The Hydra was known by a less familiar nickna: the dragon that's weak against other dragons. Its deadly venom, feared by all, had no effect whatsoever on its fellow dragon species. One scholar even speculated:
Perhaps the reason it's immune to its own venom lies in the very nature of dragons.
In other words, the Hydra's evolution was flawed; it developed a poison that was harmless to all dragons, not just itself.
Of course, such theories didn't matter much to Sylas. What mattered was that, if he had the dragon's traits, he wouldn't be affected by the venom.
To any dragon, that infamous poison is little more than harmless fluid. If he had faced this before his awakening, Sylas might not have been so confident, as the dragon's bloodline had been dormant for so long that the Corleone clan was barely distinguishable from ordinary humans. But now, he was certain—the Hydra's poison wouldn't harm him.
Yet that Ragnar had spilled everything. In his frustration, Ragnar had ranted wildly, revealing Sylas's immunity. The surrounding people were now eyeing him with a hint of suspicion; after all, the Corleone lineage was widely rumored to be descended from dragons.
Damn it, how do I handle this atmosphere?
Just as Sylas was about to speak to defuse the situation, a booming laugh erupted from two of the candidates, Karl and Doris.
"Is that so? A truly impressive choice!"
"A dragon, eh? Well, it's not impossible to see it that way!" They laughed so loudly they seed nearly ready to roll on the floor.
After wiping tears from their eyes, the two choked out between chuckles, "Well then, best of luck to you. The dragon descendant, right?"
"Certainly, ha ha ha! Not even poison could affect you, right?"
Sylas gave them a blank stare. These guys really don't believe it.
It wasn't uncommon for people to embellish or even fabricate their ancestry to enhance their family's prestige, and they probably thought Corleone's claim was just that. Here in the North, far from the Corleone holand, it seed little more than an improbable story.
Ragnar and Logain, realizing the situation, wore mocking smiles as well.
"Indeed, we applaud your courage."
"There's no sha in being proud of your ancestors."
Although no one protested his choice, many cast skeptical looks his way, as if saying, Do you really believe that nonsense?
It was fortunate he avoided outright objections, but their smug expressions were irritating. Even Bjorn wore a faintly worried look.
We'll see if you're laughing when I return.
Hydra's venom was the deadliest of all poisons, and even after death, the creature's toxicity never waned. He thought it might be amusing to bring back one of its venomous heads as proof. Watching their reactions then would be satisfying.
Ragnar and Logain's choices were quickly made. Logain picked a drake, the sa type as Doris, though from a different habitat. Lastly, Ragnar chose the Fla Dragon. Sylas muttered under his breath, "A Fla Dragon, huh?"
"Is there sothing you want to say?" Ragnar asked.
"Not particularly," Sylas replied, though a small smirk crept onto his lips. Fla Dragons, known for their fiery breath and flight, were among the most dangerous.
They dominate the skies and can strike from afar with their flas, he mused. If I hadn't chosen the Hydra, Ragnar would have been the star here. Who'd have thought he'd go for a Fla Dragon?
But the spotlight was all Sylas's now, overshadowing Ragnar's choice. Ragnar was well aware of this, judging by his displeased expression.
"The selections are complete. Take a look, everyone," Ragnar announced to the gathering nobles.
Upon hearing the candidates' choices, the crowd reacted with shock.
"A Salamander? Was such a threat lurking beyond the snowfields?"
"A Fla Dragon!? One creature could burn entire armies—what's it doing here?"
"Ha, to think so many dragons lived right by us."
The dragons' numbers, and their variety, left many nobles deeply shaken. So muttered in disbelief.
"Did they really choose these of their own free will?"
"Are they out of their minds? At this rate, who's going to survive?"
The older nobles, who had faced their own fair share of monstrous threats, were especially grim. While they were intimately familiar with the horrors of battle, they knew fighting a dragon was on another level entirely.
"Prepare to collect their remains, I say."
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"Watch your words. Are you wishing death upon them?"
"Just facing the reality. Who fights a dragon alone?"
"Unless you're stopping them, keep quiet. We don't want to hear it."
Many of the younger or more idealistic nobles glared at the pessimists, silencing them. Who knew? This might be the mont when a new hero erged. None wanted to dampen the excitent with morbid comnts.
"The candidates will now depart for the dragons' lairs. As for how they kill their targets and the proof they bring back, it's entirely up to them."
"That sounds too vague, doesn't it?"
"It's vague because it doesn't matter," Ragnar replied with a grin.
"If they want to survive, they'll fight well. If they want recognition, they'll bring back a trophy that leaves no doubt."
Just trying to pass off a claw or a scale wouldn't fool anyone. Those truly vying for the throne would endure whatever hardships it took to bring back a dragon's head.
"By the way, anyone who wants to bring food is free to do so," Ragnar announced. "Whether you pack it from here or hunt for it yourself along the way."
"Wait a mont. Are you saying we're supposed to travel to the dragon's lair alone?" asked Karl, one of the candidates. Ragnar frowned.
"That's what I've said from the beginning."
"Surely, we're allowed at least a few attendants? Not for fighting but just for basic assistance."
"You want them to serve you?"
"Yes, exactly."
Ragnar's eyes flashed with disdain. "Why don't you bring a nurse along while you're at it? She can spoon feed you als while you suckle like a babe."
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