Chapter 69

The clamor of war gradually faded, replaced by the occasional moans from the ruins, the muffled rush of distant dragon wings, and the crackling of flames licking at the debris. The air reeked of thick, mingled odors—smoke, blood, charred wood, stone dust, and a faint, elusive tang of ozone and sulfur from dragons and magic.

The inner gate of Karnsen slowly creaked open, its heavy, grating scrape echoing through the silence. Behind it, the magical barrier rippled like water before dissolving entirely.

First to step out was Lord Karnsen. He had shed his damaged battle armor and donned a dark civilian robe, yet he could not hide the weariness etched into his brow or the scars on his body. His steps were heavy, crunching over the ground littered with stones and rubble.

Sakavi, in his human form, stepped forward to meet him, draped in a long robe woven as if from shadows, faint black scale patterns visible along his temples, his molten-gold vertical pupils still radiating an unsettling oppression. His gait was unhurried, as if he walked not through the ruins of a city, but through his own private domain.

They walked in silence, from the relatively intact inner gate toward the outer city, now a hellish wasteland. Along the edge of the inner city, traces of the city’s former outline remained. Streets were cracked and pitted with impacts, but most buildings on either side were damaged, not collapsed. Some soldiers and survivors were clearing debris and tending to the wounded.

“Duke Sakavi, thank you deeply for your aid. Let our past grievances be buried. Take as much of the city’s magical artifacts and wealth as you wish.”

“More than that, I’m curious why the Church of Light didn’t come to protect you. Aren’t you traditional allies?”

“Ah, what tradition? There was only one of us in the Church. Since Selina died, our family’s ties with the Church have slowly withered. I have three sons and one daughter. My eldest died in the battle for the city. My second became a paladin and died in a campaign against heretics. My youngest is only ten.”

“So the Church of Light isn’t so holy after all! I thought it was sacred.”

“Your Grace jests. Without sufficient profit, who would truly lift a finger? That’s why I’ve always sent people to the Church—having our own inside gives us some voice. They couldn’t truly abandon us.”

The further they went, the more horrific the scene. This had been one of the main battlefields. An entire district had been flattened by powerful area magic, leaving only twisted metal frames and charred, broken walls.

The corpses of Dragon-worshipers and defenders lay intermingled—some reduced to charcoal, others corroded beyond recognition by acid, others torn apart by immense force. A tattered banner bearing the Dragon-worshipers’ emblem lay half-buried under rubble, soaked dark with dried blood.

“Then why were you besieged by the Dragon-worshipers? Surely not because your family lost its influence in the Church and they saw you as easy prey!”

“There were still some relatives inside—my nephews. But they were only High-Stage; their voices carried little weight. This siege happened because they stood by and let me fall, hoping to divide the city. The real reason? My extreme hatred of the chromatic dragons—I kill and enslave them on sight, which strikes at the core interests of the Dragon-worshipers.”

“Is that so? Would it be too late for me to crush you with one claw now?”

“Don’t worry—I won’t oppose dragons again. I’m not ungrateful. My parents died under a red dragon’s breath—just happened to be at the market, burned to ash in an instant. Since then, I’ve hated chromatic dragons with every fiber of my being.”

Near the outer city’s edge, in what had once been the commercial district, destruction was total. Almost no structure stood taller than a knee. Wealth and prosperity had become the most ironic funeral offerings. Melted gold and silver mingled with shattered magical crystals amid the ash, occasionally glinting with eerie light.

A gust of wind swept up black ash and charred, expensive parchment—faintly legible, a price list for some commodity. Sakavi did not look at the lord beside him. He kicked aside a melted lump of metal, once perhaps a fine sculpture, and said casually: “I take seventy percent of the Dragon-worshipers’ spoils.”

Karnsen halted, inhaling deeply the air thick with smoke and decay: “This is Karnsen City. My city. All spoils should rightfully belong to…”

“Should rightfully belong to the victor.” Sakavi cut him off, finally turning his head, his molten-gold pupils narrowing to slits. “And I am the only victor today. You—and your city—are merely… survivors.” His gaze swept over the hellish landscape around them, the implication clear: without him, there would be no ruins left at all.

“As for my ‘support’ fee…” Sakavi continued walking, his tone as casual as discussing the weather, “discounted: six legendary-tier chromatic dragons’ appearance fees, plus the old debt between us.” He stopped, standing in a relatively open space that had once been a square, and turned back to Karnsen. “I demand exclusive mining rights to the Starfall Vein for the next fifty years.”

