The arrival of the Beastmen transformed Grimgar from a silent fortress into a vibrant, humming metropolis of outcasts. The air, once still and heavy with the memory of Ranga's resentment, now thrummed with the sounds of industry and life. The initial meeting between Riveria and Logan had been a study in contrasting leadership—her serene, ancient wisdom meeting his raw, primal authority. Yet, they found common ground in their shared persecution and their faith in the black-armored Vanguard. Under their joint direction, the Beastmen were integrated, their strength and hunting prowess perfectly complementing the Elves' magical affinity and connection to natural growth.
For the next two weeks, Seiji became a whirlwind of conquest and consolidation. His purpose was clear: to build a power base so formidable that neither the Empire nor the Demon King could ignore it. He ventured out from Grimgar, a one-man army on a mission of recruitment by subjugation. He sought out the dour, master-smith Dwarves in their volcanic holds, convincing them with a display of OOO's earth-shaking Sagohzo power and the promise of limitless resources and a safe forge. He descended into the murky swamps to parley with the Lizardmen, their chieftain bowing after Seiji, using Kiva's Garulu form, outraced their swiftest hunter on land and in water.
The Oni, mighty brutes of the highlands, respected only strength. Seiji gave it to them, standing firm in Agito's Burning Form and trading blows with their champion until the Oni's club shattered against his chest, and the champion's arm broke from the recoil. They knelt, their red faces split not with anger, but with grins of respect for a superior warrior. The dim-witted but powerful Ogres were simpler; a few demonstrations of overwhelming force, and they followed like loyal, if simple-minded, hounds.
Not all encounters were so straightforward. A clan of Hobgoblins, larger and more organized than their common cousins, saw the growing settlement as a target. A group of them, emboldened by drink and vile intent, attempted to drag away a few female Elf scouts. Seiji's response was swift, public, and merciless. He did not simply defeat them. He made an example of them. Before the assembled residents of Grimgar, he used the Dogga Hammer's crushing weight to turn the would-be violators into a bloody paste on the stone floor, their screams cut short with final, wet crunches.
"Grimgar offers sanctuary," his voice, cold and mechanical, echoed across the silent courtyard. "But it demands absolute order. Harm your fellow residents, and you answer to me. There will be no second chances."
The message was received. A shiver of fear and respect went through the populace. Authority was established not through words, but through decisive, terrifying action. Under the watchful eyes of the Elves, the disciplined strength of the Beastmen, and the industrious might of the Dwarves and Oni, Grimgar stabilized. A rough, martial order was born, a society built on the shared foundation of survival and a burning hatred for the Empire.
One afternoon, as Seiji practiced his martial forms in a secluded training chamber, a Hobgoblin scout, now fiercely loyal, burst in. "Lord Vanguard! News from the western front! The Hero party—they've begun their campaign against the Demon King's outer legions!"
Seiji paused, a sheen of sweat on his brow despite the armor. He dismissed the scout with a nod, his mind turning over the information. He had expected this. The Empire would need a victory, a symbol to rally behind. His classmates were that symbol. He felt a twinge of something complex—a remnant concern for Rin, a flicker of bitterness towards Takuma and the others. But he quickly suppressed it. Their path was one of gilded servitude. His was one of foundational revolution.
"They play their part in the Empire's theater," he muttered to himself. "Grimgar is not yet ready to challenge the stage itself."
He knew his fledgling alliance, while powerful, was still a regional force. To truly shift the balance of the continent, he needed a power that could make both the Empire and the Demon King hesitate. A strategic deterrent. He needed an ally whose very name was synonymous with apocalyptic power.
It was the old sage, Orias, who provided the answer. Seiji found him in the newly established grand library, a cavernous room where Elven light-orbs illuminated shelves carved by Dwarven hands and filled with scrolls preserved by Beastmen lore-keepers.
"You seek a power that can challenge heaven and shake the earth," Orias said, his milky eyes seeming to gaze into the annals of history. "There is only one candidate: the Dragon Race."
Seiji leaned forward, his interest sharpening. "Dragons. I encountered a Wyvern in the dungeon. Are they similar?"
Orias gave a dry, rasping chuckle. "A Wyvern is to a true Dragon as a candle is to the sun. Dragons are not mere monsters, Lord Vanguard. They are entities crystallized from the very essence of the world's will." He raised a gnarled finger. "The will of the sky gives birth to Wind Dragons, Thunder Dragons, Storm Dragons,... The will of the earth, create Fire Dragons, Earth Dragons, Tree Dragons..., even Magma Dragon. The will of the ocean, pregnats Ice Dragons, Water Dragons, Tidal Dragons..." He paused for effect. "And then there are the exceptions: the Light and Dark Dragons, born when all three wills combine and are saturated with a primordial attribute of pure good or absolute evil. They are forces of nature given consciousness and form."
"Then where are they?" Seiji asked. "Why do they not rule this world?"
"Pride. And isolation. Except for the rogue Evil Dragons who revel in chaos, most Dragon tribes are reclusive, considering other races beneath them. They dwell on a remote, floating island, a sanctuary." Orias's face grew grim. "But twenty-seven years ago, the former king, Caesar, Arthen's father, in a fit of avaricious folly, learned of the island. He coveted their power, their scales for armor, their bones for weapons. He led his entire royal fleet and most elite legions in a surprise attack."
