
The attendants quietly exited the hall, their movements uniform.
After the doors closed, only the iron dragon remained in the affairs hall.
He stood up and walked to the center of the empty hall. His scales stretched during the transformation, his limbs thickening and lengthening, his tail returning from its slender humanoid form to its original thick and heavy state.
The iron dragon had reverted to his true body, preparing to rest for a while right there.
There was no comfortable bed here. The floor was hard and cold.
But he didn't care.
Sorog rested his chin on his foreclaws, his body slowly sinking down. His scales pressed against the stone surface, a chill spreading through the contact. His breathing gradually lengthened, becoming slow and deep.
The iron dragon sank into sleep.
His consciousness descended slowly through the darkness, reaching a depth he had never reached while awake.
But his consciousness did not sink into nothingness.
In a daze, Sorog found himself standing in an empty, boundless darkness.
There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above his head.
Every direction was pitch black, impossible to distinguish near from far or shallow from deep. It was like standing in the center of an infinite void, where all sense of distance and direction had lost their meaning.
The only thing that existed was a massive outline standing directly before him.
An iron throne.
It was forged entirely from dark, metal-like material. Its surface was covered in rough, angular edges and sharp protrusions, every edge resembling an unpolished blade. It glimmered with a cold, dark sheen, every inch exuding hardness and killing intent.
Even from the perspective of a legendary iron dragon, it was immensely grand.
The throne was so enormous it inspired awe. Its backrest rose into unseen shadows, standing in the darkness like a mountain range. The armrests on either side were thick enough for an ancient dragon to coil upon.
"Is this a dream? And what is this iron throne?"
Sorog's eyes filled with vigilance. He lowered his body slightly, his nerves tightening.
He rarely dreamed.
Handling the empire's myriad affairs consumed immense mental energy.
Sorog was also the type to personally oversee every detail. Every time he slept, even during short naps, he would enter a deep sleep state, almost never dreaming.
The darkness that passed during sleep was merely a blank space in time for him.
Consciousness would sink down and then rise back up—and a new round of work would begin.
But now, he was certain that he was in a dream.
And this dream was vivid—unnaturally so.
Moreover, from the massive throne before him, Sorog felt a call and temptation that originated from his bloodline and soul. It made him want to step forward and coil upon the iron throne.
It was like smelling food when extremely hungry, or seeing a warm lair when utterly exhausted.
The iron dragon couldn't help but spread his wings, wanting to approach.
But the next second, he shook his head violently, using his powerful will to suppress the impulse. He forced himself to stop, merely gazing from afar at the enormous iron throne.
Suddenly.
Sorog heard a sound.
"Roars."
He listened carefully.
It was dragon roars, but not just dragon roars.
The clash of scales, the tearing of sharp claws through flesh, dying gasps, and victorious bellows... These sounds surged up from the void beneath the throne.
At first, they were scattered, like distant rumbles of thunder, but they quickly grew dense and clear.
Layer upon layer, growing louder and louder.
The roars intertwined—angry, agonized, ecstatic, dying—as if the sounds of hundreds of battles were being poured into his ears at once.
With the sounds, the darkness faded.
Beneath the throne, one after another, massive figures emerged.
They were dragons locked in combat.
Iron dragons, chrome dragons, drill dragons, nickel dragons... All of them were iron hybrid dragons. Their scale colors ranged from silver-gray to deep black, their physiques from stocky to slender. When they spread their wings, they blotted out large swaths of vision.
One after another, they bit, rammed, and slaughtered each other.
Scales shattered, blood splattered, flames alternated between flaring and dying in the darkness.
After an unknown amount of time.
Finally, the last iron dragon still standing staggered toward the iron throne.
It was covered in wounds, most of its scales broken. Its left wing hung to the ground, and every step left a trail of blood behind. Its breathing was rough and disordered.
But its steps did not falter.
Step by step, the rough steps echoed dully beneath its claws, until it finally reached the top. It turned around and slowly sat down, facing the darkness below.
In that instant, the entire darkness trembled slightly, as if unable to bear this weight.
Then, the scene blurred and reformed in an instant.
Sorog saw countless worlds spread out beneath his feet, densely connected like a massive net woven from stars.
The outlines of the worlds varied in size.
Some resembled a ball of burning flame, others a vast blue ocean, others still layered land stacked upon land.
