Chapter 9: The Wounded Coastal Overlord

Surrounded by the remnants of countless worlds, the six-armed god standing in the void gave him no tangible benefits, nor did it descend a fragment of its will across space and time, as the World Tree had.

What this being did was simple: it imparted knowledge.

It taught him how to use the sacrificial altar that could connect to the void. With this knowledge, he could safely make contact with beings in the vast void.

That was more than enough. In his initial ignorance, he had already encountered an existence as profound as the World Tree. Now, he was beginning to understand the true purpose of the sacrificial altar.

As for why the six-armed god would possess such knowledge, or why it chose to pass it on to him—these were questions beyond his current grasp.

Perhaps this being was nearly omniscient and omnipotent, capable of understanding everything about the temple with just a glance. Maybe it shared this knowledge simply because it found him pleasing or was in a good mood, or perhaps generosity was simply its nature.

It was like a farmer wondering if the emperor plowed his fields with golden tools. When the gap between two beings is vast, there’s little point in such speculation. Beyond wasting time, it would only invite ridicule.

There was also another possibility: the god might be the very creator of this place, which would explain why it appeared immediately after the World Tree vanished.

“I can’t stay here any longer!”

The divine knowledge now flooding his mind was not something Dyril could fully digest in a short time, so he shifted his attention back to the outside world.

The young dragon glanced at the massive cyan-gold seed before him, hesitated briefly, then flapped his wings, lifting off the ground. Extending his small claws, he nudged the seed off the altar, letting it settle onto the lush, flower-filled ground below.

On the altar, only the worshiper and the offering belonged. He was undoubtedly the lead in this ritual, but the seed was not meant to be an offering.

Though it could technically be used as a sacrifice to bargain with powerful beings drifting in the void, trading for various treasures, if he were to waste it like that, he might as well consume it himself.

A World Tree seed, to gain the most benefit, would ideally be planted and allowed to grow slowly. The rare treasures that form during its growth are the true valuables.

However, this process requires immense patience, as a World Tree’s growth is measured in millennia at a minimum. Even some long-lived beings can’t endure such an extended growth period. Fortunately, as a member of the metallic dragon lineage, Dyril possessed the kind of longevity needed to develop this patience.

“I’ll bring you into my world, but not yet.”

Standing on the altar, Dyril looked down at the seed he had pushed off and spoke these words. Then, without worrying whether it had a will of its own or could understand him, he flapped his wings and flew out of the temple.

Soon, the young dragon found the temple’s grand doors, wide enough for a Titan to pass through with ease. Gliding freely out, he saw the vast, brilliant night sky and an endless continent stretching beyond sight.

“It’s time to go back!”

Following an innate connection and as space-time rippled around him, the bronze hatchling vanished from the temple entrance. When he reappeared, he was in a cramped, dark crevice of a natural cave. Without any way to measure time, he had no idea how long he’d been gone, and in the lair, he couldn’t see the cycle of day and night outside.

When Dyril finally returned to the main chamber of the lair, he heard the even, rhythmic breathing of the other hatchlings. His dragon parents were nowhere in sight, suggesting his absence hadn’t been long—at least, not by the standards of dragons.

So, Dyril began fulfilling his responsibilities: guarding the dragon’s nest, awaiting his parents’ return, and protecting his siblings from any external threats.

In this confined space, without any other dragons to converse with, the solitary wait was an arduous test of patience and will—especially with little to occupy his time. However, Dyril didn’t find it dull, as he was occupied with organizing and absorbing the vast knowledge that extended beyond his dragon lineage. This process required a significant investment of time.

But the more he delved into this knowledge, the stronger an impulse grew within him—to return to that vast, mysterious continent in the void and, once again, use the sacrificial altar to connect with powerful beings among the stars.

However, Dyril restrained this impulse. He could return anytime without any limitations—he could go back even now if he wished. But before venturing again, he needed to prepare an offering. It didn’t matter what the offering was, but something had to be presented; otherwise, he himself would be considered the offering.

His first connection had been with the World Tree, a towering presence in the void. Luck had been on his side, as the World Tree had no interest in flesh or souls and only sought a suitable world cradle for its offspring. But if Dyril wanted to keep using the sacrificial altar to connect with the beings in the cosmos, he would need a better understanding of the process. Once, luck had sufficed, but it couldn’t be relied upon every time.

A faint scent of sea breeze filled the air, and two powerful life forces entered Dyril’s perception. Immersed in his sea of knowledge, the young dragon opened his eyes, his dragon pupils showing no hint of fear or panic.

“Father, Mother, are you hurt?”

As he looked at the two bronze dragons before him, Dyril’s expression held surprise and unease. This pair, already established as dominant forces of the coastal waters, bore numerous wounds. Bronze scales were peeled back, revealing torn flesh with signs of burning from flames and lightning, corroded by acid, and claw marks left by some ferocious beast.

“Was it the black dragon?”

The young dragon couldn’t help but ask, though such seemingly severe injuries were not unusual for dragons, for him as a hatchling, it wasn’t a good omen.

This suggested that his parents were engaged in battle with one—or perhaps several—extremely powerful evil dragons. It was hard to say whether this dragon battle wouldn’t extend to affect the hatchlings like him.

At this point, it’s important to mention the characteristics of the bronze dragon race. With a few exceptions, the vast majority of bronze dragons pride themselves on being the messengers of justice. They venerate order and despise chaos, actively participating in wars they deem righteous.

When confronted with an evil dragon—especially one that controls its own domain—bronze dragons will, if capable, engage in prolonged conflict, often for decades or even centuries, until one side falls, or the evil dragon retreats in defeat.