novelraw Chapter 495: The First Adopted Child, The Slumber
Chapter 495: The First Adopted Child, The Slumber
New Calendar year 361, the convergence lands, Ignas Dragon Academy.
Nearly three years had passed since the Fourth Son first arrived here. Now it was year-end again, the day of the challenge matches.
The vast circular arena sat at the academy’s center, built from neatly hewn gray stone. The snow in the middle had been swept away, revealing hard ground compacted and reinforced by countless footsteps.
The stands were already packed with dragons.
Scales of every hue flashed iridescent colors under the winter sunlight.
All eyes focused not only on the four figures waiting in the staging area by the field, but also on the spot high above the main viewing stand.
So as not to interfere with the young dragons’ matches, the red iron dragon had not descended in full draconic form.
He took a draconic humanoid shape—retaining horns, a tail, and vertical pupils—and sat on a massive obsidian throne.
He was imposing, dark red scales accenting his neck, shoulders, and spine, especially prominent. His deep black eyes calmly looked down like a monarch surveying his realm and his claws and fangs.
The arrival of the Red Emperor hushed the already noisy arena.At the edge of the field, four hatchlings stood silently.
Three years of severe training had left deep marks on them.
Garoth Ignas’s firstborn, Garcro the red dragon, showed the most noticeable growth.
His shoulder height now exceeded many young dragons; his deep-red scales were thick and glossy, his muscles piled and defined as if forged from cooled lava. Simply standing there, he radiated an almost tangible, oppressive power.
Laria the red dragon was more evenly built and solid, with a calm posture and keen eyes.
Ophelia the iron dragon’s scale edges glinted with a cold metallic sheen; her body lines were sleek and bulging with latent power.
Isanora the silver dragon’s silver scales had become purer and more dazzling.
Though not as hulking as her brothers, she was proportionate and lithe, and her long, enormous wings—edges sharp like blades—hid a newly revealed keenness beneath their usual languid sheen.
Today’s challenge rules were simple.
Any young dragon trainee could nominate a challenge against any one of the Four Sons,
but challenges were not free.
They had to pay a sum of treasure to obtain the right to challenge.
Additionally, challengers of higher age grade, like adolescent dragons, would face restrictions to foster relative fairness.
For example, adolescent blue dragons could not use any spell-like abilities or breath weapons, adolescent green dragons could not use toxins…
These restrictions could not entirely erase the gaps, and fairness was only relative.
But true dragons prized strength and did not fret over small injustices; they valued the power and will displayed under constrained circumstances.
“Begin.”
The Red Emperor’s voice was not loud, yet it rose above the arena’s noise and reached every dragon.
“Young dragons, I look forward to your performances.”
With his words, the challenge matches officially commenced.
“Come on, challengers!”
Garcro the red dragon firstborn reared and roared, his voice booming like a bell.
“After Garcro accepts your treasure, I will defeat you all and make you bow beneath my strength!”
His proclamation ignited the fighting spirit.
Soon, a wave of eager adolescent dragons entered, mostly blue and red dragons.
They were robust, eyes burning, determined to prove themselves. After selecting opponents, they launched furious attacks on the Four Sons.
The arena exploded with the sounds of collisions, thunderous breath attacks, and the tearing of scales.
Red dragon flames and blue dragon lightning braided together.
Claws flashed, tails swept snow into dust clouds.
The performance of Ignas’s Four Sons was impressive.
Not only were they gifted, but in the three years since, to defend their status as the emperor’s offspring, they had endured training far harsher than their peers.
Gacro’s physique was so formidable it left opponents hopeless; ordinary claw strikes only left shallow marks on him.
Laria’s Crimson Lotus Form enabled terrifying bursts of speed and strength for brief windows; combined with precise use of spell-like abilities, he was hard to counter.
Ophelia naturally mastered the Frenzied State; her fighting style was steady and strategic, always yielding victory with minimal cost.
Isanora, with those unusually large wings, achieved unmatched mobility, often landing deadly wing strikes before opponents could react.
