Just as the Golden Dragonlord was about to crash into the ground, it suddenly opened its massive jaws, unleashing a dazzling, terrifying blast of golden dragonfire.
Shrouded in the searing breath, the Golden Dragonlord dove straight at Tiamat.
Though it had lost all reason, its instincts as the champion Dragonlord remained. This wasn't a mindless suicide charge—it had no intention of turning itself into a living bomb.
Almost simultaneously, Tiamat raised her enormous head and unleashed her own breath—a blazing torrent of crimson flames, as molten and fearsome as lava, aimed straight at the descending golden dragon.
Boom!
In an instant, golden and crimson flames collided violently—like two meteors crashing head-on. A thunderous explosion erupted, so loud and forceful it seemed to shake the very heavens and earth.
Just as the Golden Dragonlord began to climb again, hoping to use Tiamat as an easy target pinned to the ground, something massive lunged through the thick smoke and blazing light of the explosion. A gaping dragon maw—wide as a chasm, dozens of meters across—snapped toward it with blinding speed.
Tiamat had braced herself on her broken hind legs, paying no heed to her injuries, using every ounce of strength to hurl herself into the heart of the dragonfire.
From the ground, the onlookers could clearly see it: under the immense strain, broken bones jutted out from beneath her tough scales, fresh blood seeping through the cracks. But she charged on like a beast possessed, completely ignoring the pain as she barreled toward the Golden Dragonlord.
A terrifying creature—one not only ruthless to her enemies, but utterly merciless to her own body, as if it didn't even belong to her.
With the explosion's smoke and fire serving as a perfect screen, Tiamat's bite made it through.
Among the crowd, many renowned artists from across the world had gathered to witness the legendary battle. Now, every one of them was furiously sketching, trying to capture the grandeur of what they saw—this once-in-a-lifetime moment.
A Dragonlord weighing thousands of tons, like a towering mountain, launching a brutal leap from the ground, striking at a golden dragon radiating its own terrifying aura.
They all knew: if they could perfectly render even a fraction of what they saw, it would secure their place in the world of art forever.
In the Golden Dragonlord's view, that colossal abyss-like maw was closing in fast—aimed right at the vital artery in its throat. Fortunately, those battle-hardened instincts kicked in again at the last possible second, sparing its life.
Abandoning its upward climb, the Golden Dragonlord jerked its thick neck to the side just in time, narrowly avoiding a fatal strike.
Crunch—tear!
A chilling, skin-crawling sound echoed through the air as Tiamat's massive jaws clamped down on one of the Golden Dragonlord's fleshy wings.
Then, in midair, she wrenched her head violently.
With the momentum of the golden dragon's own flight combined with Tiamat's brute force, the massive wing—hundreds of meters wide—was ripped clean off.
Dragon blood exploded like a fountain, spraying high into the sky, turning the air a blinding shade of red.
For the Golden Dragonlord, the torn limb was agonizing—but the real danger was the uncontrollable plunge toward the earth. The very dive it had used to attack was now an inescapable death spiral.
Boom!
Its head slammed into the vast grassland like a plow, carving a deep trench hundreds of meters long before the force of its fall finally came to a halt.
Thud!
Tiamat also came crashing down from above, slamming heavily into the ground.
She held the severed wing between her jaws, tilted her head back, and began chewing. Flesh, skin, and bone—all swallowed down with a crunch. She looked completely unbothered, radiating a brutal kind of triumph.
The outcome was now unmistakably clear.
The knight who had ridden the golden dragon was dead. The Golden Dragonlord, gravely wounded, lay motionless—completely defeated.
...
At that moment, Elder Pan's figure slowly reappeared in the sky.
He raised one hand, just about to declare the final result.
But as he opened his mouth, the words froze on his lips. Not a single sound escaped.
He stared downward in stunned silence, eyes wide with something close to disbelief—fixated on Tiamat, the Mother of Dragons, and what she had just done.
On the ground, cries of alarm rippled through the crowd.
"What is the Mother of Evil Dragons trying to do?"
They watched in stunned disbelief as Tiamat dragged her battered, nearly crippled body across the grasslands, struggling to crawl toward the Golden Dragonlord. The golden dragon's massive head was buried deep in the soil, its rear end sticking up comically into the air.
Before long, Tiamat reached the golden dragon's side. Without hesitation, she opened her gaping, terrifying maw. Her eyes gleamed with savage light as she lunged forward and clamped her jaws down—hard—on the Golden Dragonlord's exposed hindquarters.
Pshrk!
With a sickening tear, a chunk of flesh weighing over a thousand pounds was ripped clean from the dragon's rear.
