Chapter 680: Titania’s Temptation
Two faerie dragons stared at each other, big eyes glaring into little eyes.
Vira’s wings froze mid-flap, her mouth hanging open, the resounding vow of revenge she’d just thrown to the ground still perched on her tongue, not swallowed back in time.
Netal hovered before her with a squinting, amused look.
He smiled with utter harmlessness, his face overflowing with innocence, his dragon kiss slightly parted to reveal a few small sharp teeth.
A brief silence settled across the meadow.
Garoth lowered his gaze, his eyes sweeping between the two faerie dragons, taking in the whole scene.
One was obviously cowed, the other was earnestly playing dumb.
The red iron dragon did not linger long in this stalemate.
He refocused his gaze on Vira.
“The fey are preparing a banquet, but you know how lax they are. If no one takes charge, by the time the moon rises to the zenith, I reckon they still won’t have even set out the wine cups.”
“Someone needs to lead and make sure it actually happens.”
Vira snapped awake as if from a dream.
She hurried to speak: “No one in Verdant Homeland knows how to organize a banquet better than me. Those little fey rely on me to coordinate every festival. Without Lady Vira presiding, they wouldn’t know what to do.”
“Leave this to me.”
As she spoke she stepped backward.
Garoth gave a slight nod. “Go. When the banquet starts you don’t need to wait for me. I won’t miss it.”
Those were the words Vira had been waiting to hear.
“Don’t worry, you definitely won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ll go first.”
Before the final four words had fully landed, she had already become a streak of light, swooshing across the meadow sky, racing toward the densest cluster of fey.
Vira had indeed said harsh things earlier and shown no respect to Netal.
But that had been gossip behind his back.
Now, in front of the very being in question—the God of Faerie Dragons, the Trickster God, a deity among the fey with a rather loud reputation—Vira suddenly felt that revenge could wait.
Planning for the long term was wiser.
Head-on confrontation was not what a clever faerie dragon should do.
Netal stretched his neck, watching the rapidly receding figure, then shouted in a loud voice.
“Oy, why run off so fast?”
“We haven’t properly discussed how to prank Netal, where to start so he’ll fall for it, or which method of revenge is most satisfying. I’ve got a few backup plans I can share.”
His silhouette paused for a moment, then proceeded at a slower speed.
Netal shook his head, withdrew his gaze, and a genuine expression of regret crossed his face.
“Ah well, ah well, important matters first. We’ll talk pranks later. After all, the Serene Spirit Wilderness is big, we’ll run into each other sooner or later.”
He hummed cheerfully as he spoke.
Then the faerie dragon turned to Garoth and flashed a radiant smile.
“Hehe, I knew the Red Emperor wouldn’t stand us up, you showed up so quickly.”
Garoth lowered his dragon head slightly, his gaze fixed on the faerie dragon.
More than ten years had passed since he last met Netal and made this arrangement.
Someone being kept waiting for over ten years might feel it a long time.
That span is enough for a mortal to go through many partings and reunions, long enough for a kingdom to wage
war, enough for a child to grow from taking first steps to wielding a sword.
ReadHistory
But the passage of time meant little to a god.
For deities, those ten years were like the blink of an eye, maybe not even a full blink—their measure of time differed entirely from mundane beings. Ten years and a day weren’t notably different.
Garoth looked at this god whose scales weren’t much larger than his and said, “I am curious about the Joyous Court as well. Since I promised you, I won’t delay for long.”
“Curious?”
𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞
Netal’s eyes brightened and he chirped: “Good, good, curiosity is the most precious thing in the world, more valuable than gold, sweeter than honey.”
He suddenly trailed off and leaned in conspiratorially.
“Titania didn’t come empty-handed. She prepared a meeting gift for you, guaranteed you won’t feel it was a wasted trip.”
Netal seemed to relish the thrill of teasing out a secret.
He added, “I can’t say exactly what it is, that would ruin the surprise, but I can tell you it’s something you truly need.”
A meeting gift from a higher god?
Garoth’s tail gave a small flick. He wasn’t the type to expect gifts—he preferred to earn what he wanted rather than wait for presents.
Still, it was a gift from a high deity.
Netal suddenly spread his wings, fully unfurling the membranous skin like cicada wings in the sunlight. He turned slightly so Garoth could clearly see the signature etched upon them.
Or rather, the signature Netal had modified.
Around the original signature’s edges had been drawn a bright outline, each letter a different color, sparkling and iridescent so the effect shifted with the angle.