Battles sparked brilliantly, and some challengers, drawing on experience, briefly took the upper hand.
But the Four Sons grew increasingly composed, and final outcomes were rarely in doubt.
Murmurs rose from the stands—admiration for the Four Sons’ rapid development mixed with a hint of disappointment.
Could it be that this year, again, no dragon could shake their positions or win the emperor’s favor?
Matches proceeded round after round, with short rests between to recover stamina.
As evening fell, leaden clouds drooped low, wind and snow thickened, and fine ice crystals rasped across scales.
Just after another round ended and the field grew a little quiet,
a black dragon slowly stepped from the shadow at the arena’s edge and walked into the center.
This was a young black dragon, her size not even half of Garcro’s at that moment, appearing particularly slight among a crowd that prized imposing physiques.
Her scales were dull black, nonreflective, as if absorbing all surrounding light.
Her muscles were not bulky but coiled tight like steel wire, outlining lean, powerful lines—especially the tendons at her shoulders, neck, and hind limbs, all clearly visible.
She did not roar like other challengers. She silently paid the treasure fee.
Then she walked straight toward Garcro at the side of the field, raised a foreclaw, the sharp tip pointing at the red dragon.
“I, Salia, challenge Garcro Ignas.”
The black dragon’s voice was hoarse and low, tinged with a chill.
Garcro paused, tilted his enormous head, appraising her up and down, then split his maw to show white fangs and let out a few puffs of fiery sparks from his nostrils.
“Ha! Little runt? Fine, I just finished warming up. You’ll be perfect to flex my muscles.”
He flicked his tail, not taking the much-smaller black dragon seriously.
This black dragon was smaller than any of his challengers.
On the high stand, Garoth’s gaze narrowed, fixed on the black dragon.
Beneath her inconspicuous exterior he sensed a near-solid concentration.
This quality was rare among young dragons.
White Dragon Trixie, perched beside him on a stone seat, quietly explained at the right moment.
“Salia the young black dragon was born with poor development, some defects. Her size and strength lag behind peers, but she trains extremely hard—no dragon in the academy matches her dedication.”
“She didn’t participate in the challenge matches the previous two years—perhaps she felt she lacked preparation or opportunity.”
“This year… her combat technique surpasses the other trainees, though she’s gloomy and solitary and rarely shows her full strength. Except for a few who watch her, few truly know her background.”
Garoth inclined his crown slightly, eyes never leaving the arena.
“Interesting,” he murmured, a trace of interest in his voice.
On the field, the fight began.
Salia crouched low, nearly flattening herself to the ground.
Her pair of black wings were not folded; instead they stretched outward in an unusual curve, membranes taut, forming lines filled with tension with the rest of her body.
The whole dragon looked like a fully drawn bow, every inch of muscle charged with power.
Whoosh!
In the next instant, her form blurred and she darted at Garcro on a slight arcing trajectory.
The speed caught a flicker of surprise in the red dragon’s eyes.
But he reacted quickly. His thick forelimb rose, a great claw cutting downward with a dull rush of wind, aimed to end the fight in one blow.
Yet at the moment the claw nearly struck the black skull,
Salia’s body suddenly underwent a bizarre contortion.
Her spine seemed extraordinarily flexible, twisting at an angle that defied draconic physiology as her lithe body slid sideways along the ground, narrowly evading the heavy strike.
Not only that.
As she slipped past, the fully extended edge of her wing scraped across the outer scales of Garcro’s hind leg.
Raa!
A friction sound rang out, a thin crack appearing on the red dragon’s thick scale—shallow, but it drew a few threads of blood.
“Huh?”
Garcro retracted his claw and looked at the wound.
He did not get angry; instead he grinned. “Interesting, little bug.”
He turned, his thick tail whipping like an iron whip while another claw lunged toward where the black dragon might dodge.
But Salia’s reaction was faster—or rather, her prediction of Garcro’s movements was extremely precise.
