The fourth figure to arrive was a tall, handsome youth, perhaps in his early twenties. He was the same young master who had flown through the void earlier. His long golden hair blazed like a corona of golden flames, and his features were as exquisitely carved as fine jade—a beauty that radiated an innate nobility. Even amidst an endless sea of people, he drew the gaze of all, like a golden sun that commanded attention.
Yizhen the monk spoke softly. “Rand, a young powerhouse of the Western tribe. He is a God-Gifted Spellmaster—what some call a curse-speaker. It is said he can borrow the power of the gods he worships.”
Xiao Chen envied Rand’s ability to fly. For a martial artist like himself, the path to mastering the skies was long and tortuous.
The two groups had converged. Yizhen smiled and introduced Xiao Chen to the others. “Allow me to present a new friend, Xiao Chen of the Mortal World.”
The four who had emerged from the coconut grove stared in shock, their gazes fixed on Xiao Chen with disbelief.
Xiao Chen knew they had misunderstood. “I didn’t shatter the void on my own. I stumbled into the World of Immortality by accident.”
After a brief explanation, the four calmed and lost interest in him. It was clear they did not value him highly—far less warmly than Yizhen had. None of them spoke a single word to him.
Xiao Chen gave a self-deprecating smile. The World of Immortality was just as pragmatic as the mortal realm: without strength or backing, one was ignored wherever they went.
“Roar…”
A deafening dragon’s cry thundered from the depths of the sea, shaking the heavens like celestial drums. The ocean churned violently. On the distant horizon, two large ships crumbled as if made of twigs, and a colossal dragon’s form twisted through the water, tearing the vessels apart with irresistible force.
“Those are our ships!” Kaeo, the barbarian youth, roared in fury. His three-meter-tall frame tensed, radiating a primal, beastlike danger.
“They are too far away. Our people may not reach the shore in time. Leaving this island will be difficult now,” said Arold, the youth of the Forest Tribe, his voice calm, almost unhurried.
Yizhen looked at the dragon’s silhouette in the sea. “Before long, more cultivators will come to Dragon Island. We can board their ships.”
“Roar… roar…”
Gradually, the group sensed something amiss. The Eight-Armed Evil Dragon had vanished beneath the waves, yet dragon cries still echoed, and these did not seem to belong to the sea’s overlord.
Yizhen pointed into the distant sky. “A mighty one is battling a dragon!”
The young masters by the shore were stunned.
Far in the sky, a dragon’s shadow circled while a human figure clashed with it in furious combat, bursts of radiant divine light flaring with each collision.
A warrior who could battle a dragon—if not a god, surely one not far from that realm!
The aerial battle was intense, dazzling light exploding in all directions. Man and dragon drew nearer to the island, and now the fight could be seen clearly.
It was a winged dragon, fifteen meters long. Its scales shimmered with brilliant light, exuding an overwhelming pressure. As the winged dragon approached, the roars of beasts at the island’s edge fell silent.
This was a terrible monster. Its wings, fully spread, spanned thirty meters, casting a vast shadow and stirring gales that could be felt on the ground.
What amazed Xiao Chen was that this silver dragon, glowing with divine radiance, could freely unleash great divine abilities—as if it did not belong to the sealed dragon race at all.
Fierce bolts of lightning erupted from its mouth, thunder shaking the heavens. A web of terrifying bolts crisscrossed the sky, an awe-inspiring display of sheer power.
Moreover, the winged dragon breathed out sacred flames, a sea of blazing fire that seemed to consume the void itself, filling the heavens with an inferno of dread.
“Yizhen, didn’t you say the dragons were sealed? How can this one use such powers?” Xiao Chen finally asked.
“Winged dragon—that is an ancient name I had nearly forgotten.” Yizhen watched the combat as he explained. “In the vast mainland today, they are simply called ‘dragons.’ I forgot to tell you: they are the only unsealed dragon race, among the mightiest creatures of the land. A grown winged dragon possesses demigod-level strength. But they are very rare, seldom seen by mortals.”
Xiao Chen knew that among the ancient dragons, winged dragons were far from the strongest. If even they possessed such power, how terrifying must the true ancient dragon lords have been? Yet all other dragons were sealed—only the winged ones remained, becoming the “dragons” known to the world.
Yizhen continued, “Winged dragons can be further divided into types: Black Dragons, Holy Light Dragons, Golden Dragons, and so on. They seem to have ties to the Western tribes. You could ask Rand the Spellmaster—he would know more than I.”
The golden-haired youth, Rand, was as dazzling as a golden sun. His sea-blue eyes glanced at Xiao Chen, but whether because the battle above was too captivating or because he disdained to explain, his expression remained aloof.
“The figure fighting the Holy Light Dragon—it is a fallen angel!” Arold of the Forest Tribe cried out in shock. “Fallen angels have not appeared in the world for over a century. I never thought we would see one here!”
The Holy Light Dragon’s massive body shone with sacred radiance, while its opponent was shrouded in dark, netherworldly mist. Only now could the group below discern her true form.
Her jet-black hair flowed like a waterfall. Though her face was hidden, her figure was one of infinite temptation, a demon’s beauty.
Her curvaceous body was nearly bare, clad in a translucent black gown that outlined her full breasts, slender waist, rounded hips, and long, snow-white legs—a vision that could topple kingdoms.
Yet what drew the eye most was the pair of black wings sprouting from her graceful back, pulsing with netherworldly light. Powerful energy surged through the air, forcing back the lightning and flames that rushed toward her.
The fallen angel fought with peerless might, yet her every move was beautiful—like a black swan dancing amidst the fury of battle.
The mighty Holy Light Dragon gained no advantage; instead, it was suppressed by the graceful fallen angel. In her delicate hands, she held a colossal energy sword ten meters long. Black mist swirled, and the blade’s glare lit up the sky.
No comments:
Post a Comment