- Hey guys, so, the third chapter is out, and I would like to tell, things are gonna be good, lore is very deep, and designs are insane for the Balance Breaker that I made, so enjoy. Author Out. -
The heat hit me first. Not the soft, sticky warmth of a Japanese summer, but a dry, suffocating wave that clawed at my skin and scraped the inside of my throat like sandpaper. The air smelled of dust, smoke, and sea salt. This wasn't Kuoh. This wasn't safe.
Tripoli—capital of Libya, gateway to the desert. A city older than my history books could ever cover. Car horns blared like impatient trumpets, shopkeepers barked prices into the streets, and from somewhere high above the rooftops, the haunting cry of the muezzin's call to prayer poured down over the crowd. The sound was beautiful in a way that made my skin prickle; it carried a weight, an echo of devotion carved into the stones of this land.
My parents looked around with wide-eyed awe, their smiles bright and carefree, like tourists seeing the world for the first time. My father fumbled with his camera, my mother pointed at a mosaic on a wall and gasped in delight. To them, this was adventure. To me, it was something else entirely.
Because the moment my sneakers touched the cracked pavement outside the airport, something pulsed through me. Sharp. Ancient. Dangerous.
It wasn't imagination. It wasn't nerves. It was real.
My chest tightened, my pulse stumbling as a shiver shot down my spine. My soul throbbed like a struck drum.
[So you feel it too.]
Ddraig's voice rumbled through my bones, heavy enough to make my knees want to buckle.
That power… it's close, I thought, my gaze darting to the skyline where crumbling minarets and modern billboards clashed together. What the hell is it?
[Ashdod. The counterpart to Ascalon. Forged in the same legend, but hidden in the blood-soaked sands of this land. Its aura seeps through the ground like poison, calling to me—and now to you.]
My mouth went dry. My grip tightened on the strap of my backpack as I glanced at my parents, who were busy haggling with a taxi driver. They were oblivious. They had no idea that the air itself here was trying to claw its way into my soul.
I swallowed hard. Ashdod. Even the name felt heavy, like steel grinding against bone.
The taxi we ended up in was a rattling, dust-stained beast that looked like it had seen at least three revolutions and survived by pure spite. The driver, a wiry man with sun-darkened skin and eyes that glimmered with mischief, chattered nonstop in Arabic as he wove through traffic like a lunatic. My dad nodded like he understood a single word, and my mom gripped the seat like her life depended on it.
The weirdest part? I understood everything.
Every word the driver spoke, every curse muttered at other cars, every scrap of graffiti on the walls, every glowing sign outside the shops—I understood them perfectly, as if Arabic had always been my first language.
I blinked, then blinked again, eyes widening. Wait. How?
Ddraig's laughter rolled through me like thunder.
[Did you think my power was limited to fire and muscle? Hmph. Devils rely on petty enchantments to translate speech into their own tongue. Pathetic. The Boosted Gear is far more refined. Through me, you inherit the languages I mastered across centuries of war and conquest.]
My jaw nearly hit the floor of the cab. So you're saying—
[Yes. You understand Libyan Arabic because I once spoke it myself. You will learn Latin, Greek, Old Norse, Sanskrit, even tongues that never existed in your history books. All burned into your soul as naturally as breath.]
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to smother the grin threatening to split my face. This was insane. I could barely pass English class back in my old life, and now I was a walking, talking Babel tower? I glanced at my father, who was squinting at a restaurant sign like it was some alien script. He gave up with a sigh, muttering, "Guess we'll have to point at the menu."
I wanted to laugh out loud, but I swallowed it down. A nine-year-old boy casually translating Arabic would raise way too many questions. So I stayed quiet, filed the knowledge away, and let the city's words hum in my head like a forbidden melody.
Still, it wasn't just a cool trick. Every sign, every conversation burned with weight. The realization gnawed at me: I wasn't just a child anymore. Not to the world. Not to fate. The universe had already carved me into something else—something that carried languages of war and blood in his bones.
