Belron never thought he would experience the kind of happiness that Zhang Wuji once had—being stuffed into a bag and rolled around like some prize loot.
His eyes closed involuntarily, his head drooping as his consciousness slipped away and merged with Vhagar's.
Suddenly, he was no longer himself. He was the dragon—Vhagar. The world transformed beneath him. A sea of fire roared all around, the sky dark as if buried deep underground, the waterfalls replaced by molten magma cascading endlessly.
Vhagar's massive, dark green eye rotated slowly. From a thousand meters above the ground, the field of vision was immense, almost 180 degrees. Every tiny movement below was easily visible.
Is this what it means to be a Dragon Spirit?
Belron marveled briefly at the novelty of perceiving the world through a dragon's senses. The raw power, the vast scope, the primal majesty—it was intoxicating. But there was no time for wonder.
Something far more urgent demanded his attention.
The Shadow Monster had somehow gained intelligence, even beginning to collaborate with the Old Gods. What other creatures from the game world might have crossed over into this realm?
Wisdom—true wisdom—was a blessing. With it came communication, fear, weaknesses. If Belron could capture the Shadow Monster and interrogate it, he might unlock secrets that could turn the tide of the struggle.
The strong wind swept past his eyes like a feather's brush. The distance between the man—now trapped inside the bag—and the dragon closed rapidly.
No matter how inhuman the creature carrying Belron was, no matter how fast it ran across the ground, could it outrun a dragon soaring through the sky?
Even if Vhagar was not known as the fastest among dragons, the advantage of flight was undeniable.
Suddenly, two figures, tiny as ants from Vhagar's perspective, burst from the woods and sprinted toward a boat near a small island. Their dark forms were distinct—one as tall as an adult, the other the size of a child—but both carried packages of equal size strapped to their backs.
Belron's face appeared faintly inside the package—a prisoner.
The beautiful visage of the black shadow came into sharp focus: the Son of the Forest.
Children of the Forest in Westeros? How was this possible?
Vhagar's pupils constricted sharply, and he pivoted instantly, diving out of the clouds in pursuit.
Belron quickly commanded him to wait—until the two had put some distance between themselves and the woods.
The Children of the Forest were incredibly agile and swift. If they escaped into the forest, Vhagar's huge bulk would become a disadvantage rather than an advantage.
Suddenly, a nimble black eagle flapped its wings furiously and soared past Vhagar.
The dragon rose swiftly, hiding above the clouds, barely sparing the eagle a glance.
But unlike most creatures, the eagle did not flee in panic. Instead, it climbed higher still, to an altitude where only the clouds dared to drift.
A flicker of worry flashed through Belron's mind.
Exiting Dragon Spirit mode, a bird called out—a sharp, haunting hoot.
An owl.
The moment the owl's call echoed, the Son of the Forest froze, heart pounding, breath held tight.
Then, without hesitation, he turned and fled toward the woods.
The Shadow Monster was stunned for a heartbeat, then pivoted sharply and vanished into the trees.
Thrown by momentum, Belron tumbled inside the pocket dimension and landed roughly on the ground, jolted awake by the sudden movement.
Someone was controlling at least two different animals: the hawk and the owl.
This was no ordinary walker's ability.
Immediately, Belron ordered Vhagar to attack.
A powerful wind roared as the dragon dove from the sky, claws extended.
But the Son of the Forest was swift, nearly reaching the woods' edge.
Vhagar's swoop was precise but still a few steps shy of the target.
The Son of the Forest had already stepped into the forest's edge—nearly out of reach.
Belron gritted his teeth, shouting in his mind, "Dragon Flame!"
Pillars of fire rained from the sky, focusing precisely on the Son of the Forest.
The bag holding Belron burst into flames, turning to ashes almost instantly.
The Son of the Forest's howls echoed in agony as Belron rolled out, using the momentum to absorb the impact.
His burning clothes fell away, leaving him bare, but in his hand appeared a spear as if summoned by will alone.
Before the Shadow Monster could react, the spear thrust forward, piercing upward through its body.
Belron felt the satisfaction of a successful strike and quickly retreated.
With a roar, Vhagar crashed down, his claws raking hard across the Shadow Monster's form.
The force was brutal—enough to rupture internal organs and crush bones. Dust and debris exploded around them as the creature struggled beneath the dragon's weight.
The Son of the Forest gave no final words before turning to ash.
The ancient tree, centuries old and majestic, cracked and blackened as dragonfire consumed it.