The old sage shook his head, the memory a painful one. "It was a slaughter. But not of dragons. The initial assault killed many dragon whelps, still in their eggs or newly hatched. It provoked a wrath the world had not seen in millennia. The adult dragons emerged. They did not just defeat Caesar's army; they annihilated it. Not a single ship returned. The sea ran red for leagues. In their grief and fury, the Dragon Elders then used a forbidden spatial magic to seal the entire island away from the world, hiding it from any who would seek it out again."
"So, it's lost," Seiji concluded, though his mind was already racing.
"Not lost. Hidden. To find it, you must perceive the subtle distortions of the spatial seal. You must become sensitive to the fabric of space itself. You need to study spatial magic."
"Spatial magicians are rare, you said. The magic is complex."
"It is. It requires an intuitive understanding of dimensions that eludes most minds. I am not a spatial magician myself, but my knowledge of arcane theory is… extensive." Orias offered a thin smile. "The path is before you, Lord Vanguard. The question is, will you walk it?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Seiji answered. "Begin the lesson."
The following days were a testament to Seiji's relentless discipline. His mornings were spent in physical training, honing the body that housed the Vanguard system. His afternoons and late into the nights were spent with Orias, immersed in the fundamental laws of magic. He started not with space, but with the core elements: Fire, Water, Wind, Earth. Orias explained that to understand how to bend space, one must first understand what occupies it. Seiji learned to feel the mana around him, to distinguish the restless agitation of fire particles from the placid flow of water, the boundless freedom of wind from the steadfast solidity of earth.
He was a prodigious student. The same mind that had memorized the histories and powers of twenty Kamen Riders now devoured arcane formulae and mana-manipulation techniques. He couldn't cast high-level spells yet, but his theoretical understanding grew at a staggering rate. The Vanguard system itself seemed to aid him, analyzing the magical principles and cross-referencing them with the pseudo-scientific bases of Rider powers like Faiz's photon blood or Build's physics-based Fullbottle system.
During this study, a realization dawned on him. One of the powers he possessed, Kamen Rider Agito, drew its inspiration from a dragon. Its Shining Form was the pinnacle of this connection. As he meditated on the essence of Agito, he felt something stir within him—a faint, crystalline resonance. Orias, knowig about it, named it.
"Lacrima," the sage whispered, awe in his voice. "The quintessential life-force of a dragon. A tiny, nascent seed of it, it must be born from your strange connection to dragon-based particular power. It is a beacon, Lord Vanguard. If you can learn to listen to it, it may guide you."
It was the key. Combining his rudimentary but growing spatial awareness with the internal pull of the Lacrima essence, Seiji began to perceive it—a faint, shimmering scar in the fabric of the world, far to the east, over the endless ocean. The Dragon Island's seal.
Days later, Seiji stood on a windswept cliff overlooking the churning sea. He focused, not on brute force, but on finesse. He used his spatial awareness to find the "seam" in the magical seal, and the Lacrima within him acted as a password, a drop of oil in a complex lock. With a surge of concentration, he tore a temporary, personal-sized rift in the spatial barrier and stepped through.
The world shifted. The salt-spray smell of the ocean was replaced by an air so rich with mana it was intoxicating. He stood on an island of impossible scale, with trees that reached for the clouds like living towers and mountains that pierced a sky teeming with life. The very atmosphere hummed with ancient power. Above him, young dragons, far larger and more defined than the Wyvern he'd slain, wheeled and played, their scales glittering like jewels in the sun. They were magnificent, their forms a perfect blend of lethal power and breathtaking beauty.
They are intelligent, Seiji thought, his mind calm and analytical. Diplomacy is the preferred first contact. I will try to communicate.
He willed the Vanguard armor to retract, standing as a human to appear less threatening. He took a breath, ready to call out, to announce his peaceful intent.
The offer died in his throat. A shadow fell over him. The air grew hot and thick. He looked up.
Descending from a nearby peak was a dragon of Western legend, a creature of immense, terrifying grandeur. Its body was the color of molten ruby, covered in scales that looked like polished volcanic glass. Its wings, when fully extended, blotted out the sun. It landed before him, the impact shaking the ground, and lowered its colossal head. Its eyes, golden and slitted, were not merely hostile. They held the weight of millennia of grief and a burning, undying hatred for his kind killers. In those eyes, Seiji saw the reflection of Caesar's betrayal, the death of dragon whelps, and the sealed grief of twenty-seven years.
There would be no talking. The dragon's chest glowed a deep, ominous orange. With a roar that split the sky, it unleashed a torrent of fire so pure and hot that the very air around it screamed.
Seiji was already moving, the Vanguard armor snapping back into place around him in an instant. He dove to the side, the inferno incinerating the spot where he had stood, turning the ancient, resilient grass into superheated glass.
He rolled to his feet, his mind shifting gears from diplomat to combatant. The sheer scale of the creature was staggering. This was not a foe he could defeat with mere force. This was a test of will, a trial by fire in the most literal sense.
The red dragon, seeing its first attack evaded, let out another earth-shaking bellow and charged, its talons digging great furrows in the earth. Seiji stood his ground, not in defiance, but in assessment. He had come for an alliance. To earn that, he would first have to earn their respect. And for a race that valued power above all, there was only one way to do that.
He took a deep breath, the systems within the Vanguard armor humming as they analyzed the dragon's mana signature and physical capabilities.
The battle for the Dragon Clan's allegiance had begun.