The hotel room overlooked the Mediterranean. From the balcony, I could see the waves crashing against the ancient shoreline, foam exploding against rocks that had stood long before Japan was even a whisper on the map. My parents unpacked, laughing about souvenirs, beaches, and camel rides. I didn't laugh.
I stood with my hands gripping the railing, knuckles white, staring into the horizon. Because the pulse was stronger here. So much stronger.
It wasn't just energy now. It was a presence. A pressure that pressed against my chest like the tip of a spear, sharp and unyielding. The air carried a faint metallic taste, like biting my tongue. My stomach twisted, a primal fear crawling through me even as I refused to step back.
[Ashdod calls.] Ddraig's voice was no longer mocking, no longer taunting. It was grim, heavy. [Even buried, it thirsts for battle. For dragon's blood. For mine.]
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. Why does it feel like it wants to kill you?
[Because it does.] His voice rumbled, colder than before. [That spear was forged to pierce dragonhide, to slay my kind. To kill me. And now it lies restless, still reeking of its master's faith and fury.]
The silence between us stretched, heavy as stone. My heart hammered against my ribs, torn between fear and something else—something darker. Anticipation.
I whispered so quietly even the waves couldn't hear: "Saint George…"
And the name lingered in the air like a curse.
That night, long after my parents had fallen asleep, I lay awake drenched in sweat. The hotel's air conditioner rattled like it was fighting for its life, but no cool breeze reached me. The city outside had quieted, but inside me, the pulse grew louder, stronger.
[Do you feel it, boy?] Ddraig's whisper thundered at the back of my skull, a low growl dragging at my thoughts.
"Yeah," I muttered into the darkness, eyes wide. "Like it's pulling me. Like it's… waiting."
[It lies to the south. Past this city, buried in ruins older than your empire. The city of Silene, they called it. There, my servant fell to the blade of that so-called saint. There, Ashdod waits.]
I sat up, blanket falling to the floor, staring at the dark window. My pulse matched the rhythm of that unseen spear, every beat a war drum.
Nine years old. Just a kid in my parents' eyes. But the man inside me—the failure, the dreamer, the one who'd wasted his first life—knew the truth. History wasn't history here. Legends bled into the soil. Weapons didn't rest.
They waited.
And they were calling me.
I pulled my shoes on, careful not to wake my parents, and slid the balcony door open. The desert night breathed against my face, hot and dry, carrying whispers of something vast and ancient.
"Alright," I murmured, voice trembling but fierce. "Let's see what fate has waiting in Silene."
Ddraig growled deep inside, not in disapproval but in anticipation.
[Then let us walk, partner. To the ruins. To the spear. To Ashdod.]
And with that, I stepped into the Libyan night, leaving the comfort of family behind—drawn by the shadow of a dragon-slayer's lance.
The streets of Libyan cities at night were a maze of contradictions. Neon signs flickered above crumbling walls that had seen centuries of conquest. Cars honked like angry geese in narrow alleys while cats slinked across rooftops, watching me with glowing eyes. The smell of roasted lamb, diesel fumes, and dust swirled together, making every breath feel heavy.
I pulled my hoodie tighter, my sneakers padding quietly over uneven pavement. To anyone watching, I was just a kid sneaking out of his hotel for adventure. In truth, every step tugged at my chest like a leash. Ashdod's pulse wasn't just something I felt anymore—it was dragging me south, like an invisible thread buried in my ribs.
[Do you understand what you're walking toward, boy?] Ddraig's voice was low, not mocking this time, not even angry—just serious.
"I'm walking toward the thing that wants to kill you," I muttered, ducking past a pair of men smoking shisha outside a café. Their laughter followed me, but I didn't look back.
[Not just me.] His tone deepened, vibrating through me. [Ashdod's hunger is not picky. It will devour you as easily as it would pierce my scales. You are not a dragon, but you carry one. That makes you prey.]
My throat tightened. The rational part of me screamed to turn around, crawl back into bed, and let history rot under the sand. But another part—the part that had lived twenty-nine years wasting every chance—refused.
