Chapter 538: Garoth’s Second-Generation Bloodline
Rhen Plateau, Red Emperor Capital.
Garoth stood at the edge of the high platform, gazing toward the Central Continent.
Brilliant, intense sunlight poured down, striking the crimson scales of the great dragon. As light and shadow flowed across his body, it only emphasized his towering, majestic silhouette.
“In these turbulent tis, who will rise above the rest?”
That question circled in his mind, but offered no answer.
Garoth had witnessed too many rises and falls. He himself had clawed his way out of the blood seas of Hushan. The higher he stood, the farther he could see, and the more he felt the silent, surging undercurrents threading through the gaps of the era. He beca increasingly aware of his own limitations.
For now, the situation on the Atlantis Continent appeared to have settled.
The Halden Empire’s Sky City still blocked the sky. Surface nations had divided the fertile lands of the Central Continent. Because resources were abundant, the powers maintained a balance that, under normal circumstances, might persist for centuries.
Yet everyone who stood at the heights understood this was just surface stability.
Beneath the seemingly calm water swelled violent currents.
Although the Abyssal Rift had been temporarily suppressed, the danger never truly disappeared; the enormous city of the Halden Empire hovered overhead, and no one knew what was being brewed inside those massive structures; the frenzied fla disaster on the Arotala Continent continued to spread; disputes between surface nations over borders, resources, and historical grievances remained possible.
No one knew when or where the next crisis would erupt.
“However, anyway, I at least have a fallback.”
Garoth thought silently.
That thought loosened the taut muscles beneath his scales just a little.
His decision to develop the Serene Spirit Wilderness wasn’t only for the unique resources of that plane, but also to secure an escape route should an unbeatable, world-class crisis arise.
Of course, it was only insurance, a last resort.
Garoth did not want to abandon his foundations on the planet Bernardo unless absolutely necessary.
This affected his growth rate and environnt—
especially now that he had acquired territory on the Central Continent.
Its richness was fully enough to et Garoth’s needs for a long ti.
Setting aside unexpected events, it could at least allow him to continue climbing to the Mandate of Heaven tier while maintaining a growth rate far beyond normal dragons.
As for the higher Immortal rank...
That would certainly require much more.
A quarter of a continent couldn’t satisfy consumption at that level; he might need to consolidate resources across all of Atlantis, even extend his claws to other continents.
But that was a concern for later; there was no need to think too far ahead now.
You eat one bite at a ti; you walk one step at a ti; you cannot rush everything.
Garoth had understood this truth since he was a Young Dragon.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two slices of wind cut through his thoughts.
Dragon silhouettes pierced the clouds, banked briefly in the high sky to adjust posture, then descended onto the broad platform before the Red Dragon.
“Father, good day.”
The black dragon lowered her head, bowing submissively, and spoke very softly.
Garoth nodded his head slightly and said calmly, “Salia, rise. We need not be so formal between father and daughter in private.”
At his words, the black dragon shifted from the low bow to a normal stance.
But she still looked nervous. Her foreclaws scraped the ground lightly, and the tip of her tail curled slightly.
She was not like the other Emperor’s sons who tended to relax around the Dragon Father in private.
After all, wherever intelligent beings gather, true equality is hard to achieve.
Even among the Emperor’s children—creatures with special status—subtle hierarchies existed.
Children adopted like Salia ranked a step below the Emperor’s direct bloodline.
This was naturally ford, not decreed by Garoth.
Descendants born directly from his blood generally had greater growth potential and were inherently stronger, so their status naturally outranked adoptive offspring. Among the direct bloodline, the first litter of four sons were foremost.
Within those four, Garcro and Laria commanded the highest prestige.
The forr needed no explanation—always at the frontlines in battle, leading by example. The battle-hardened patterns across his scales were his dals; other Emperor’s children respected his ferocity and would never belittle it. The latter was a mighty dragon lord, powerful in his own right and commanding many followers, with his territories governed in orderly fashion.
Among the other underage Emperor’s children, the red-gold dragon Gabriel was currently drawing the most attention.