It looked undeniably flashy and highly distinctive.
But along with being flashy, it was also somewhat...
edgy.
The word that sprang to Garoth’s mind to describe the feeling was “emo.”
Netal clearly didn’t know what he was thinking.
“Thanks to your signature.”
Netal said proudly, “I’ve gathered a whole flock of loyal little fans these days, many more than I expected.”
“The Red Emperor’s stories spread far and wide. Every time I spread my wings and show the signature of Scarlet Emperor Cangxing and Master of Aola, the fey swarm around me so tightly I can barely move.”
Among the gods of the Joyous Court, Netal was the one who loved to wander and loiter the most.
He delighted in antics and pranks across places.
Feelings toward such a deity among the fey were complicated, a mixture of love and hate.
If Netal announced his true name, nearly every fey who knew him would scatter immediately, afraid of becoming his next target for mischief.
He had been placed on several fey communities’ watchlists for that reason.
So he disguised his identity.
As an ordinary faerie dragon he stole Vira’s spotlight, told tales of adventures with the Red Emperor, and thus earned the fey’s favor.
His invented stories were rich in detail and full of twists, paired with exaggerated performances that convinced his listeners.
This did not directly benefit his divine worship.
But Netal didn’t care. He simply enjoyed being surrounded.
Garoth listened and said, “Very well.”
“I also enjoy the worship and affection from the fey. Their feelings are pure, untainted by selfish gain or fear. Such sentiment is rare in the Material Plane.”
Netal nodded vigorously, his dragon head bobbing rapidly.
“Yes, yes, exactly. You’re so right, but I almost forgot the main point.”
He snapped his fingers as if remembering, then changed tone. “Titania’s waiting for us. We shouldn’t keep her.”
He turned and hooked his tail in the air.
Ripples immediately formed in the air and a seven-colored vortex appeared again.
“I’ll take you to the Joyous Court.”
Netal looked back and winked at Garoth.
“Just dive in with me, easy. Oh, and don’t worry—the thing is sturdier than it looks.” He patted the edge of the vortex and said, “I opened this door myself. It’s absolutely safe.”
The faerie dragon shrank and dove into the vortex.
Garoth stared at the vortex before him, falling into a brief reverie.
It was tiny.
The diameter could only fit a few of his dragon scales across.
Compared to that, Garoth’s body was enormous—this hardly looked like a compatible entrance.
Did Netal not expect the size issue?
Given Netal’s typically erratic thinking, it was possible.
But you can’t measure a god’s methods by ordinary logic.
Especially in non-material planes, Netal seemed mini and harmless but actually held an immense, unfathomable power.
Garoth did not hesitate long.
He extended a foreclaw and touched the vortex.
In an instant his body felt as if it lost its fixed form.
Scales, bones, muscles—all the hard, dense structures softened in a flash.
Space around him twisted and elongated; his vision filled with surging seven-colored light that enveloped him like warm water.
Garoth did not resist this force.
Thus the massive body of the red iron dragon was elongated and twisted, and eventually the whole length of him was drawn into that little vortex, dissipating into the Verdant Homeland’s afternoon wind.
Passing through the vortex was not like a normal teleport.
At least, not like the way Garoth was used to.
Typical spatial traversal folds two coordinates together, tears open a membrane, cross through, and you’re there—a clean, swift process.
Netal’s vortex did not operate that way.
It was more like a river flowing in many directions. His consciousness was no longer trapped in his body; it stretched along that river and touched many vague, wondrous things.
He saw some scenes—or fragments of scenes.
A tree growing upside down, its roots reaching into the sky while branches plunged into the soil; a flower blooming, and at the instant its petals opened a whole starry sky revealed itself inside.
Time also became unreliable.
He felt himself hurtling forward and drifting backward at once—moving extremely fast and yet utterly still.
Each instant felt both like an age and like it had just begun.
These contradictory sensations layered upon one another.
But they were not unpleasant.
On the contrary, Garoth’s consciousness gently unfolded in the bizarre torrent, like a muscle waking from deep sleep—languid and relaxed.
Warmth and comfort came from all directions, like returning to the safety of the dragon egg.
He was intoxicated by the feeling.
He even had the absurd thought of wanting to drift like that forever.
“We’ve arrived, we’re at the Joyous Court.”
“Hey, how did that feel? Pretty amazing, right?”
“I’m telling you, it’s because the Joyous Court isn’t located within any one plane.”