Belron collected the ashes of the Son of the Forest, wondering if ointments made from such sacred remnants might be even more potent for healing.
Finally, he took a closer look at the Shadow Monster trapped beneath Vhagar's claws.
As its name suggested, it was mostly shadow—featureless except for two empty eyes staring blindly from its head.
Rewarding Vhagar with a spider gland, Belron pulled his spear free in one swift motion.
The Shadow Monster screamed in pain, and Belron's eyes gleamed with excitement.
It felt pain—this meant it was vulnerable, and easier to handle.
Near the woods' edge, under Vhagar's watchful gaze, Belron smiled coldly, spear glinting in the dim light.
Gradually, the sky brightened.
Shrill screams echoed through the air, and a ray of sunlight pierced the horizon.
Unfortunately, the Shadow Monster was tough—no matter how much he tortured and interrogated it, it refused to speak.
Belron shook his head with a sigh. Showing mercy, he decided to end the creature's suffering quickly.
He raised his spear for the final strike—but just then, a tiny rove beetle burst from a pile of rotting leaves and flew straight at his face.
Belron's lips twitched in an uncontrollable smile.
The moment the rove beetle struck him, half of his consciousness surged into Vhagar's body, and man and dragon merged once more.
The beetle faltered and fell as if lost.
But in Belron's mind, a powerful consciousness forced its way in—like a robber breaking through a mental barrier—without resistance.
His visitor's heart trembled.
In the next instant, a colossal dragon filled the sky and blocked out the sun.
Belron sat cross-legged atop Vhagar's head, gazing down at the world below.
"We finally meet," he said softly. "What should I call you?"
The figure before him was no longer a tree, animal, or insect—it was a person.
Silver hair framed a calm face, and piercing purple eyes looked back at him.
"Why do you refuse? Become one with us. This is your destiny," the man's voice was cold and mechanical, like a system speaking.
"You say 'us?'" Belron tilted his head, curiosity piqued.
"Indeed," the figure replied calmly. "You have seen us. We are the Weirwoods. The Weirwoods are us. You may call us the Greenseers."
Belron's suspicion was confirmed, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips.
The Green Prophet—such a powerful entity—had appeared this early in his journey.
Before even leaving the Novice Village, he had encountered a top-tier boss.
Belron had no intention of becoming a Greenseer.
He refused firmly. "I will not become a Greenseer. Find someone else."
The Green Prophet's purple eyes shimmered, unblinking.
"This is your fate. You should not exist. Becoming a Greenseer is the only way to save yourself."
Belron narrowed his eyes, voice cold and unwavering.
"I don't believe in fate. If danger threatens me, I will be my own savior."
He snorted.
"Don't think I don't know the truth. Being a Greenseer is no blessing—it is a prison. You cannot influence the real world."
The Green Prophet's voice was steady.
"This world demands sacrifice. Victory belongs to those willing to pay the price."
He continued, "The inner world is boundless—no less barren than the outer world. It is far more real than what you see and experience."
His gaze was unyielding, like a judge passing sentence.
"You cannot resist fate. You are destined to become one of us."
Belron's lips curled into a sneer.
"I have dragons. No one can force me into anything I do not want."
The Green Prophet stared at him like a stern teacher confronting a rebellious child.
"Only those who do not understand darkness fear the night."
"People fear dragons' power," he said quietly, "but Greenseers fear nothing—not even dragons. We see everything. We know the unknown."
He raised his eyes, staring boldly at Vhagar.
"You have felt what it is like to control the world—to be like a god. That is true power."
Belron scoffed.
"If that's true, then what did you do when the First Men cut down the Weirwood trees, and the Children of the Forest fought in rivers of blood to protect them?"
"Now, the Children of the Forest linger beyond the Wall. What have you done?"
"Before you looked, beneath the Weirwood, a Child of the Forest died in dragonfire! And what did you do then?"
He deliberately provoked the Green Prophet, voice rising.
"What do you mean by omniscience and omnipotence? The Green Prophet is nothing but a gutter rat, hiding in a temple. You cannot change anything!"
"Everything is arranged by fate," the Green Prophet said calmly, unshaken.
"Without pain, faith would never be born."
Belron was stunned.
The Green Prophet's words—calm and relentless—showed he was determined to win him over.
Since he spoke so much, Belron realized he needed to buy time—time for the night to pass without disruption.
He could not afford the Shadow Monster's return while tangled in this mental battle.
"That's not magic," the Green Prophet finally said.
"It is a kind of knowledge—rare, difficult—that only a few can master."
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End of Chapter 31