"I don't care. I've run from shit my whole life. Not anymore. If fate is dangling this in front of me, then fuck it—I'll grab it by the throat."
There was a long silence. Then, a chuckle rolled through my soul, deep and dangerous.
[Hmph. Finally, some fire in your guts that isn't mine. Good.]
The city thinned as I walked. Streetlamps became fewer, the buzz of nightlife fading behind me until only the wind remained, carrying sand across cracked asphalt. My sneakers scuffed the ground, dust rising with every step. Ahead, the horizon stretched out, dark and endless, the desert yawning like a beast waiting to swallow me whole.
I stopped at a crossroads where the asphalt ended, staring at the sea of dunes. My heart pounded.
"You're sure it's this way?" I whispered.
[I do not guess, boy. Ashdod bleeds its call southward. The ruins of Silene wait in that direction. Whether you can reach them with those frail legs is another matter.]
"Thanks for the pep talk," I muttered, tugging my hood lower. My legs ached from the hours of walking already, but adrenaline shoved me forward.
The desert night was alive in ways I hadn't expected. The sand whispered under my feet, the wind howled like a chorus of ghosts, and the stars—god, the stars were endless. Japan's sky never looked like this. Here, the heavens were oceans of light, constellations burning so bright it felt like they were watching me.
For a moment, I almost forgot the terror. Almost.
Then the pulse came again—stronger, sharper, stabbing through my chest like a blade. I doubled over, gasping. The ground beneath me trembled, just faintly, like a heartbeat in stone.
[You draw nearer.]
"I noticed!" I snapped, clutching my ribs. "You could warn me before my heart tries to explode, you know!"
[If a tremor like this breaks you, you are not worthy of reaching it.]
I groaned, forcing myself upright, sweat sticking my shirt to my back. "You're like the worst GPS ever. 'In five hundred meters, die horribly in dragon-slayer ruins.'"
For the first time, Ddraig actually sounded amused.
[At least I do not tell you to turn left when there is only sand.]
I snorted despite myself, shaking my head. Even on the edge of doom, he managed to roast me.
Hours passed. My legs screamed. My throat burned. The canteen I'd swiped from the hotel was already half-empty, and sand clung to my skin like it had declared war on me personally.
But still, I pushed forward, drawn by the spear's call.
Finally, just as dawn threatened to bleed across the horizon, I saw it: jagged shadows breaking the smooth sea of dunes. Ruins. Stone arches cracked in half. Pillars half-swallowed by sand. Walls etched with carvings long eroded, but not erased.
Silene.
I stumbled toward it, my heart hammering. The air grew heavier with each step, metallic and hot, like breathing fire. The pulse was deafening now, every beat rattling my bones.
[You stand at the edge of history.] Ddraig's voice was reverent in a way I'd never heard. [Here, my servant fell. Here, faith clashed with flame. And here, Ashdod waits.]
I swallowed hard, stepping into the ruins.
The silence here wasn't natural. No birds, no insects, not even the whisper of the wind through stone. Just the heavy thrum of something buried, something alive even in death.
I ran my hand across a cracked pillar. The carvings were faint, worn by centuries, but I could still make out figures—men with spears, a dragon coiling above them, flames etched in jagged lines. And one man, larger than the rest, standing tall with a lance raised high.
Saint George.
I froze, breath catching. This wasn't a myth. This wasn't some medieval fairytale. The people who lived here carved it into stone. They remembered.
And beneath my feet, the earth remembered too.
A tremor rippled through the sand, subtle but unmistakable. My knees buckled.
[Ashdod stirs.]
"Where?" I whispered, eyes darting across the ruins. "Where the hell is it?"
[Below.]
The word vibrated through me, deeper than sound, like it came from the marrow of my bones.
My stomach flipped. Buried. Of course it was buried. The spear that killed a dragon wouldn't just be lying around waiting for tourists. It was down there, somewhere beneath centuries of sand and blood.