Her limbs pushed off the ground with tiny rapid kicks, her wing membranes making subtle adjustments, and she moved like a weightless shadow through the gap between claw and tail strike, even leaving a shallow nick on the red dragon’s forelimb joint.
The fight settled into a peculiar rhythm.
Salia never tried to match Garcro in raw strength.
Her tactic was clear.
Exploiting her small size, astonishing speed, and superior agility, she continuously danced, dodged, and counterattacked.
Her evasions were full of tight turns, ground-skimming rolls, sudden stops and restarts that defied inertia.
Some of these moves were so violent they tore thin scales off her shoulder or ribs, but she didn’t care.
Every successful dodge came with a sharp, precise counter.
Her targets were joint gaps, thinner edge areas of scales on the flanks, the roots of wing membranes, eyes, nostrils—places that either affected mobility or were fragile.
Moreover, her claws had been specially honed and augmented with spell-like enhancements, giving them an unsettling dark sheen.
Garcro’s scale was tough, but not flawless.
Under Salia’s precise, rapid scratches, pries, and stabs, wounds began to accumulate on the red dragon.
Individually shallow, they added pain and hindered movement.
Raa!
A deeper gash appeared on the outside of Garcro’s left forelimb joint, causing a delay in his claw strike.
Pft!
Under his right rib, a scale was cleverly pried open and then further pierced; blood immediately seeped out, staining the deep-red scales.
Salia’s fighting had no elegance—insidious and vicious.
She never engaged in grappling. Strike, then retreat. Whether she landed each hit or not, she used her small, fast body to circle Garcro’s massive form like a malignant growth, seeking the most uncomfortable, most vulnerable points to attack.
Garcro grew enraged.
He felt like a great beast besieged by stinging hornets—powerful but unable to fully unleash it.
His roars grew more frantic, his attacks wilder, and more flaws opened up.
The black dragon, like the most patient assassin, calmly seized every chance, and the red dragon’s body began to show increasingly numerous tiny but painful wounds, his blood darkening scales, movements slowing.
The murmurs in the stands fell silent.
Young dragons watched this sharply contrasting duel in rapt attention.
They saw the once-arrogant red firstborn accumulate wounds and breathe heavily, while the small black dragon gained the advantage.
“This is nearly it.”
A dark glint passed through Salia’s vertical pupils.
Garcro’s actions were now at least thirty percent slower than at the start, his counter threat much reduced.
“But… could this be a trap?”
A sliver of doubt crossed her mind.
Though the red dragon seemed volatile, he was the emperor’s son with extraordinary bloodline—could he really be worn down like this?
Yet her own stamina was nearly spent; her speed was slipping unknowingly. This was probably her only chance.
No matter what, she had to risk ending the fight quickly.
Resolved, a cold light flashed in her eyes.
Salia charged again from the right. As Garcro raised a claw to intercept, she sharply contracted her body, then exploded off the ground with even greater speed, spinning and vaulting over his lowered forearm, skimming along the curve of his spine and darting like lightning to his left neck—
there the scales were somewhat finer, and below them lay the fatal throat!
Her dark claws tore the air, aimed straight for the target!
“You’ve walked into my trap! Roar!!!”
Garcro’s deep voice suddenly rang out and the fatigue vanished in an instant.
His massive body made a short rear leap, avoiding the dangerous strike, while his head dropped and he rammed the incoming shadow with the pair of thick, hard horns on his forehead.
This feint was swift and brutal, utterly unexpected.
Salia’s heart jolted; she dared not take the headbutt. Her sprinting momentum twisted, and her wings beat sharply to the side to evade.
But they were too close.
Although the headbutt missed, Garcro’s tail—seeming sluggish before—had been coiled with force and now snapped up, sweeping horizontally with a mournful rush, covering a wide arc.
Salia only had time to fold her wings to shield her sides.
Crack!!
With a heavy thud, the tiny black body was struck hard by the tail tip; her protective wing membranes tore with searing pain, scales on her flank shattered.