“It drifts and shifts between the Serene Spirit Wilderness, the Thousand-Beast Province, the Exuberant Fields, and other great planes. Without the right method, even a god couldn’t find the Court’s door.”
Netal’s boastful voice sounded in his ear.
At those words, Garoth blinked in a daze and then found himself standing in a strange world.
To be precise, he wasn’t sure if “standing” was the correct word.
His claws touched the ground, but the ground was not just one layer.
His feet stepped on soft moss and also on hard stone slabs while simultaneously feeling the cool of a stream—the sensations coexisted and did not contradict each other.
It felt confusing.
Yet everything was smooth, harmonious, and consistent.
He lifted his head, and what his slit pupils reflected made his thoughts stall.
Woodland.
Palace.
Brook.
Colonnade.
Sea of flowers.
Arched roofs.
These scenes existed simultaneously in the same space, overlapping and interweaving as if countless canvases had been stacked—but each layer was crystal clear and did not occlude the others.
Garoth felt dizzy.
In his cognition, an object can only occupy one position, a road only runs in one direction, a space holds one set of scenery.
But that idea was shattered by what he saw.
The conflict between cognition and reality made him woozy.
Fortunately, he adapted easily.
The dizziness did not last long.
The red iron dragon shook his head a few times, his breathing steadied, and his awareness cleared from the haze.
“How’s it? Pretty, isn’t it?”
Netal bragged, “Nine out of ten beings visiting the Joyous Court for the first time freeze in place. One of the ten falls straight to the ground. You’re already better than most.”
Then he suddenly turned serious.
“But make sure to stick close to me.”
“The paths here are hard to recognize; if you lose me you could get lost inside. I’ll eventually find you, but that will take a little time.”
A little time from a god should not be taken lightly.
Garoth knew this well.
“All right, I’ll follow you closely.”
He replied simply.
Netal nodded in satisfaction, turned, cocked his tail, and began to advance through the kaleidoscopic wonderland.
His chosen path was bizarre.
Sometimes he flew straight ahead, then abruptly turned left ninety degrees, or circled an invisible center for half a turn. At times he flew backward a few paces, then sharply ascended and dove diagonally down.
Garoth followed behind, moving with the same peculiar rhythm.
The surrounding scenes constantly reconfigured every second into brand-new combinations.
They passed through a palace gate; behind it was a field of golden wheat, the ears brushing softly across the scales on his belly.
He stepped onto a spiral stair that turned into a waterfall, water flowing upward and soaking his limbs and chest.
Time passed—perhaps long, perhaps only a few breaths.
When the red iron dragon next took a step, the tactile sensation beneath his feet suddenly stabilized into a delicate, even stone surface that no longer shifted.
The layered scenes had faded.
Looking out, the woodland, the brook, the flower sea—they had not vanished, but now sat at a distance arranged into an orderly ring that enclosed a courtyard at the center.
Garoth stood at this courtyard’s entrance.
Ahead was an arch formed by two silver-white trees entwined, their branches meeting overhead and hanging down a fine curtain of blossoms.
Netal stopped at the arch and turned around.
“Go on.”
He nodded at Garoth and lifted his chin toward the courtyard’s depths. “Titania is waiting inside. I won’t accompany you in. This kind of scene isn’t my style.”
Garoth inclined his jaw and said nothing more.
He stepped through the arch and entered the courtyard.
The courtyard was smaller than he’d imagined.
Everything around was miniature: fey-style flowerbeds, tiny stone benches, fountains no larger than a palm.
The giant dragon’s presence looked extremely incongruous.
Each of his claws was as large as half a flowerbed; every step seemed like it could trample and destroy the delicate courtyard.
Yet it wasn’t just that.
When he stood in the courtyard, he also felt as if he were inside a grand hall.
The colonnades’ heights seemed to exist at two scales at once:
one miniature, perfectly suited for palm-sized fey; the other majestic enough to hold a great dragon’s massive frame, in which scale the same columns rose towering and magnificent, reaching the clouds.
Both scales coexisted on the same building, just as the Joyous Court vistas had shown before.
It was baffling.
But knowing that a high deity lived here, Garoth wasn’t surprised.
He set aside the contradictory sensations and walked forward step by step.
Finally, he saw the figure at the courtyard’s far end.
A brilliance that filled the eyes.
His vision was saturated with a blinding white radiance, shapes and contours impossible to discern—majestic, sublime, incomparable.
Then, in an instant as if by trick of the eye, all the radiance vanished.