It was predictable that as the number of Emperor’s children increased, and as more generations of dragon-blooded erged, only the most outstanding or most unique dragon-blooded would stand out and earn the Red Emperor’s favor.
Resources were limited; attention was limited. This was an unavoidable filter for any species.
anwhile—
The red dragon Garcro, who had arrived with the black dragon, wore an impatient expression.
When he landed he thudded heavier, causing the platform to tremble, then strode forward. The scraping of his scales rang with tallic resonance.
Unlike the black dragon’s nervousness, he moved a few steps closer—almost into Garoth’s face—then grinned wide, revealing sharp teeth, and spoke in a coarse, booming voice:
“Haha, my dear father, I have good news! Want to hear it?”
Garoth shot a cautious glance at his eldest son.
“No.”
He said succinctly.
“Since you say you don’t want it, I’ll tell you anyway.”
Garcro pretended not to hear that single word.
He puffed out his chest, wore a proud expression, and proclaid loudly, “Father, you’re going to be a grandfather!”
He paused, lifted his hind claw, pointing at the white dragon standing proudly beside him.
“Haha, Salia is carrying my child! Your bloodline will soon see its second generation!”
For a mont the platform held only the sound of wind.
Garoth slowly turned his gaze away from his eldest son’s self-satisfied face and rested it on Salia.
Would the second-generation descendants continue to inherit his talent?
Garoth pondered.
This matter tied to a future path of his developnt; it was very important.
Salia, already anxious, stiffened further under Garoth’s scrutiny.
She lowered her head more; the scales on her neck lifted slightly and then smoothed. Her tail swished left and right behind her, making a soft, rustling sound as it touched the ground.
“Since when?” Garoth asked.
“Just a month ago!”
Garcro rushed to answer.
He clearly had held that in for a while; once he opened his mouth he could not stop: “After the war on the Central Continent ended, I wondered why she’d gotten lazy—always lying in the nest sleeping—and yet her appetite had grown.”
The red dragon spoke with animated gestures, his foreclaws pantomiming:
“I asked Salia if she was sick. She glared at
and said: ‘You’re the sick one, your whole family’s sick’... Oh, I’m not talking about you, Father, I an she scolded
at the ti... ah, anyway!”
He scratched his head and added, “Later I felt sothing was off.”
“Garcro.”
Garoth cut his eldest son’s torrent of words, saying, “I asked her.”
Garcro closed his mouth with a mouthful, though the corners of his lips still stretched into a grin—he was clearly in a good mood.
He was already imagining how he would educate his child the way his father had educated him. If the offspring turned out rebellious, even better—he could make full use of it.
Garoth’s gaze returned to Salia.
His tone slowed as he asked, “How are you feeling now?”
Salia lifted her eyes, t her father’s gaze for a mont, then quickly looked down.
Softly she said, “I’m fine. I get tired more easily than before, and my appetite’s increased, but it’s mild. It doesn’t affect
much.”
Garoth listened in silence, then asked:
“Can you still fight?”
That question startled both Salia and Garcro for a beat.
“Yes!”
Salia paused, then answered with firmness: “My claws and fangs are still sharp. If Father orders it, I can still go into battle and kill, no matter who the enemy is.”
Garoth stared at her for a second.
Then he extended a massive claw and gently tapped the black dragon’s lowered head.
“All right.”
He said, “If you can fight, then it isn’t a major problem.”
Withdrawing his claw, he continued: “However, I will not send you to charge or fight. During the period you nurture offspring, your original duties will be entrusted entirely to Garcro.”
He turned to the red dragon. “Salia’s tasks are yours. Any objections?”
At that, Garcro thumped his chest armor, the sound ringing heavy and bright.
He straightened his body and proclaid loudly, “Of course not—leave it to !”
“In the war of the Central Lands I didn’t get to kill enough, so this is perfect. I can take care of the demons spilling out from the Abyssal Rift in our territory. Those trash have been getting restless. I’ll personally handle them!”
His tone could not hide his impatience.
Garoth’s eyes swept across his eldest son’s body, landing on the purple patterns still present on his chest armor.
The markings writhed like living things, slowly andering between scale gaps, the color so deep it bordered on black.