She grunted, her body hurled sideways by the great force, slamming onto the hard rock some ten meters away, then tumbling and sliding several more meters, leaving a trail mixed with shattered stone and blood foam.
She struggled to rise, but a shadow loomed over her.
Boom!
Garcro dropped like a meteor, stamping on her spine. His foreclaws pinned her shoulders as his body weight pressed down, rendering her completely immobile.
The red dragon panted; many wounds still bled on his body, blood dripping onto Salia’s black scales below.
Yet burning battle intent and victory flared in his deep-red vertical pupils. He lowered his head and let out an ear-splitting roar from atop the pinned black dragon, proclaiming his victory.
“You can hit me ten, a hundred times, but I only need one chance to end the fight!”
“Do you think the great firstborn of the Red Emperor is just a muscle-brained brute?”
He tapped his massive head with a grin, his voice thick with unhidden pride. “Inside here lies a world-crushing intellect that will crush you!”
Salia wobbled, spitting blood foam and dust.
Feeling the crushing weight on her back and the searing pain in her side, she knew the outcome.
“Your Highness…”
Her voice remained hoarse, but it took on a submissive tone.
“Your wisdom humbles me. I lost—please forgive my offense.”
She did not struggle violently; instead she bared her soft, vulnerable belly.
“Huh?”
Garcro snorted, staring at the seemingly entirely subdued black dragon under his claw.
Sensing the sting from the many fine wounds on his body—reminders that the little creature had indeed troubled him—he paused two seconds, then removed his foreclaw.
After a brief hesitation, he extended his claw and, roughly but not cruelly, hauled Salia to her feet.
For opponents who showed sufficient strength and tenacity, even rivals, Garcro offered basic respect. After all, this was an academy challenge.
“You… black dragon, you’re actually not bad.”
He said it loudly, flicking his tail. “You’re the first challenger in three years to make me bleed this much, haha. Keep it up. I hope to see more like you who leave scars worth remembering.”
“Defeating powerful foes makes me appear stronger.”
Salia steadied herself, stunned—she hadn’t expected those words.
She lowered her head and replied in a low voice, “I… will try my best not to disappoint Your Highness.”
Pleased, Garcro slapped her shoulder.
Salia was nearly knocked over by the slap.
“Your Highness, may your remaining matches continue in victory.”
She steadied herself, whispered, and then silently limped off the boisterous arena, dragging her injured body into the heavy shadow cast by a tall wall as if to merge with it.
“Anyone else?! Bring it on!”
“Challenge me, Garcro, and you’ll only win failure and respect for my strength!”
On the field, the little red dragon puffed his chest and let out an arrogant, satisfying roar, brimming with vitality.
From the wall shadow, the small black dragon Salia looked up at that confident, powerful figure with a hint of envy in her eyes.
“So dazzling…”
She stuck out her dark tongue and quietly licked the blood from her foreclaw, murmuring inwardly.
The remainder of the matches seemed drained of excitement by the red and black dragon duel.
Subsequent challengers, though still earnest, performed dullly and posed no real threat to the Four Sons.
The Red Emperor’s offspring cleanly defeated all opponents in turn, solidifying their positions.
Not long after, the last challenger suffered a back wound cut open by Isanora’s wing, bone-deep, blood gushing, and had to concede helplessly.
“Alright, this year’s challenge matches are concluded.”
The White Dragon headmistress slowly rose and announced the end of the challenge segment.
The dragons assumed the emperor would, as on many occasions, quietly leave after observing, but in the next moment the towering figure sitting on the obsidian throne slowly rose.
Though his humanoid posture seemed small compared to many dragons on the field, merely standing he exuded an invisible aura of majesty that made him feel larger than the sky.
His deep black eyes swept the entire arena, and noise fell away wherever his gaze passed. Finally, his sight fixed on an unremarkable shadow near the field’s edge.
Salia was curled there, quietly tending a severe tear on her flank.
Then the Red Iron Dragon’s voice cut through the increasing wind and snow, ringing clearly.
“Today I saw desire, I saw striving, and I saw… talent, wisdom, and an unbowed instinct that left a deep impression.”