The Golden Dragonlord let out a shrill, piercing scream that echoed across the plains—mournful, harrowing. But with no strength left, the dragon could do nothing but lie helplessly in the dirt, wailing in pain.
Tiamat paid no mind. She raised her head and let out a triumphant roar to the skies, as if proclaiming her victory to the world. Then, she resumed her horrifying feast, tearing bloody chunks from her foe one bite at a time, devouring them with savage glee.
...
On the viewing platform, council members and heads of houses looked on in disbelief, murmuring among themselves.
"By the ancestors… the Mother of Dragons is devouring the Golden Dragonlord alive—in front of everyone! This… this is madness. What kind of cruelty is this?!" The Head of House Edderion was pale with shock, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
"Even if she had to eat her opponent, she should've ended its life first. This is just too gruesome, too savage… it's beyond comprehension," muttered the Head of House Aurélion, drawing in a sharp breath, unease written all over his face.
Another house leader could only sigh. "She truly lives up to the name 'evil dragon.' I've never seen anything like this."
...
Out on the grasslands, the spectators were no less stunned by Tiamat's grotesque display. But what was truly unexpected was their reaction.
Instead of recoiling in horror or condemning her, the people erupted in frenzied cheers. Their faces lit up with fanaticism as they shouted words of praise and devotion toward Tiamat. The crowd was nearly hysterical with excitement.
The Valyrian Freehold had always been a brutal slave state. The Valyrians were never champions of freedom or democracy—on the contrary. Despite its name, the "Freehold" worshipped power, reveled in violence, and operated by a code of morality uniquely their own.
...
At that moment, Aegon finally landed on the grass.
He stood still, silently watching as his dragon, Tiamat, tore flesh from her vanquished opponent and devoured it without mercy. In his heart, he thought:
You truly are something else, Tiamat... the very embodiment of brutality.
He stood alone at the center of the field, sweeping his gaze over the thousands gathered around the dueling grounds. Everywhere he looked, people were screaming Tiamat's name in wild adoration, their worship resembling the mindless obsession of fans chasing pop idols in another life.
"Ding~"
[You have won the Champion Dragonbattle in the Valyrian Freehold. You slew an epic-level Dragon in battle and achieved an epic achievement. Reward: one purple-tier lottery chance. Guaranteed reward: purple-tier item.]
Aegon ignored the system prompt ringing in his ears. He was too stunned by the intensity of the moment.
Is this… is this what Valyria truly is?
Each time Tiamat tore another strip of raw, bleeding flesh from the Golden Dragonlord, the crowd roared even louder. Their shouts rose in waves, shaking the very air.
"Dragonlord blood sacrifice!"
"Dragonlord blood sacrifice!!"
The chant swelled into a deafening wall of sound, echoing across the grasslands. People gathered around Tiamat in a wide circle and broke into frenzied dance—performing a traditional rite to honor the ancestral spirits.
To them, Tiamat's brutal act of devouring the Golden Dragonlord alive had transformed into something sacred—a blood offering, a divine ritual. The sheer fanaticism in the air was suffocating.
...
High above, Pan stared down at the scene unfolding below—the madness, the celebration, the spiraling chaos. His eyes held only sadness and quiet despair.
His lips trembled as he murmured to himself:
"Back then… should I really have led them to the Fourteen Flames? Did I… truly make the right choice? Could it be… that I doomed them all? But… this mistake… will soon be corrected."
He shook his head slowly. His once-solid figure began to blur, then shattered into fragments of glowing crimson, dispersing like wisps of smoke before drifting back to the viewing platform.
...
As Pan reappeared, the council members and heads of houses immediately gathered around him.
The Head of House Ylanis spoke first, clearly agitated.
"Now that the defeated Dragonlord is dead, doesn't that mean our grand plan has lost another Dragon Pillar?"
Pan half-closed his timeworn, clouded eyes. His voice remained calm, unhurried.
"It doesn't matter. Whether Aegon won or lost this match, he was always destined to become part of the grand plan."
Some of the council members exchanged knowing looks—they clearly weren't surprised, having heard whispers of this before.
Others, however, were visibly confused, unsure what it all meant.
At that moment, the Head of House Edderion, who knew some of the inside story, respectfully turned to Elder Pan and asked, "All this time, we've never interfered in your dealings with Aegon. But now, Elder, isn't it time you shared the full truth with us?"
"If Aegon won this duel, he had a few conditions. As long as we meet them, he agreed to join Bloodsource Peak," Pan replied calmly as he slowly turned and walked to the edge of the viewing platform, his gaze falling on Tiamat as she continued feasting on the golden dragon.