I swallowed, my mouth dry. "So… what now? Dig with my bare hands?"
[If you wish to die of thirst before you touch the shaft, then yes.]
"Always with the motivational speeches," I muttered, pacing. My fists clenched. The call of Ashdod was stronger here than anywhere—it practically screamed in my veins—but I couldn't just waltz in and pull it out like Excalibur.
[Patience, boy.] Ddraig's tone sharpened. [The lance has slept for centuries. It does not rise for mortals who stumble into its shadow untested. To draw near it, you must be more than a child chasing fate. You must burn hotter. Stand firmer. Otherwise, it will reject you—or kill you.]
I stopped pacing, staring down at my hands. Small. Weak. Calloused from training, yes, but still a child's hands. My gut twisted.
"Then I'm screwed," I whispered.
There was silence. Then, softly, Ddraig rumbled:
[Not screwed. Sharpened. The fire in you grows. The earth beneath you bends. Do not cower before a weapon, boy. Remember—you carry a dragon. And dragons do not kneel.]
My chest tightened. The ruins loomed around me, heavy with the weight of legend, but for the first time, I didn't feel crushed beneath it. I felt… seen.
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and stared into the endless desert beyond the ruins.
"Alright then," I muttered. "If Ashdod wants me dead, it's gonna have to work for it."
Ddraig's chuckle rumbled through me like distant thunder.
[That's the spirit.]
The ruins pressed down on me with the weight of centuries, but I stood there anyway, fists clenched, staring out into the desert. The carvings of Saint George seemed to sneer at me from the cracked stones, as if mocking the audacity of a nine-year-old kid standing where legends bled. My pulse thumped in my ears, loud, unsteady, but steady enough to keep me upright.
The silence was suffocating. Not the peaceful kind, not the hush of a quiet night back in Kuoh—this was the silence of a predator's den. The kind that made your instincts scream that something was watching, waiting, ready.
"Okay," I whispered, pacing in a tight circle, sand crunching under my sneakers. "I'm here. You're here. Big scary spear's under my feet somewhere. Now what?"
[Now… you endure.]
"That's vague as fuck."
[Do you wish the weapon of a saint to simply roll over and greet you like a puppy?]
I grimaced. "A puppy would be nice, yeah. Maybe a golden retriever. Something with less 'designed to kill dragons' vibes."
Ddraig snorted—a sound that echoed like thunder over distant mountains.
[If Ashdod accepts you, it will be because you stood before it without breaking. If it rejects you, your corpse will fertilize the sand.]
"Wow. Inspiring." My voice cracked, but I forced a grin anyway. "Do you give pep talks at kids' birthday parties too?"
[Only the ones worth surviving.]
The first tremor hit like a punch to the gut. The ground quivered beneath me, dust tumbling from the ruined archways. I stumbled, catching myself on a slab of broken stone. My heart raced.
Then came the second. Harder. The cracked pillars groaned as if remembering the weight of centuries. A faint glow bled up from the earth—thin red lines snaking across the sand like veins of fire.
My throat tightened. "Ddraig…"
[Stand.]
The glow pulsed brighter, the sand hissing as if boiling from within. My chest ached, each heartbeat syncing with the rhythm beneath the ruins. The world tilted.
And then the visions came.
They slammed into me like lightning—sharp, jagged flashes seared into my brain.
I saw a city burning. Silene, alive, not ruined—tents collapsing in flames, men screaming as shadows swallowed them. A dragon loomed above, crimson scales reflecting firelight, wings blotting out the sun. Its roar shook the world, a sound of hunger and wrath.
Then came the man.
Armor gleamed, polished steel catching the sun. His face hidden by a helm, his stance unshakable. In his hands, a lance longer than his body, glowing with light so fierce it split the air.
Ashdod.
He charged, fearless. The dragon's fire poured over him like a tidal wave of flame, but the man didn't falter. He thrust, the lance tearing through scale and flesh, piercing the beast's heart. The roar turned to a scream, a howl of rage and agony, before silence swallowed it whole.
