VBNWDW - Chapter 51
Chapter 51
As the red sun rose on the horizon, the first light of dawn pierced through the mist, falling upon the vast Chryse Continent.
On the wide plains where the river flowed, granite walls six meters high stretched like a long, thorny serpent into the unseen distance.
Within the city walls, a sea of people surged. On streets wide enough for four carriages to travel abreast, commoners in linen and nobles in silk were all squeezed to the roadside.
The center of the road was occupied by mages riding various magical beasts, holy knights in silver armor, elven travelers, ill-tempered and heavy-drinking dwarves, and other races of all shapes and sizes.
They were all collectively known as the Gifted—blessed by the gods, able to awaken and perceive the Tree of Genes within their bodies and possess miraculous abilities.
In Anthelia, the most prosperous capital on the Chryse Continent, the Gifted were not a rare sight.
A popular joke went like this: toss a brick in Anthelia, and you have a fifty percent chance of hitting one of the Gifted and a forty percent chance of hitting a noble. As for the remaining ten percent being commoners… well, my friend, that's why the brick hits the ground!
But a scene like this, where even the Gifted were packed together, struggling to move forward, was extremely rare.
One of the mages couldn't help but curse. The magic robe he had spent ten gold coins on was now completely wrinkled!
His companion could only whisper, "Just bear with it, Rock. We're almost at the altar. This is our only chance to see the Dragon Clan."
Hearing this, Rock could only swallow his anger and complain, "But there are just too many people. Does seeing a dragon once make you a Magister? Is it really worth all this effort?"
Someone nearby overheard him, turned, and shouted, "Hey! Kid, if you think so, then hurry back home. You'll make more progress meditating in your room!"
Another person added, "If you think it's too crowded on the ground, why don't you buy a flying magical beast and fly above the capital? You might even get to say hello to the dragon!"
He was mocking Rock. To welcome the dragon's arrival, flying had been forbidden in Anthelia for the past two days. Violators would be executed on the spot. If he really flew up, he'd be putting on a show of his blood splattering for everyone.
Rock's face instantly flushed red, but he still shuffled forward with the crowd.
Everyone knew how rare and fortunate it was to see a dragon. Compared to them, the so-called Gifted, the Dragon Clan was the most supreme, powerful, and divinely favored race on the Chryse Continent.
They were born with formidable bodies, long lifespans, and the ability to control elements at will. Even a newborn dragon whelp possessed power equivalent to a Magister.
Unfortunately, they were lazy and loved to sleep, living together on Dragon Island above the ocean. They rarely appeared on the continent; otherwise, it wouldn't be humans ruling it.
Someone let out a cry of surprise. The crowd looked up to see that preparations for the ceremony were nearing their end, just waiting for the important figures to arrive.
Everyone scrambled to push forward even more frantically, but the designated viewing areas were already packed. Where was there any space left for them?
Fortunately, the kingdom's officials had prepared for this, setting up several Projection Crystals in the low sky so that the entire city of Anthelia could see clearly. In the end, they could only curse in frustration before turning to discuss today's ceremony.
Why could they see a dragon today?
Legend had it that the first queen of the Roy Kingdom fell in love with a dragon. To bring the queen to live on Dragon Island, the dragon signed a contract with the royal family: every successive monarch of the kingdom could summon a dragon upon their ascension and form a Partner Contract with it to protect the continuation of royal power.
However, the dragons summoned in recent years had been exceptionally lazy. They were usually only seen once at the ceremony, spending the rest of their time sleeping in the palace. When their contract partner passed away, they would quietly depart.
So, this was their only chance to see a dragon. Even as the weather grew increasingly hot and stuffy, no one was willing to leave.
Hundreds of thousands of gold coins and gems were scattered on the marble altar, piled up like small mountains, glittering dazzlingly in the sunlight.
Members of the Council and the Temple of Light stood before the altar, heads bowed and hands clasped, watching the queen in her magnificent robes walk up the steps one by one.
She had strikingly beautiful, deep-set features. Her golden hair shimmered like velvet, and her pale gray-blue eyes were reminiscent of the sacred, crystal-clear waters of Lantis Lake—said to be the tears of the Goddess of Life that fell between snowy peaks, the lake flowing year-round, profoundly clear and translucent.
When she appeared, all noise vanished, and fervent, devout gazes fell upon her.
Sunlight landed on the hem of her gold-threaded skirt, and her pure white cape billowed in the wind.
As she reached the top of the altar, the old, stern elder of the Council stepped forward and placed a crown woven from the branches of the Tree of Life on her head. Though a thousand years had passed, the crown's vines were still fresh and verdant, and the few dangling leaves were as brilliant and dazzling as jewels.
It was said to slow aging and extend life, a gift from a dragon who had risked great danger to climb the divine tree and break off its topmost branch for the first queen.
The Council elder stepped back, and the Head of the Temple of Light approached with a sword. He raised the sword with one hand and lightly tapped the queen's shoulder with its intricately engraved flat.
The queen curtsied slightly, her long hair falling beside her ear, swaying gently.
Then, the Head raised the sword with both hands and presented it to the queen.
This was the treasured sword that had accompanied the first queen in her conquests, a symbol of the Roy royal family's status and power.
When the queen took the sword and turned, the ox-hide drums surrounding the city walls were struck in unison. The deafening beats seemed to shake the very ground. Horns then sounded, their calls carrying for a thousand miles, yet still clearly audible.
Maidens in white dresses appeared below the altar, their heads raised as they sang a ceremonial hymn. The great river in the distance began to churn in response.