Seeing this, the other heads of houses followed Pan to the platform's edge.
"What are Aegon's terms, exactly?" asked the Head of House Ylanis.
"He asked for the full inheritance of Bloodmage arts, the forging method of Valyrian steel, and the sorcery used to synthesize dragon flesh and blood," Pan said without expression. His voice was steady, smooth as still water—but the weight of his words struck every listener like a bolt of lightning.
"Impossible! That man is too greedy!" the Head of House Ylanis burst out, face contorted in anger.
"These are the cornerstones of the Freehold's civilization! How could we just hand them over?" the Head of House Edderion quickly added in protest.
"That would be tantamount to naming him a councilor. His appetite's bigger than his dragon!" another house leader grumbled.
Pan raised a hand slightly, gesturing for calm. Then he spoke slowly, "He won't leave Bloodsource Peak with those legacies. He will ascend alongside the other Dragon Pillars participating in the grand plan. Immortality was one of the terms he agreed to."
The councilors and house leaders fell into heavy silence. Every face was grim, each one silently weighing the cost.
Just as they were deep in thought, the Head of House Ylanis suddenly pointed to the grasslands, his face filled with shock. His hand trembled uncontrollably as he stammered, "The... the Mother of Evil Dragons... She's... she's standing up! She actually healed her wounds in just a few moments!"
"What?!"
"That's not possible!"
All heads turned toward Tiamat. To their disbelief, she truly was standing. The shattered bones that had once pierced through her body were still lodged in her flesh—but now, her powerful regeneration had forced them deeper into the muscle, forming jagged, protruding bone spines. Grotesque, eerie, yet terrifyingly majestic.
Roar!!
A thunderous bellow, like the return of a king, echoed across the land. The mighty soundwave blasted toward the viewing platform atop Ancestral Spirit Peak, shaking the ears and hearts of all who heard it.
The house leaders stood frozen, staring at Tiamat in stunned silence.
"This kind of regeneration... It's the perfect counter to that monster in the Earth's Core! Aegon's dragon is truly extraordinary... I finally understand your intention, Elder," the Head of House Aurélion murmured. Then he turned and bowed deeply to Pan, his face full of guilt. "I sincerely apologize for my earlier foolishness. Please forgive my rudeness."
Pan said nothing in response. His eyes remained fixed on Tiamat.
"The Mother of Evil Dragons is undeniably gifted. She's an irreplaceable Dragon Pillar for our grand plan. We'll let this go—but he must swear a curse. The Bloodmage legacy is to be practiced by him alone. It must never be passed on," the Head of House Edderion said solemnly.
Pan gave a slight nod of agreement, said nothing more, and then faded from the viewing platform—as if he had never been there at all.
...
Down on the plains, the crowd erupted in frenzied cheers at the sight of Tiamat standing once more. They believed with fervent joy that their ritual dance and Dragonlord blood sacrifice had pleased the ancestral spirits—who in turn had granted the Mother of Evil Dragons divine protection and rebirth.
Everyone could see it: Tiamat's body was visibly larger than before. To them, it was clearly a blessing from the spirits.
Amid the roar of celebration, Tiamat slowly made her way toward her rider, Aegon.
She gently lowered her massive head, carefully bowing it to the ground in a gesture for Aegon to climb aboard.
Aegon reached up and grasped one of the horned ridges atop her head. Using both hands and feet, he climbed her massive skull. Once he stood steadily between the crown-like array of horns, he gripped one thick horn for balance.
With a clear and powerful cry, Tiamat began to sprint. Her vast wings spread wide and beat against the air. Amid the rushing wind, she lifted off, soaring into the sky and leaving the Valyrian plains behind.
...
The people below fell to one knee of their own accord, eyes full of reverence and reluctant awe—as if bidding farewell to a true king, to the hero of their hearts.
As Tiamat rose into the sky, the noise of the crowd faded beneath them. Aegon sat quietly atop her head, calmly surveying the city of Valyria below, before turning his gaze northward—toward the distant peaks of the Fourteen Flames.
And then, on Tiamat's back, Pan's crimson form slowly began to coalesce once again.
Aegon showed no surprise. By now, he was used to the elder's ghost-like appearances.
It was as if, anywhere near Valyria, Pan could appear and disappear at will. Truly, Pan was the most powerful human in the entire Freehold.
Or maybe he's not human at all. Could a human really wield such power? Aegon wondered silently.
"You're lost," Pan said softly from behind him.
Aegon kept his gaze forward, saying nothing.
Pan paused, then stepped forward and sat cross-legged near Tiamat's brow. His voice was calm as he said, "You've always wanted to know what the grand plan really is. Now, I'll show you."