The journey through the Flame Emperor's territory had ended at last. Before Azren and his companions stood the Great Library of Arka — an ancient structure so immense it seemed to pierce the heavens themselves. Its gates were carved from black stone laced with glowing runes, while chains of eternal flame wound around it like living serpents. Two colossal dragon statues, one of fire and one of stone, guarded the entrance, their burning eyes watching all who dared approach.
The weight of the place pressed against their hearts. Even Regia, who had faced death beside Azren, felt her breath catch.
"Who is this?" she asked sharply, her eyes fixed on the masked girl who had accompanied them since the auction.
Azren glanced at the girl, then answered with a calm firmness. "A friend. She saved my life once. Now… she seeks her own answers here."
The girl in black said nothing, her mask hiding any emotion. She kept her eyes on the gates, silent as shadow.
Before anyone could speak further, the ground trembled. Heavy footsteps echoed across the stone road. A second group approached, cloaked in oppressive aura. Their robes bore the jagged crimson insignia of a dragon, and jade tokens gleamed darkly in their hands.
"The Tred Clan…" Max muttered, his voice tight.
The leader of the group lifted his chin, eyes filled with disdain as his power pressed down on the courtyard. Even here, before the sacred Library, they carried themselves like kings.
But no matter the tension, none dared lift a hand. Within the Library's territory, battle was forbidden. To shed blood here was to defy the will of Arka itself.
The colossal gates stirred, runes lighting one by one, until a flood of golden brilliance spilled outward. The doors parted, and both groups were swallowed by the light.
Inside was no ordinary hall but a boundless realm. Endless shelves stretched into eternity, each inscribed with glowing symbols, each radiating the weight of forgotten ages. The very air seemed alive with whispers of knowledge.
Then it came — a voice, ancient and vast, rolling through the void:
"Speak. State the truth you seek."
One by one, cultivators declared their intent. With every word, the Library's power wrapped around them and pulled them into realms of knowledge.
When Azren's turn came, he stepped forward. The Dragon Seal beneath his robes pulsed like a second heartbeat. He raised his head.
"I want to know the truth… of the Heavenly Dragon Clan."
At once, a golden path lit up beneath his feet, runes weaving together like stars. Without hesitation, Regia followed. "Where you go, I'll go."
Max let out a long breath, then clicked his tongue. "Tch. Someone has to keep you alive. Count me in."
One after another, they vanished into the golden light.
The masked girl lingered, silent, before turning toward a different corridor of light — one that shimmered with an aura unlike either Azren's or the Tred Clan's. Without a word, she vanished into it, her identity unknown to those around her.
At the far end, the Tred Clan's leader stepped forward, his voice thunderous. "The truth of the Dragon Slaying Clan."
A crimson path blazed open before them, swallowing their group whole.
And so the Library grew silent once more, its endless shelves watching as the seekers vanished into their separate destinies:
Azren toward the truth of the Heavenly Dragons.
The Tred Clan toward the secrets of the Dragon Slayers.
The masked girl toward mysteries of her own.
None of them knew how tightly their paths were entwined.
Azren's body dissolved into golden light, and when the brilliance faded, he found himself standing in an endless void. A single golden book floated before him, radiant with divine glow, its pages turning slowly on their own.
The book shone brighter, and from it unfolded a path of golden light. Azren stepped forward without hesitation. With each step, the void bent and rippled, pulling him deeper, until at last, visions burst open around him.
He saw a world untouched by mortals — the birth of Arka itself.
From the heavens descended beings of unimaginable grandeur: the Heavenly Dragon Clan. Their colossal wings blotted out the skies, their roars shook the seas. They descended not as conquerors, but as guardians, forging the very foundations of the continent. Their presence kept immortals from beyond the stars from ever stepping into Arka.
But as the ages turned, conflict grew.
The vision shifted. A blood-red battlefield stretched before him. Mountains crumbled, rivers turned to seas of fire. At its center stood a cultivator of terrifying might, his aura reaching the Eternal Conflux stage — a prodigy of the Tred Clan, one who could have raised Arka's fate to unparalleled heights.
Yet his body fell lifeless, pierced by the fangs of the Heavenly Dragons.
The golden book's voice whispered through the void:
"By the hands of the Heavenly Dragon Clan, the prodigy of Tred fell. But no proof remained. Only whispers. Only blood."
Azren's chest tightened as the visions unfolded further.
The dragon clans, enraged and grieving, allied themselves with the Tred Clan. Their hatred grew, feeding a flame that burned through the ages.
From that moment, the name Heavenly Dragon Clan was tainted. They were branded the Dragon Slaying Clan — hunters of their own kind, destroyers of dragon blood.
And so began a dark age. The Dragon Slaying Clan carved through the dragon lineages, erasing one after another. Until finally…
The scene shook violently. A cataclysmic battle filled the heavens. Roars, screams, rivers of fire. And then silence.