At this moment, no one dared to speak. The banners planted on the city walls flapped ceaselessly.
The queen finally spoke, chanting an esoteric song. Her voice was not loud, yet it pierced through the sound of the drums and horns. The profound and difficult words stirred an elemental resonance that even commoners could feel in their surroundings.
This was the unique language of the dragons. Other races, no matter how hard they tried to memorize it, could not replicate the intonation. It was said that Draconic required no incantations; a single syllable could effortlessly mobilize the power of the elements.
The Roy royal family, through the grace of the dragons, was able to speak these few short phrases of Draconic to summon the Dragon Clan.
The red sun hung on the horizon, the distant mountains blurred by the heat. The drumming grew heavier, and the wind whipped the queen's long robes.
Suddenly, a long cry echoed from a hundred meters up in the sky. The clouds shattered, and the azure space was torn open, revealing a chaotic and dangerous elemental rift.
All sounds ceased. The drums, the horns, the chanting—all vanished. People tilted their heads back to look.
A hundred-meter-long dragon flew out from the spatial rift. Its vast, spined wings seemed to blot out the sun, casting a large gray shadow on the ground. Its streamlined body was filled with a sense of power, its black scales like pieces of deep ink jade. Though their edges looked smooth, no one would dare touch them—they were treasures capable of forging divine weapons.
It roared as it descended, tearing open spatial rifts of all sizes around it. The dragon's cry pierced through plains and seas, and the forests rippled like a green ocean wave. The crowd covered their ears, but their eyes were wide open.
Her Majesty the Queen gripped the hilt of her sword, her thin lips pressed into a straight line. Her pale gray-blue eyes reflected the ever-enlarging shadow of the dragon.
The chilling, bony wings fanned a chaotic wind, and white will-o'-the-wisps circled it. Its gilded vertical pupils were indifferent and merciless—the pinnacle of the food chain, the most beautiful and ruthless of God's most beloved creations, just as the historians described.
It stopped in mid-air before Her Majesty the Queen, looking down at her. To this human, who was smaller than its own claw, it spoke in clear human tongue: "Tell me your name."
It was no surprise that the Dragon Clan was born with mastery of all languages.
The palm gripping the sword hilt was imprinted with messy indentations. The cape behind her snapped in the wind.
Her Majesty the Queen took a deep breath and answered, "Metis."
Behind her, the Council elder and the Head of the Temple of Light could not withstand the dragon's might and had already bent slightly at the waist. As for the audience further away, most were already kneeling on the ground, drenched in cold sweat.
Only Metis, the one person under the dragon's protection, could stand straight, her head still raised to look at it.
"A good name," it praised. Then, a circular rune representing the elemental contract materialized between the human and the dragon.
Having read the historical records, Metis understood that they were about to form a bond.
This brought her a slight sense of relief. It meant the dragon's first impression of her was decent. There had been cases in history where a monarch displeased a dragon on their first meeting, causing it to turn and leave. That monarch was cursed for a long time, and the Council and the Temple of Light stripped him of all his power. The royal family's situation only improved after the next monarch successfully signed a contract with a dragon.
Thus, their successors learned to prepare gems and gold coins, and to choose a successor with a pleasing appearance—at the very least, not someone with an ordinary disposition like the king who was rejected.
The dragon's claw pressed its print onto the contract formed of elemental power, and Metis, too, drew her name with her sword.
The contract then dissipated, as if an invisible thread now connected the human and the dragon. From now on, no matter how far apart they were, they could instantly appear by each other's side.
Of course, the effects of a Partner Contract were far more than just that, but Metis had no time to think further.
Because the dragon spoke again, asking, "Is this your coronation ceremony?"
It seemed to feel the term was unfitting for the situation and explained, "I mean, are you inheriting the throne today?"
Metis nodded slightly and said, "Yes."
But in truth, she had already ascended the throne six years ago, after her father and mother died in an accident while traveling. However, the Council and the Temple claimed she was too young to bear the responsibility of a nation and delayed the return of her royal authority until now.
"Then this must be a very important day for you," the dragon concluded. It was very different from the dragons before it, asking one question after another.
Behind her, the Council elder and the Head exchanged a look, their eyes filled with shock and horror. According to historical records, after signing the contract, the dragon would accept the gold and gems and either return to Dragon Island to await the monarch's summons or find a comfortable spot in the palace, curl up, and sleep until its contractor passed away.
A human's century-long lifespan was far too short for a dragon, much like a human wouldn't comprehend the life of an ant.
But this dragon was different. It seemed particularly interested in this puppet queen whose power they had usurped.
"I suppose so," Metis tilted her head, giving a vague answer.
In reality, this ceremony meant little to her. Everyone was anticipating the dragon's appearance; her ascension was merely a symbolic formality.
The dragon was more enthusiastic than she was. It said, "Then would you like to see the kingdom that belongs to you?"
Metis was stunned. Before she could fully comprehend, the dragon lowered its proud head and said, "Come on up. Consider it my coronation gift to you."
At this, everyone—the elder, the Head, and the kneeling subjects below—let out cries of disbelief, shocked that the arrogant pinnacle of the food chain would actually lower its head to a human and invite her onto its back.
Metis tightened her grip on the sword hilt, even suspecting that the dragon might be using this as a way to feign anger before turning to leave and return to Dragon Island.
But that was unlikely. The contract had already been signed; it would exist between them even if it returned to Dragon Island.
She steadied herself, lifted her leg, and stepped onto the dragon's spine, walking upward.
Every breath in Anthelia city seemed to stop for a moment, until the spined wings beat once more.
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