Seeing that, Garoth frowned faintly between his brows.
“You still have residual Abyssal aura after all this ti?”
Garcro raised a foreclaw and touched the markings on his body.
He said carelessly, “Those things grew because I ate too much demon flesh on the battlefield. It’s not leftover Abyssal aura.”
That sounded even more abnormal.
Garoth barely reacted. Knowledge from the legacy surfaced in his mind.
There were records in the heritage of dragons developing Abyssal patterns after consuming too many demons.
This usually occurred in dragons who fought the Abyss for long periods—during fierce battles they fed on demons, turning enemy strength into their own nourishnt. In the process, so Abyssal traits subtly seeped into their bodies.
But whether that was good or bad, the legacy did not specify.
It rely ntioned that if one fed on demons there was a small chance Abyssal patterns would form, without further notes on consequences.
“They’re called Abyssal Patterns. The legacy has records— you should already know,” Garoth said.
The red dragon nodded heavily.
He showed no concern; instead he grinned and said, “That such a low-probability occurrence happened to
only proves my strength and the excellence of your bloodline, Father.”
“The flesh and blood of those demons isn’t sothing just anyone can digest, but I did it!”
“Not only digested them, I made them part of !”
Clearly, Garcro was untroubled.
He even treated the Abyssal patterns like honor marks similar to battle-hardened patterns, very proud.
He turned his side to show his father the markings along his flank, starting at his heart and trailing down over the muscles.
Under the Dragon Father’s watchful gaze, Garcro fell silent for a mont, then continued:
“They make
look more ferocious.”
“And I feel these patterns aren’t rely decoration... I’m considering eating more demons. That might increase the number of Abyssal patterns. If my whole body was covered, it would be aweso.”
He turned and looked at his father, eyes earnest:
“I want more Abyssal patterns, Father. What do you think?”
Although Garcro put on a careless front, he understood the danger of the Abyss.
This thing was likely a double-edged sword—bringing power but also unpredictable mutations—so he sought Garoth’s opinion.
The Red Dragon looked at him deeply.
“You’re already an adult. I won’t overly interfere with your choices. Besides, you already have an answer in your heart, don’t you?”
Garcro bowed his head slightly, then a true smile spread across his face.
“Father, you always understand
best.”
His expression turned serious and his voice sank: “I have a feeling it will make
stronger.”
“It will certainly bring temptations or corruption from the Abyss. I understand that’s a price.”
“But on the path to power, how could things go smoothly all the ti?”
“You’ve walked a path of thorns, Father, faced countless dangers—attacked by legends, besieged by the strong, teetering at death’s edge... As your finest offspring, I will never stand still out of fear!”
Garcro had long been proud of his status as the eldest.
He was the first to break from the shell and the first Emperor’s child.
But he also knew that in the Aola Kingdom, strength mattered more than age.
Later-born dragon-blooded often had stronger talent.
To maintain his greatness and justify his position as eldest, Garcro had worked harder than other kin.
Yet his bloodline talent, though excellent, wasn’t top-tier.
For example, the red-gold dragon Gabriel’s growth rate had clearly outpaced Garcro’s at the sa age, and Gabriel’s domineering nature posed a threat.
As ti passed, the father might produce even more outstanding offspring—bloodlines would only grow stronger.
Only by seizing every chance and becoming stronger at any cost could one stand out among so many Emperor’s children and remain at the forefront, forever making the father proud.
This was Garcro’s deepest, most persistent thought.
He would not allow himself to be surpassed by siblings.
Garoth gazed at his eldest son.
He knew the stubbornness in his heart.
He saw the sweetness, the anxiety, the ambitions burning within.
Yet Garoth didn’t really care much whether his offspring were strong.
Regardless, he would always lead from the front.
He was the Emperor, the creator of all this. His gaze had already stretched further. His children’s growth was more like embellishnt than a necessity.
Still, he didn’t dissuade his eldest.
Garoth himself harbored unshakable obsessions.
For instance, he suffered from deep insecurity.
So long as he had not reached the summit, so long as other forces above could determine his fate, an unease would forever lurk deep in his heart.
