Translator: AnubisTL
Garos lay languidly atop a mountain of treasure—a glittering heap of countless gold coins, gemstones, and precious artifacts—as several lithe serpent sorceress, their figures graceful and their magic potent, bestowed upon him a gentle, soothing touch of magical energy.
The healing energy flowed like a warm, gentle stream.
Guided by the attendants' caressing palms, it seeped slowly into his powerful frame, smoothing away the subtle damage and fatigue wrought by his high-intensity training.
This is by no means mere indulgence!
It is solely to accelerate his recovery, to hasten the start of the next round of training. This necessary rest and relaxation has nothing to do with pleasure.
—No matter what anyone else thought, this was how Garos viewed it.
"Five years... My martial combat level has improved, yet my life grade remains stagnant."
"The higher I climb, the slower my life grade increases."
Over these five years, his life grade had not changed. However, his aura had grown steadily more profound, and his body had increased in size. His total length from head to tail now approached seventeen meters, his form majestic and imposing, while his various attributes continued to rise steadily.
"It's only natural," he thought. "The growth curve for a dragon's life grade isn't a smooth, steady incline, but a series of stepped advancements."
"I need to wait for my next deep slumber. With my current rate of development, the timing of my dragon sleeps is always moving up. I shouldn't have to wait much longer for the one that marks the end of my adolescence."
The growth process of dragonkind was fundamentally different from that of many other creatures, and its core lay in deep slumber.
Daily exercise, combat, and feeding would all gradually accumulate and settle, waiting to be digested during the slumber period. Only then would they trigger a multi-grade jump in life grade. Any wear and tear or hidden injuries sustained in battle, and even subtle damage to the soul and spirit, would also be repaired during this time.
A dragon's life...
The vast majority of those seemingly endless millennia were spent in the profound and prolonged dragon sleep. Much of their longevity was, in fact, a facade.
"My Adaptive Evolution Talent... I can't say for certain what its future holds, but for now, its most core and fundamental utility lies in reshaping the very essence of my life, expanding the boundaries of my potential, and raising that otherwise unreachable upper limit. It's not merely about a superficial increase in life grade, which is only a reference point anyway."
Garos was gaining a deeper understanding of his innate talent.
So, why is my current life grade so far beyond that of other dragons my age?
He pondered, a look of realization dawning on his face. The key lies in my own relentless, day-after-day, year-after-year training. I have never once slacked.
Of course, it's also thanks to the endless supply of precious resources.
The black oil, surging with energy; the brilliant gems that nourish the dragon soul; the high-quality meat providing ultimate nutrition; even the precious metals used to strengthen my body... All of these are the foundation stones of my growth.
The role of innate talent is actually minuscule, Garos thought silently.
Then, he slightly lifted his heavy eyelids, his gaze casually sweeping over the scales beside him.
The surface of the dragon scales was covered in a dense, crisscrossing network of fresh sword scars, each one deeply etched and clearly visible—these were the marks left by his powerful familiar, the Six-armed Serpentfolk Sword Saint, during their sparring sessions.
And beyond these newly added wounds...
Even more striking were the darker, denser, and seemingly tougher special patterns.
They spread across his massive torso like the growth rings of an ancient tree, or the weathered fissures in a storm-beaten rock.
These were battle-scarred patterns—medals of power and experience forged from countless fierce battles. They were the result of his dragon scales shattering time and again, only to stubbornly heal under his immense vitality.
The density of these battle-scarred patterns was largely due to his nearly "masochistic" daily training regimen.
After all, the patterns on Garos's body weren't all naturally formed in life-or-death struggles. A significant portion had been "ground" into existence through his daily requests for his powerful familiars to launch high-intensity attacks on him to build up his resistance.
This method was, in a way, a bit of a shortcut.
But Garos didn't mind.
As long as it works, he thought. To those who know what they're looking at, these battle-scarred patterns should be... quite a good bluff.
Only those truly within the dragon race's society, or intelligent creatures with a profound understanding of the draconic world, could truly grasp the true value of the "battle-scarred patterns" on a dragon's body.
Against opponents with enough discernment, Garos needed to say nothing at all.
He merely had to reveal the dense network of battle-scarred patterns covering nearly one-fifth of his torso. The palpable, crushing aura of intimidation they radiated was enough to make many enemies—those with unsteady minds or weak wills—tremble in fear before the fight even began.
This had been proven during his fierce battle with the Gold Dragon Alberto.
Even the proud and arrogant Alberto, upon seeing the dense patterns on Garos's body—which far exceeded those of an ordinary mature dragon—could not suppress the shock and astonishment that flashed across his vertical pupils, leaving him vulnerable.