Karnsen snapped his head up: “Impossible! The Starfall Vein is the lifeblood of this city! It’s the primary material for…”

“—the main ingredient in weapons to fight dragons. I know.” Sakavi’s face twisted into a cruel smile. “That’s why this condition is fair. Accept it—or…”

He didn’t finish. He merely tapped his foot lightly on the scorched, ravaged earth beneath them.

Karnsen stared into Sakavi’s unyielding gaze, then around at the wasteland that would require immense resources and time to rebuild. He understood: this was not negotiation. It was notification. Before absolute power, he had no choice. Slowly, he closed his eyes and nodded.

The Starfall Vein was not in the Astral Plane, but on a small plane. Not all planes were sought after—those without veins were universally shunned, for without abundant ore, no civilization could flourish.

Because of this, a practice emerged: some organizations specialized in mining, selling, or outright plundering veins, completely draining a plane’s value before selling it off. The small plane under Karnsen City’s control was famed for its Starfall Vein.

“Don’t grieve. To show my sincerity, I have another gift for you—I think you’ll love it. If I recall correctly, your daughter’s remains were destroyed in this war, weren’t they?”

“Why bring this up? I warn you—don’t even think of touching her. I know you’re a necromancer. I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

Then Verna, carrying the coffin, emerged from the shadows; seeing the pitch-black inscribed coffin, Kanassen flew into a rage, but he was no match for the two Legendary-tier figures. Soon after, Sakavi pushed open the coffin lid and said, “Wake up—your house was smashed by the Dragon Worshipers. Come see for yourself!”

Verna emerged from the shadows, carrying a coffin. At the sight of the black-inscribed casket, Karnsen’s fury reached its peak—but he was powerless against two legendary-tier beings. Sakavi opened the coffin and said: “Wake up. Your home was smashed by the Dragon-worshipers. Come see.”

Slowly, Selina opened her eyes, stunned by the scene around her. Beside her, Lord Karnsen stared, hands trembling, face filled with disbelief.

“Sorry—I dare not offend the one who guards the River Styx. I could only make you a flesh puppet incapable of casting magic. But your soul? Unchanged. I guarantee that. No thanks needed.”

“Get out of my home immediately. We don’t welcome scoundrels like you!”

Verna: “Did someone dump you? Hahaha! All that time you spent crafting a flesh golem with such impossibly perfect details.”

Verna: “Did someone just dump you? Hahaha! And you spent so long crafting such a perfectly detailed flesh puppet!”

“Cough, cough. Misunderstanding. All misunderstanding. Selina, go see your brother in the inner city. I have business to discuss with these two. Sakavi—where were we? Oh yes, the Starfall Vein.”

“Lord Karnsen, I want all chromatic dragons you have—dead or alive, including dragon beasts. You have no objection, I assume?”

“None at all. They’re yours. Also, I have several magical artifacts in the city—take a look. Pick anything you want. I’ll give them to you.”

This fragment of the Star Dome Prophecy Scroll is not a magical artifact—it is ancient forbidden knowledge. Legend says it is a parchment recording the patterns of the Astral Realm and certain nodes of world destiny. It cannot directly grant you power, but it allows you to “see.” Of course, interpreting it comes at a cost—sometimes sanity, sometimes… lifespan.

“This fragment of the Starfall Prophecy—it’s not a magical artifact, but ancient forbidden knowledge. Legend says it records the workings of the Astral Plane and certain nodes of world fate. It cannot directly grant power, but it lets you ‘see.’ Of course, interpreting it demands a price—sometimes sanity, sometimes… life.”

“This is the ‘Binding Dragon Pact Scroll.’ Yes, you heard right. Not the original, of course. It’s an ancient text by dragon-blooded mages studying how to forge equal pacts with dragons, containing lost runes tied to dragon magic circuits.”

“Shadowstep Dagger—don’t mistake it for an ordinary dagger. It allows its wielder to perform short-range shadow leaps. More importantly, it can tear through most conventional spatial seals. Useful for those who wish to come and go freely in certain places.”

“Whispering Branch—a withered twig from the World Tree of a long-dead elven realm. It cannot revive life, but it can record and replay a powerful spell or a crucial conversation. In some cases, it becomes the deadliest evidence—or the most precious lesson.”

“Of course, you may choose only two. These are things money cannot buy. I don’t have many. Don’t be greedy—I’d hate to have to refuse you.”

[46] In the end, Sakavi chose the Starfall Prophecy and the Binding Dragon Pact Scroll. Compared to magical artifacts that could be crafted, knowledge was far more precious. Miss this chance, and there might never be another.