His gaze landed first on Garcro, and he nodded slightly.
“My eldest son, Garcro, you displayed strength and wisdom, proving you are not merely a strong body.”
“My other offspring—Laria, Ophelia, Isanora—you too proved your growth and worth. You are worthy of my bloodline.”
The four hatchlings at the field’s edge straightened and raised their heads; tails wagged slightly.
Praise from the Dragon Father was rare, and each occurrence filled them with immense joy and pride.
Then, under countless focused eyes, Garoth raised a draconic arm and with a claw pointed directly at the shadowed black dragon.
“And you, Salia.”
The black dragon reflexively lifted her head and looked toward the massive figure on the high stand, a slight shudder, then froze.
“Your size is naturally insufficient, your strength weak; at the starting line you lag behind many of your kind.”
Garrowth stated the obvious facts. “But you did not blame fate, nor did you accept being weak. You found your own path—you learned to use technique to compensate for strength, wisdom to exploit weaknesses, and resilience to endure injury.”
“There is a soul in your body that refuses to bow to destiny, strong and tenacious.”
Salia’s breathing grew uncontrollably heavy, her black chest rising and falling. In her usually sullen vertical pupils a burning light was kindling as she stared at the emperor.
Garrowth paused slightly; the arena was left in brief silence.
Then, the fateful words that decided destiny fell again, striking the ground.
“I, Garoth Ignas, recognize your performance today and the value you have shown.”
“From this moment on, you, Salia, are my adopted daughter, the Ignas family’s fifth child.”
“You will enjoy the attention and cultivation due an emperor’s child. I hope you stay humble and steady, continue to hone your claws and your will, and in the future serve the kingdom and contribute your strength and loyalty to me.”
His words were not ebullient, but they struck like thunder in every listener’s heart.
An emperor’s child!
This was not some unattainable dream nor a private young-dragon joke!
The great Ignas himself, in front of year-end challenge attendees, had personally announced he would take in an adopted child!
After an instant of stunned silence, a thunder of uproar swept through the arena.
Countless gazes turned toward the small black dragon still curled in shadow.
Salia, still only a young dragon with a gloomy, solitary nature, could not contain the tidal surge of emotion within.
She struggled to stand, ignoring the pain in her side, and stepped forward.
Fully leaving the shadow, she exposed herself to every eye and the sky’s light.
She bowed her head so low it almost touched the ground.
“O great Garoth Ignas, the only sun and guidance of my heart! Thank you for your recognition and grace! My life, my claws, my soul, from now on will fight only for you, until death!”
Her voice trembled, a mix of reverence and disbelief.
The emperor looked at the bowed black dragon and inclined his crown gently, adding, “Mind your address, Salia.”
Her body visibly trembled.
After a moment’s hesitation, as if confirming this was not a dream, she answered in a still-dazed voice, low and reverent, “Your Majesty…no…Father…”
“All right.”
“The tradition of the challenge matches will continue. I hope to see more shining figures here in the future, discover more raw gems worth shaping, and welcome more offspring.”
With that, the Red Emperor spoke no more.
In a flash of light he returned to his magnificent true form, then spread his wings and flew upward, tearing through the wind and snow until he vanished on the horizon, leaving only boundless majesty and imagination behind.
Two months later.
Inside a cavern within the Dragonback Mountains.
The Red Iron Dragon nested there, silently swallowing jewel after jewel, magical precious metals, black oil crystals… every piece first-rate, not a single inferior item.
“Arrangements for things before my slumber are complete.”
His great head rested on folded foreclaws, his eyes gradually half-closing as his thoughts settled and slow reflections sank, “This sleep… may last longer than any before.”
“While I slumber, let the stars shine their brightest.”
“When I wake, the true sun will hang high and illuminate the entire Romanian Plains.”
This time, as he fell into his sleep, the red iron dragon did not wrap his wings tightly around his body from subconscious restlessness; instead he stretched them at the most comfortable angle and gradually fell asleep.