Steeling his resolve, Garos brought his attention back to the present and slowly closed his eyes.
Though this was his scheduled rest period, it was far from complete relaxation.
He often used such fragmented moments to keep a close watch on the shifting winds of change sweeping across the southern continent. Through the Chain of Kinship and the merchant guild's channels, he gathered information and analyzed the situation, silently and meticulously planning for the future of the Frontierlands and his own destiny.
"Gordon."
The red-iron dragon tapped gently on the invisible Chain of Kinship in his mind, calling out to his brother—Gordon, an Iron Dragon born of the same parents but destined for a different fate, now far away within the Kingdom of Lothurn.
At that same moment, in the heart of the Kingdom of Lothurn, on the serene yet vibrant training grounds of the Spark Monastery.
Gordon, still as massive and round as ever, was the center of attention.
He lay sprawled lazily in the middle of the field, surrounded by gazes filled with respect and near-reverence. Under their watchful eyes, he subtly displayed his physique—a body that seemed a fraction leaner than it had been three years ago, yet still retained its overall plump and rounded contours.
Over these past three years, Gordon had indeed put in the effort.
He had hired an experienced royal warrior as his instructor and, as he'd hoped, embarked on the battle-scarred dragon path, which offered a well-rounded approach to training.
However, perhaps because his voracious appetite remained unchanged while his training intensity fell short, his physique never transformed into the kind of awe-inspiring, explosive power he'd always craved—the kind Garos possessed, with his sharply defined muscles and imposing presence. At best, he had evolved from his original "fat-wrapped-in-fat" to his current "fat-wrapped-around-muscle." He still appeared solid and heavy, possessing a unique, almost cuddly kind of strength.
Now, Iron Dragon Gordon leaned back, his eyes half-closed in contentment.
As he basked in the admiring gazes of the children around him, he scanned the thriving youngsters. The once frail and malnourished children, who had been as fragile as bean sprouts in the wind, had been utterly transformed by a steady supply of food and a meticulously planned, continuous physical training regimen.
They had grown strong, muscular, and full of vitality.
Some of the children were now more than twice as tall and sturdy as they had been three years ago, their bodies brimming with youthful vigor and power.
Among them, Aster, Theros, and Aisha stood out with their exceptional innate talent.
Having endured hardship, they understood the preciousness of opportunity. Their diligence and self-discipline had reached an almost rigorous level. After years of daily toil and sweat, they had clearly felt the flow and condensation of "qi" within their bodies about a year ago, officially stepping onto the monk path.
Judging by their astonishing talent and current unstoppable growth rate, Gordon had no doubt that with enough time and resources, these three children would grow into formidable figures of extraordinary power, capable of holding their own in any battle, within twenty years.
Just as Gordon was immersed in these gratifying thoughts, the Dragon Bloodline flowing within him suddenly stirred with a subtle tremor.
Immediately after, a familiar and majestic voice resonated—a call from his powerful brother in the distant Frontierlands.
The Iron Dragon's spirit jolted.
"My dear brother," Gordon replied instantly through the bloodline link, his voice echoing in his mind. "Perfect timing. I've just received some critical news and was about to tell you."
"Is it the news that the Duchy of Haltai and the Duchy of Abel have finally dropped all pretenses and declared war on each other?" Garos asked. "I already know."
He had learned of it quickly through the merchant guilds. Such a blatant and significant development was impossible to miss.
Garos understood the truth. On the surface, the two duchies were fighting to defend the "sacrosanctity of their territorial sovereignty." In reality, they were merely two sharp blades held by the same unseen hand. Their fierce clash was largely an execution of the sword-wielder's will—a carefully orchestrated, probing engagement.
The Holy King had fallen. Yet the Kingdom of Lothurn remained a behemoth, having flourished for centuries under his radiant protection, monopolizing the realm's resources and development.
Even if it is now riddled with internal strife and festering problems, even showing signs of senile decay, it cannot change one immutable fact.
—It remains a kingdom with a profound foundation, a formidable military, and vast territories.
Those ambitious predators lurking in the shadows, like jackals and hounds, would never be so foolish as to launch a direct frontal assault from the start, challenging this lion that, though old, still has its claws and fangs.
Instead, they would first cautiously extend their probing talons, constantly skirmishing, testing, and sowing chaos on the periphery... until they are absolutely certain of the lion's weakness and sluggishness. Only then, like sharks scenting blood, would they swarm in to tear it apart and devour it whole.
"That's exactly what's happening."
Gordon confirmed Garos's knowledge, but his tone immediately grew deeper and more grave.
"However, I have news for you that is even more critical than the duchy's war."
He paused, then said slowly, "The old king of Lothurn is critically ill."
(End of the Chapter)
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