The Heavenly Dragons — the Dragon Slayers — were no more. Their clan, once rulers of the skies, vanished from Arka, leaving only ruins, grudges, and unanswered questions.
The golden book closed with a thunderous snap.
Azren stood frozen, his fists clenched. His heart pounded in his chest, the Dragon Seal beneath his robes burning hot, as if trying to break free.
So this is the truth of the blood I carry… Heavenly Dragons, Dragon Slayers… destroyers, guardians… extinct.
But deep in his soul, another thought took root — cold, heavy, unshakable.
If we were destroyed once… then why does my blood still flow?
—
Azren staggered slightly as the golden light of the Library released him. The visions still burned in his mind — dragons descending from the heavens, betrayal, blood, and extinction. His thoughts churned with unanswered questions, his face drawn and unreadable.
Max's sharp voice broke the silence. "So? Did you find anything?"
Regia leaned closer, her eyes full of concern. "Azren…?"
But Azren gave no answer. His gaze was distant, as if he had not fully returned from the Library's illusions. The weight of what he had seen pressed heavily on his heart.
Beside them, the masked girl appeared quietly, her aura suppressed as always. Whatever she had learned in her trial, she kept to herself.
With no time to linger, the group departed, their journey bending back toward the eastern continent — toward the Life Emperor's domain. For days they traveled through ancient forests, the air growing denser with each step.
Then it struck.
A strange aura swept across the trees, sharp and suffocating, smelling of crushed leaves and damp soil. The canopy darkened, shadows twisting unnaturally.
Regia's breath caught. "This aura…"
Ten figures emerged from the mist, surrounding them in a perfect circle. Their robes bore the jagged crimson insignia of dragons. The pressure they exuded was suffocating — each one radiating the unmistakable might of the Celestial Harmony stage.
At their center stood a man whose aura dwarfed the rest. His eyes glowed faint green, his steps cracking the earth beneath him. His cultivation surged at the mid-stage of Refinement… no, Transformation itself.
The vice leader of the group sneered, his gaze sweeping over Azren, Max, and Regia before landing firmly on the masked girl. He lifted a finger, pointing directly at her.
"We don't need all of you. Just the girl."
His tone was casual, but the killing intent behind it froze the air solid.
"You may leave," he continued coldly. "Hand her over, and you live. Resist, and not even your corpses will be left intact."
The forest grew silent. The pressure of the Tred Clan's ambush pressed down like an iron cage. Even Max's jaw tightened; against cultivators of this level, bravado meant nothing.
Azren, however, felt the Dragon Seal beneath his robes heat violently, as though it too recognized the danger — and the girl they were after.
The forest was locked in silence. The air trembled under the suffocating aura of the Tred Clan's warriors.
Azren's gaze shifted to Regia. Her eyes were wide, trembling with fear, but before she could speak, Azren whispered softly, "Go."
In a flash of light, Regia's body dissolved into a stream of essence, retreating into Azren's sea of chi where she would be safe.
The leader of the Tred Clan sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "So that's your answer? Hiding your little companion away? Foolish. You children don't take your lives seriously at all."
Before Azren could respond, the masked girl stepped forward. Her presence, normally quiet and reserved, suddenly flared like a storm. Aaya turned her head slightly, her voice calm but firm.
"Azren… thank you for your concern. But I can handle this."
The aura that erupted from her body sent ripples through the trees. Branches snapped, leaves swirled violently, and the ground cracked under the weight of her unleashed power. The ten warriors of the Tred Clan stiffened, eyes narrowing.
Azren's chest tightened. He knew Aaya's true cultivation — far from the Transformation stage that their leader possessed. And yet, looking at her now, the confidence in her gaze was undeniable.
He met her eyes, a storm of conflict raging within him. His voice dropped to a cold whisper.
"So this is it, then? You saved my life, and I gave you what you asked for. Now everything between us… is over."
For the first time, her eyes softened beneath the mask. "Then I hope," she said quietly, "that we will never meet again."
Their gazes locked — unspoken words swirling between them, heavier than any battle.
Azren turned away, his throat tight. Living like this… is more painful than dying. You're the gifted one, Aaya. You'll shine no matter where you go. You don't need me.
In her own heart, Aaya's thoughts burned bitterly. Azren… you're lucky. You have people beside you. Regia, Max, even your masters. You don't need me either.
Without another word, Azren's body surged upward, the wind lifting him into the sky. He departed without once looking back.
On the ground, Aaya straightened her posture. Her aura burned like a living flame as she faced the encirclement of the Tred Clan.
"Since you chose death…" she whispered, her masked face tilting slightly, "then I'll grant it to you."
She stepped forward, and the forest shook with the sound of slaughter.