The vision snapped away.
I staggered, collapsing to my knees. My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes.
"Fuck…" I gasped, clutching the sand. "What the hell was that?"
[The memory of this place.] Ddraig's voice rumbled, low and grim. [The land does not forget blood spilled upon it. You witnessed the moment faith clashed with flame. The moment my servant died.]
I gagged, spitting bile onto the sand. My body shook, but not just from fear. From rage. From humiliation.
"Your… servant," I rasped. "He died like an animal."
[He died as a fool who drowned in his own hatred. Do not pity him.]
I shivered, forcing myself upright, legs wobbling. The glow under the sand hadn't faded—it pulsed harder, brighter, each beat pressing against me like a weight, daring me to collapse.
It wasn't done with me.
The air thickened, metallic and sharp, until it felt like I was breathing knives. My vision blurred at the edges, dark spots crawling into the corners. I swayed, knees threatening to buckle.
"Shit… can't… breathe…"
[Stand.]
"Easy for you to say! You're not the one suffocating!"
[You think I do not feel it? That lance pierced my kin. Its memory burns me even now. And yet I stand. So will you.]
His voice crashed into me like a wave, rattling my bones. My knees screamed to give out, but I grit my teeth, forcing myself upright inch by inch. My lungs burned, my chest heaved, but I stood.
I spread my feet, dug my heels into the sand, clenched my fists until my nails bit my palms. The glow raged under me, furious, alive.
"Come on," I snarled at the ground. "You want me? Here I am!"
The pulse slammed into me harder than ever, dropping me to one knee. Pain seared my skull, hot and blinding. More visions tore through me—flashes of the lance piercing dragon after dragon, rivers of fire quenched in holy light, men raising banners in victory.
I screamed, clutching my head, feeling like my brain was being ripped apart.
[Endure, boy!]
"I… I can't—"
[You can. You must. Fire devours hesitation. Earth does not bow. Remember both.]
The words sank into me, anchoring me like stone. My vision steadied, just for a heartbeat. Enough.
I dragged myself upright again, shaking, teeth bared, eyes burning with something hotter than fear.
"I'm not prey," I spat into the sand. "I won't fucking kneel."
The glow faltered—just slightly. The pulse stuttered.
I felt it.
A grin split my face, wild, unhinged. "You hear me, Ashdod? You're not my master. You're a relic. You killed a dragon once—good for you. But I'm not your victim. Not now, not ever."
For a moment, silence swallowed the ruins. The glow dimmed, the air loosened, and my chest expanded in a gasp.
Then, from deep beneath the sand, came a sound. Not a voice, not words. Just a low, metallic groan, like a weapon shifting in its grave.
The ground stilled. The glow faded, sinking back into the cracks.
The pressure eased.
I collapsed onto my ass, gasping, sweat dripping off my chin. My hands shook. My whole body trembled. But I was alive. I was still me.
[Hmph.] Ddraig's voice was quieter now, but firm. [It has tested you—and you did not break.]
I barked out a laugh, sharp and breathless. "Didn't break? I almost pissed myself."
[Almost is not enough to shame you.]
"Comforting," I muttered, wiping my face. My heart still raced, my body still shook, but deep down, beneath the exhaustion, I felt something else. A spark.
The ruins hadn't killed me. The lance hadn't rejected me. I'd stood. I'd roared back, even if my roar was half a sob. And that was enough—for now.
I tilted my head back, staring at the endless stars. My voice was hoarse, but steady. "I'm coming back. Not now. Not tomorrow. But one day. And when I do, Ashdod, you'll recognize me."
The desert wind stirred, whispering across the ruins like an answer.
Ddraig rumbled, low and pleased.
[That's the spirit, partner.]
I smiled, teeth flashing in the dark.
Nine years old on the outside. Twenty-nine inside. A dragon in my soul. And now, the shadow of a saint's weapon burned in my path.
For the first time, I wasn't just walking toward fate. I was daring it to meet me halfway.