A massive torrent of knowledge slammed into Ize's mind like a Buster Call from the World Government—surgical, immense, and absolute. It wasn't just random memories. This was bloodline inheritance—a complete compendium of the dragon race's essence: Dragon Language Magic, draconic biology, elemental channeling, psychic resistances akin to Haki, combat philosophies similar to samurai swordsmanship from Wano, and survival instincts sharp enough to rival those of an elite Anbu Black Ops operative.
All of it affirmed one thing—this was no malformed hatchling, no false wyrmling mistaken for a dragon. As a five-colored evil dragon, he had been acknowledged by Tiamat, the Dragon Queen, the sovereign existence among draconic deities, just as Gold Roger had once been acknowledged as Pirate King by the sea itself.
Ordinarily, young dragons couldn't process such vast memory torrents. Their draconic heritage would be buried deep within their souls, only surfacing gradually as they matured—like how a Jinchūriki child would slowly tap into the Tailed Beast's chakra network, or how a young swordsman learns to draw breath with his blade over time.
But Ize was different. Exceptionally different.
He was not just a young dragon—he was the reincarnated soul of a 21st-century Earthling, forged in the fires of data overflow. His life was a barrage of streaming content: TV dramas, MMORPGs, hacker threads, isekai manga, and battle-anime breakdowns. From data-scrolls of Enel's mantra technique to the recursive systems of chakra nature transformation, he'd seen it all—some even more outrageous than Elbaf legends or Punk Hazard experiments.
While dragons may have long lives, most of it was spent in slumber. And if a dragon's entire life equaled one lifetime of Naruto training in Mount Myōboku, then Ize's digital-era human mind had already crossed thresholds even Vegapunk might admire.
So he effortlessly accepted the dragon heritage—and with intellectual enthusiasm no less. He observed countless "legendary dragon species," including the story of the Scarlet Flame Emperor, whose fire once clashed with the Phoenix itself—a tale that vaguely mirrored the epic between Ace and Aokiji.
The great flame dragon mother, Daenerys, stared at the little dragonet with a sharp glint, like Kaido watching Yamato defy him for the first time.
If this wyrmling hadn't been recognized by Tiamat, she'd have scorched him like dead kindling.
But—
"O Flame Mother Daenerys, I am Ize Dumbledore Sol Targaryen!" he roared.
It was a declaration, not just in sound—but in Dragon Tongue. Hundreds of syllables, flowing fluently, like a Sage of the Six Paths reciting the truth of chakra. No stutter, no hesitation, no shame.
The world trembled. His words rippled like a Conqueror's Haki shockwave.
This was draconic soul resonance—language that did not require lips, only the will to define one's existence. Inheritance bound to the soul, impossible to fake.
Daenerys' eyes softened. If she were in humanoid form, one could've seen her smile—proud, ancient, tired. It was rare to witness such perfection at birth.
Dragon eggs were always a gamble, more volatile than Law's Ope Ope no Mi surgery. Most failed to hatch, others birthed mindless beasts. But a true dragon, acknowledged by Tiamat herself? It was like finding a second Enma forged in Wano.
Ize let out a relieved sigh—or whatever passed as one in his new throat. He wasn't going to get booted out like trash into the wilds of the Grand Line.
By sacred dragon law, any wyrmling capable of uttering their True Name earned sanctuary, protection, and mentorship until adolescence. It was a rite older than Fishman Island's covenant with Poseidon.
Ize stumbled out of the eggshell, drenched in yolky membrane. It looked ridiculous, but at least he wasn't dead. His limbs trembled like a genin after their first C-rank mission. The exertion had drained him—and now he was starving.
Instinct kicked in. He licked his slick scales, but that did nothing. His eyes locked onto the cracked eggshell and pounced—gnawing, crunching, devouring.
It tasted like… sea-salted senbei?
Actually, it was delicious.
The eggshell contained immense nourishment—equivalent to a Senzu Bean for dragons—perfect for jumpstarting metabolism and igniting the first wave of scale-hardening and internal flame ignition.
Newborn dragons weren't helpless. Within hours, they could skitter around like Luffy on sugar. Within days, they could glide clumsily across cliff winds like baby dragons of Sky Island. Though still far from the full wrath of their lineage, they had enough inborn talent to defend themselves from wild wolves or rogue shinobi cats.
The heritage wasn't just a legacy—it was an encyclopedia. And Ize absorbed it all with eyes wide open, his inner monologue more active than Usopp under interrogation.
Dragons weren't born blank. They came with world awareness. They knew their kin, their enemies, their birthright. It was this knowledge that fed their arrogance—an arrogance comparable to Uchiha pride or Celestial Dragon entitlement.
They were apex predators—not because they were told so, but because they knew.
Still, Ize understood: confidence without awareness was suicide. He was no fool. Even with bloodline hax, he wasn't about to act like an MC in the first 10 chapters. Especially not as a red dragon—a breed infamous for recklessness. He needed to stay grounded. Live long enough to become the monster.
He glanced at the remaining eggs—four total. Probably snatched from different clutches by Daenerys. Simultaneous hatching? Unlikely. Right now, it looked like he was the only success.
That made him special—but also alone.
Still, Daenerys was visibly pleased. One true red dragon born under her watch? That was enough to make even Tiamat glance down from her otherworldly throne with approval.
Whether dragons understood "grandparent" affection was unclear, but Daenerys clearly took a liking to Ize. She stretched her snout forward and gently licked the remnants of goo off him, her molten breath steaming the air. His scales shone.
Ize was stunned. This affection—wasn't this against dragon protocol?
He knew from his blood memory that dragons weren't like mammalian parents. Most hatchlings were "free-range"—nurtured for a few years, then booted into the wild like a newly promoted Marine sent to the New World.
Still, he was lucky. Daenerys might not be his biological mother, but she was an Ancient Red Dragon, equivalent to a Yonkō among beasts. Her territory stretched hundreds of kilometers. In this zone, even Mihawk would think twice before swinging his blade.
Food? No problem.
Shelter? Impeccable.
Enemies? None that weren't suicidal.
If fate was kind, Ize could laze around in this nest for a few decades—growing in power while dreaming of conquest. Dragons, after all, gained power even in sleep. What was that saying? Wake up stronger, roar louder, sleep again. A good deal.
He peeked at the dragon mother resting on her mountain of treasure. The den was vast, and suddenly, before his new vertical-slit eyes, a series of translucent panels appeared—like Observation Haki had fused with a digitized grimoire interface.
Lines of glowing text—dragon glyphs, incantations, structures.
[Spell: Law—Blind]
Level: 8th-Tier
Type: Illusion
Save: None
Effect: Blinds target instantly
(Note: Invisible foes become easier to detect)
Incantation Root: beekameblindo!
Dragon magic didn't require chakra or a magic circle—it relied on truth. Spoken intent. Power through declaration.
Ize grinned.
He could see through magic now.