And in every world, there were dragon figures.
All of them were iron hybrid dragons, all bowing their heads toward the direction of the throne.
Scales lowered, wingtips touching the ground.
Silent submission, wordless surrender.
The iron dragon sat quietly on the throne. Its once-wounded body had fully healed, and the entire body had become, like the throne itself, infinitely grand and majestic. Only a pair of cold eyes could be seen, looking down upon all the worlds.
Countless worlds spun beneath it, yet it remained motionless, as if it had been sitting there since time immemorial.
At the same time.
As if sensing Sorog's gaze.
The iron dragon on the throne lowered its eyes. Its gaze crossed the boundless darkness and landed on Sorog.
"Why isn't it me sitting up there?"
"I can take its place!"
Sorog met the gaze of this iron dragon. Instead of feeling nervous or fearful, an unprecedentedly strong thought surged within him.
A hot current spread from his chest to his throat.
He almost wanted to roar, to charge forward, to overthrow the figure on that throne and replace it.
But immediately, the iron dragon suddenly raised his claw and slammed it heavily against his own head.
Sorog sobered up a little. He stared at the iron throne with even more vigilance, realizing that this thing was affecting him.
Then, in the hall, the iron dragon abruptly opened his eyes.
Outside the window, the snow was still falling. Through the frost-covered panes, he could see the sky just showing a sliver of grayish white.
Dawn had not yet arrived.
"A bizarre yet vivid dream? No, not a dream."
The iron dragon slowly raised his head, his vertical pupils suddenly contracting.
He found that a piece of secret information had appeared in his mind out of nowhere.
The content it contained shook his soul. Even the always steady Sorog's breathing grew rapid, his expression shifting constantly, his tail lashing back and forth behind him.
Huff!
He took several deep breaths, his chest rising and falling. It took a while before he suppressed the surging emotions, his gaze gradually returning to calm.
"Has Garoth awakened this inheritance?"
"According to the acquisition criteria of this inheritance, he might already know, just hasn't told me. But regardless, I must inform him of this matter."
The iron dragon thought solemnly in his heart.
At the same time.
Far away in the deep void, on the white dwarf.
The red iron dragon had just finished several rounds of training and was standing quietly on the planet's surface, lost in thought.
After reaching Great Life Legendary, the increase in life level should logically become extremely slow.
From Mandate to Immortal was a massive threshold. Many legendary beings could only climb slowly within this level throughout their entire lives, each bit of progress requiring vast stretches of time.
However, he was still maintaining his previous growth rate.
Even without sleeping, his life level had naturally increased over these decades—and by no small amount.
"My life level is now thirty-seven."
"Once I reach forty, I can become a truly immortal lifeform. But can I directly reach level forty in my next slumber?"
The red iron dragon thought silently in his heart.
In another thirty or forty years, his slumber period would arrive.
At that time, both his body and consciousness would sink into deep internal rest. When he emerged from the slumber, his true age would exceed eight hundred, reaching the level of an ancient dragon.
In theory, not all dragons could become ancient dragons.
From very old to ancient, a small portion of dragons would be eliminated.
For example, if a white dragon with mediocre talent spent its days slacking off, it would likely start declining when it reached very old age, then die, never having a chance to touch the legendary realm.
The claim that all dragons were destined to become legendary seemed problematic.
But in reality, the dragons that died at the very old level were almost exclusively white dragons.
Such a dragon would be considered a disgrace among disgraces. Even other white dragons would look down on such a kindred and directly expel it from dragonkind.
However, the age stage was merely a reference when applied to Garoth.
He had already rivaled some primeval dragons when he was in his prime. The conventional age ladder had long lost its meaning for him. His growth rate and the ultimate heights he could reach far exceeded normal dragons.
Garoth's vision had also long since leaped beyond the legendary realm.
He was staring at the immortal level above legendary.
For massive lifeforms like dragons, the immortal threshold was very solid.
Quite a few dragons with extraordinary talent and potential had ultimately been stuck at the limit of the Mandate realm, one foot from the door yet unable to achieve immortality.
This was the trend of the era.
This was no longer the age of dragons.
Garoth knew that the immortal threshold shouldn't be able to stop him.
However, he estimated that he wouldn't be able to break through it easily just by sleeping either.
His accumulation was deep enough, his talent strong enough, but even so, this threshold still required a true, determined leap forward—not something he could simply hop over.