It followed like a shadow and never truly faded.
His pursuit of strength was largely driven by that unease.
Such thoughts were not dispelled by a few words.
Moreover, the presence of such a drive wasn’t entirely bad.
Obsessions could beco motivation, pushing beings to break limits. It depended on how one used them—how one kept clarity in the pursuit of power and made the right choices when facing temptation.
“Follow your heart, my eldest.”
The Red Dragon said slowly, “But rember, don’t blindly chase power.”
“Power is a tool, not the end.”
“If you lose yourself chasing power, the power you gain will eventually turn on you.”
He paused, a sharp light glinting in his eyes: “Otherwise, Gorthax will be your precedent.”
Garcro bowed his head slightly and said solemnly, “You know, my temperant may not be as calm as the fourth’s, but I am not a foolish, reckless dragon.”
“I will cautiously test the patterns’ power and record every change.”
“If the risk outweighs the benefit, if I feel reason being eroded and things spiral beyond control, I will stop without hesitation.”
“What I want is controllable power, not to be controlled by power.”
The Red Dragon nodded slightly.
“All right, go down.”
The two great dragons bowed together, then beat their wings and took off, flying down toward the Dragon Court below.
Garoth stood alone, watching the two figures grow distant.
“Watch Garcro’s condition. If anything abnormal occurs, report to
at once.”
The Red Dragon’s voice echoed in Salia’s mind.
Since Garoth had cultivated the Mind Sorcerer path, though not highly leveled yet, such telepathic ssages had beco quite convenient.
On the other side,
the black dragon’s movent hesitated for a mont, but she quickly recovered and glided downward.
“I will, Father. Rest assured.”
She replied silently within.
Wind slipped through the clouds and brushed Garoth’s scales; the sunlight began to slope westward.
He stood alone atop the Dragon Court, staring at the horizon as dusk slowly rose.
“Tis change... before I knew it, my bloodline is about to reach its second generation.”
Garoth murmured.
He suddenly felt that dragon lifespans were not as endless as he once fancied.
The days of struggling in the wilderness were still vivid, yet in the blink of an eye he stood atop the Northern Borders.
Beneath him lay the Valdo Palace; before him, a realm of lands; behind him, countless followers and subjects who gazed up at him... He had several mates, many offspring, and now even grandchildren were on the way.
Ti had flown.
“A thousand years... too short.”
The Red Dragon whispered.
For many mundane or even legendary lives, a thousand years was an unimaginably long era.
But for Garoth, whose ambition was to climb to the absolute pinnacle and explore the limits of evolution, that span ant little.
Once his modest goal had been to live a thousand years—that vague longing of a Young Dragon for the distant future.
After seeing greater worlds, that target quietly changed.
A thousand years? That was only a starting point.
What he wanted was to keep ascending across thousands, ten thousands, and even longer stretches of ti until he stood at the highest point of all beings, finally feeling secure and attaining true inner peace.
Dusk deepened; the outlines of distant mountain ranges blurred.
anwhile,
in whispers passing through wind and drifting clouds, within the Halden Empire,
quiet conspiracies rustled in the shadows of grand buildings.
“I never expected that the Red Dragon who calls his realm Aola could manifest the Mandate of Heaven’s might and, at the crucial mont, simply wipe out the Abyssal Rift.”
“This dragon’s strength exceeded expectations. Pay more attention to him.”
“The arrival ti of our Sovereign must be postponed. That rift was an important component of the plan, and now it no longer exists.”
“Be patient. The whispers of the Supre Will have begun in the Halden core. More awakened minds are joining us.”
“Among the Halden Empire’s upper echelons, so have already started listening to the Abyss’ call.”
“Heh heh, this material-plane empire will fall into the Abyss sooner or later, and then the whole world will be ours.”
“Act cautiously. Halden’s resistance remains stubborn.”
The exchanges dwindled.
The majestic gacity still hovered in the sky like a mythic wonder.
Lights on its towers blinked on one by one; magical radiance flowed between structures, giving the appearance of order and prosperity. But beneath the glow, who knew how many shadows quietly grew and spread.
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