The white light withdrew, revealing white stone ground, faint gold veins, vine-wrapped colonnades...
And a petite, miniature figure.
She resembled a flower fairy in size and appearance.
About twenty centimeters tall, a slim, delicate waist, wing membranes as thin as cicada wings, long silver hair falling down her back studded with tiny white star-shaped flowers.
She wore a petal-like dress whose hem swayed as if lifted by an invisible breeze.
Most striking were her eyes.
They were the pale violet of the first violet blossom of early spring, gleaming with morning dew—clear and tender. Stare longer and one sensed the change of seasons, the motion of constellations, an ultimate depth and tranquility.
This was Titania.
Ruler of the Joyous Court, monarch of the fey gods, a central pillar of the chaotic good alignment across planes.
She appeared tiny and harmless, as if a stray breeze might carry her off.
But Garoth did not feel that way.
Facing this small god, he felt himself the one infinitesimally tiny.
Within that petite frame lay a vastness like the starry sky, as if the essence of all things had condensed into this small form—some grand presence that language could not describe reduced into a miniature body.
He bowed his head instinctively, unable to look straight at her.
The faerie sovereign smiled and regarded the great dragon.
“Welcome, Garoth.”
She said it.
In an instant those feelings of sacredness, majesty, and grandeur dissolved.
The sense of immensity folded inward; she became an ordinary, visible flower fairy, and the oppressive aura dissipated.
Garoth raised his head and relaxed.
He looked at the faerie before him and saluted: “Honored Titania, Lady of the Joyous Court, it is my privilege to behold your true face.”
Titania tilted her head slightly and a faint smile rippled in her pale purple eyes.
“This is not my true visage.”
She said frankly, “You cannot yet converse with my true self. What you see is one of my higher-god visages, a form crafted to be the most suitable shape for your perception.”
“A visage shaped according to my perception?”
That meant the radiant, boundless form had been her actual true aspect, but Garoth’s senses were too limited to perceive it.
He silently digested the information.
High deities like Titania had an intense divinity; their true forms existed on higher dimensions.
Mortals couldn’t comprehend their speech or thoughts, so she fashioned a more ‘humanized’ visage for communication with Garoth.
“If that’s the case, then the Netal I saw earlier is merely another special visage?”
Garoth pondered out loud.
He didn’t press the point further.
It was pointless for beings on different levels to argue about such matters.
Like ants unable to grasp a dragon’s logic, he could not hope to truly understand high deities’ essence now.
Garoth focused and looked again at the faerie before him.
Titania said, “You are not my believer nor my subject, do not use formal titles for me. That sounds too stiff and too dull.”
She winked at Garoth as she spoke.
The gesture had a mischievous, impish quality that made Titania seem truly like a common flower fairy, without any overwhelming divine pressure.
Garoth relaxed visibly.
Though he knew this wasn’t Titania in her absolute sense, at least with this form they could converse normally.
“If you insist, then I will not be so formal.”
He adjusted his wording. “To be honest, before walking into this courtyard I imagined many different scenarios for meeting the Faerie Queen.”
“Majestic, mysterious— I prepared myself for every possibility.”
“None of them matched.”
Titania replied, “That’s usually how it goes.”
“Imagination is precious, but it often fails when facing the unknown.”
She lightly clapped her hands.
Petals drifted from the vine-wrapped colonnade and gathered under her into a tiny floral chair. She sat down casually.
“I know dragons don’t like beating around the bush.”
“So I’ll be direct.”
Titania leaned slightly forward on the floral chair and said, “Dragon with a Foreign Soul, I am very optimistic about your future.”
Garoth gave a slight nod.
In the next instant his pupils shrank to thin slits and his muscles tensed instinctively.
Foreign Soul.
That was his deepest secret, never revealed to any being, not even his closest kin.
Now the Faerie Queen had breezily named it.
Titania watched his taut posture with no surprise.
She merely waved a small hand: “Don’t be nervous.”
“To any high deity’s sight, this isn’t a secret.”
“With our view across the realms, a soul’s base color is clear and discernible.”
“For example, Tiamat was once a high deity. Now she has fallen; perhaps she cannot directly perceive your situation, but her experience remains. Given her focus on you, she probably has an inkling.”
Garoth remained silent.
His gaze rested on Titania’s tiny form as thoughts surged and gradually settled. After a few breaths he fully absorbed the information.
Finally Garoth asked, “Does Tiamat target me because she discovered I have a Foreign Soul?”