"The situation might be somewhat similar to when I broke through to legendary back then."
"One slumber alone probably won't be enough to break through directly. I'll need a longer accumulation of time, or some kind of catalyst."
The red iron dragon pondered.
He didn't see this as a particular problem.
After all, even if it took longer, it would mean at most one extra slumber. And because of Cerora's existence, his two slumbers wouldn't cost him too much time anyway. His growth speed would still be astonishing, far faster than any dragon of the same level.
But of course, if he could break through sooner, that would be more to Garoth's liking.
He had made many plans for his future, most of which required him to at least set foot in the immortal realm to begin.
Then, Garoth collected his thoughts.
He stopped thinking about this matter, raised his claw, looked at his arm guards, and turned his perception inward toward his own body.
"Over these decades, my life level has increased, but my body size hasn't grown at all."
"However, my body's density has been increasing dramatically."
Size was a major criterion for judging a dragon's strength.
Garoth's size hadn't changed, but his weight was skyrocketing.
When his foreclaws pressed into the white dwarf's surface, the claw prints were deeper than before. Every step created tiny indentations on the star's surface.
And besides these surface changes, he also felt deeper transformations happening within his body.
"Probably because I've been staying in the extreme environment of the white dwarf for so long. My body is evolving toward some unknown direction. But this evolution seems to come with a cost."
As his body grew denser and heavier, a problem arose.
Garoth discovered that it was taking him longer and longer to activate his mutant form, as if his body was becoming increasingly incompatible with the mutation.
Even with the corresponding traits, their effects were diminishing.
"The mutation originated from the frenzied flame—it's something external."
"It hasn't grown stronger along with me."
"After I reached the Mandate realm, my body's correction mechanism has already far surpassed the mutation. It's possible that after I become immortal, my mutant form will be completely corrected and optimized away."
Based on the current situation, Garoth made this inference.
If the mutant form really disappeared, it would certainly be a pity.
Especially the Overlord State of the Double Radiant State—it was one of Garoth's biggest trump cards, having played a decisive role in many life-and-death battles.
However, Garoth never resisted change.
His path of evolution had never been static.
From his earliest days as a hatchling to his current Mandate realm, his body's form and abilities had undergone multiple reconstructions, with old traits being optimized and eliminated.
For instance, when the Dragon Pearl resurrection mechanism disappeared.
Before he could miss the resurrection Dragon Pearl, what came next was the Radiant Dragon Pearl, which allowed him to completely dominate opponents of the same level and leap across massive level gaps.
With Garoth, whenever something old was eliminated, something newer and stronger always took its place.
Survival of the fittest.
If the mutant form were optimized away, he would likely gain a new trait even more powerful than the mutant form.
What kind of trait would it be?
Garoth felt his increasingly dense and heavy body, and a hint of anticipation arose in his heart.
Just then, he suddenly lifted his head, looking in the direction of Bernardo as if sensing something.
He didn't stay on the white dwarf any longer. Using the faith of his Aola citizens as an anchor, he raised his foreclaw and cleanly tore through space.
In reality.
Any legendary lifeform possessed the conditions to travel between different worlds and planes.
However, the risks involved were also enormous.
Without a solid anchor point, it was easy to get lost, drifting through the endless void and dimensions, never finding the way back.
Among the many types of anchor points, using faith as an anchor was the most stable and reliable.
Garoth's return was swift.
Above the dragon court, the sky suddenly darkened.
The dragon's massive body emerged from the spatial rift, blotting out the flurry of snowflakes drifting in the sky.
He folded his wings and landed on the high platform. His scales still carried the residual scorching heat from the white dwarf's surface, forming dense steam around them.
His gaze swept across the high platform.
The iron dragon Sorog, the iron dragon Gordon, and the red dragon Samantha.
His three blood kin had all arrived.
"What happened?"
Garoth asked.
He had initially thought the Abyss had exploded, causing Sorog to summon him so urgently.
On his way back, Garoth had already run through several worst-case scenarios in his mind.
However, with a sweep of his perception, at least within his enormous sensory range, there was no trace of any demons. The air only carried the cold of snow and wind, with no scent of the Abyss.
The red dragon Samantha was the first to flick her tail, a hint of impatience in her tone:
"You'll have to ask Sorog. He rushed me and Gordon here in such a hurry."