Titania shook her head gently.
“No.”
“Foreign Souls most commonly appear in humans, then dragons, then elves, goblins, even mushrooms, slimes, or undead... To the gods this is nothing new.”
“From time to time, one or two foreigners show up in some world.”
“Some gods pay close attention to such individuals, treating them as little curiosities in an endless age.”
“The important point is that these foreigners often have promising talents. Soul fusion sparks things not native to that world. Yet most eventually blend into the crowd and return to mediocrity.”
“Talent is merely a beginning; growth is the long path.”
“Only truly outstanding individuals will be noticed.”
Garoth’s expression became thoughtful.
He roughly understood Titania’s meaning.
Whether one is a Foreign Soul isn’t the key; what matters is whether one is exceptional and worth attention. He merely happened to be a Foreign Soul which made him slightly more conspicuous.
After a pause, Garoth felt relieved.
So that was it.
He had long thought his secret unique, not realizing that to the gods a Foreign Soul was just a recorded, known phenomenon—nothing extraordinary.
Garoth asked out of curiosity, “Are there many like me?”
“That depends on the measure you use.”
Titania tilted her head slightly. “By the gods’ perspective, yes, quite a few. Across the realms and over long ages, many foreigners have appeared.”
“But few reach your level.”
Garoth pondered: “Then I suppose I am rather lucky.”
“Not merely luck.”
Titania shook her head.
“Wisdom, resolution, will, strength—none can be missing. Luck is the most insignificant part.”
She looked at the red iron dragon with approval. “That is why I favor you. In you I see the truly important qualities; Foreign Soul status is the least significant of them.”
In the Joyous Court there seemed to be a force that amplified emotions, even more pronounced than the Serene Spirit Wilderness.
Garoth couldn’t help but lift his head. “You flatter me.”
“I am only a legendary now, not yet Immortal. To step onto the multiverse’s true stage, Immortal status is the basic standard. I’m still missing that crucial step.”
He said this humbly, but his voice betrayed pleasure.
Titania paid no heed to his modesty and spoke seriously: “You are close to Immortality. I can sense your accumulation—deep and solid enough.”
She shifted her tone.
“But this age is not friendly to dragons.”
“It’s harder for dragons to break through to Immortality now than ever before. If nothing changes, it will only get more difficult. Relying solely on dormancy makes crossing this threshold nearly impossible.”
Garoth had long known the era disadvantaged dragons.
But hearing a high deity confirm it so plainly made him furrow his brow and fall silent.
After a few seconds the red iron dragon exhaled a blast of hot breath.
He declared with weighty voice: “Then I am prepared to spend longer to break through. If ten years doesn’t work, a hundred. If a hundred doesn’t work, a thousand. I have never lacked patience nor the will to try again and again.”
Titania tilted her head toward him.
She raised her right hand and plucked at layers of light.
From the shimmer a fruit coalesced.
Its shape was simple and round like a bead. Its skin held a warm golden hue somewhere between amber and beeswax. It was small—almost negligible compared to Garoth’s bulk.
Yet Garoth’s gaze clung to it.
He did not know precisely what the fruit was.
But his body could sense it.
His scales, bones, blood, every muscle all responded with the strongest reaction at once.
“What is that?”
He could not help asking, saliva collecting uncontrollably in his mouth.
Titania said, “An Immortal Spirit Fruit, planted in my garden. Its flowering, fruiting, and ripening each take a long time—far beyond ordinary life’s imagination.”
She held the fruit up and flew closer to Garoth, aligning with the great dragon’s eye level.
“Eat it, and on your next dormancy you will naturally break through to Immortality—just as spring arrives and flowers bloom, everything will happen of itself.”
Titania said this.
Smelling the fruit up close, Garoth’s breathing grew a little heavier.
Titania noticed the change in his breath.
She said leisurely, “And that is only the beginning.”
“In the Joyous Court, there are many treasures you cannot imagine—each can shave away countless years from your path.”
Titania smiled sweetly.
She was tiny and delicate like a girl, yet her expression now resembled a slightly creepy aunt offering candy to a child.
Titania shook the Immortal Spirit Fruit.
Then, with Garoth watching, she extended her other hand and beckoned to the great dragon with a small, delicate finger.
“Immortality is only the multiverse’s starting point.”
She said slowly, “Beyond that are glory, antiquity, even eternity... If you are willing, if you have the ambition, the Joyous Court can stand behind you and pave the way.”