"I was just soaking in a magma bath."
"A new volcanic lava pool was discovered in the south. The temperature was just right, and the mineral composition was perfect. I had just dipped my wings in and hadn't even had time to turn over when this guy's emergency message arrived."
She turned her head and glared at Sorog.
Gordon didn't complain, just nodded slightly toward Garoth, indicating that he too had been summoned by Sorog.
Garoth turned his head, his gaze landing on Sorog.
The iron dragon lifted his foreclaw, his voice carrying a rare gravity.
"I just had a dream."
He said slowly: "In the dream, I saw a massive iron throne. Countless iron hybrid dragons were fighting and killing each other for it."
As he spoke, he turned his head.
Sorog looked at the other iron dragon beside him and asked: "Gordon, have you had any similar dreams recently? About an iron throne and countless iron hybrid dragons slaughtering each other?"
Gordon tilted his head.
He thought for a moment, then shook his head and said: "No."
"Recently, I've only had nightmares about slacking off on my training and turning back into a fat dragon."
He said, looking down at his own solid physique, then added: "So, after I woke up, I flew ten laps around the Rhen Plateau."
"Only ten laps? Are you on a health regimen?"
The red dragon Samantha habitually jabbed at Gordon, then looked at Sorog: "Why didn't you ask me first, but instead asked Gordon?"
"Simple."
"Because the matter in the dream is clearly closely related to the iron hybrid dragon race, and you are a red dragon."
Sorog looked at the red dragon and said: "So, did you—"
"No."
Before he could finish, Samantha cut him off cleanly. She spread her foreclaws, her posture casual.
"My dreams are always about magma, flames, and stomping on people I don't like under my claws. No iron thrones, anyway."
"Doesn't that thing have a backside?"
"At least it should be a golden throne, right? Softer texture, comfortable to sit on, and it shows off nobility and wealth."
The iron dragon Sorog fell silent, momentarily at a loss for words.
He shook his head helplessly, then looked at Garoth again. Gordon and Samantha also turned their gazes to Garoth.
The red iron dragon met their stares and slowly shook his head.
"I haven't had any similar dreams either."
"My dreams are usually very calm. Occasionally, there are scenes related to battles, but no iron throne has ever appeared."
As he spoke, Garoth looked at Sorog, his vertical pupils slightly narrowing as he asked:
"What was so special about this dream that made you take it so seriously?"
The iron dragon took a deep breath, his expression turning serious.
"Because it wasn't just a dream. To be more precise, it was an inheritance."
Garoth's gaze narrowed: "Inheritance?"
The iron dragon nodded, his tone even graver than before: "Yes, a secret inheritance hidden deep within the bloodline of the iron hybrid dragons. And based on the information I received from the dream..."
"Only iron hybrid dragons who have established a dragon empire have the chance to access this inheritance."
At these words, the atmosphere noticeably froze for a moment.
Gordon and Samantha's faces took on serious expressions, attaching great importance to Sorog's words.
Garoth's gaze deepened several degrees.
He, the emperor with iron hybrid dragon bloodline, hadn't awakened this inheritance, yet Sorog had awakened it first?
Another dragon might have doubted this blood kin.
However, although Garoth was also puzzled, his confusion didn't lie in that direction.
He had no doubt about Sorog's loyalty and wisdom.
The iron dragon had poured more heart and soul into the empire than any words could prove his stance.
"I have the blood of iron hybrid dragons—no question about it."
"Why don't I have this inheritance?"
"Could it be that only pure-blooded iron hybrid dragons qualify? Or perhaps, because my bloodline has been evolving time and again, it has gradually deviated from normal dragons."
His thoughts flickered, various possibilities flashing through his mind, but he couldn't reach a conclusion for now.
Then, Garoth collected his scattered thoughts and asked:
"What did this inheritance mention?"
Sorog met the emperor's gaze, his expression growing even heavier.
"It mentioned many ancient secrets we never knew before. But the most crucial and important content is the method to ascend the iron throne and become the king of all iron hybrid dragons."
"The 'king' here is not the leader of a certain branch of iron hybrid dragons, nor the ruler of some world."
"It refers to all iron hybrid dragons—distributed across countless material worlds, countless planes, countless star domains. A single, unique supreme ruler over all iron hybrid dragons. The supreme iron dragon king."