What a joke. If this matter really involves my cheap dad, and those people overhear any secrets that ordinary folks shouldn't know, I'm finished. Do I have to give everyone physical amnesia?
With my strength, inducing physical amnesia would be like forcing everyone present to reincarnate!
Aslan lightly leapt over broken stones scattered across the ruins. Under the dim night light, shattered stone carvings and dragon-shaped sculptures cast an oppressive atmosphere. Placed in a game scene, it would become a classic setting of dread—especially with lightning flashes and dragon roars echoing.
Melusine poked her head from the package, frowning as she watched the dragon's shadow in the sky. She didn't sense any dragon-related aura. It seemed to be just a reenactment. Or maybe the breath wasn't from the White Dragon itself, but so faint that Melusine couldn't feel it anymore.
Aslan felt his white dragon blood quietly boiling, which explained a lot. Someone here had truly extracted power from this relic of the White Dragon. He just didn't know how—or what they planned to do with it.
To be honest, if my own dad were resurrected... No, it's impossible for my cheap dad to come back. The Dragon Soul is sealed in the Supreme Masterpiece I hold. Even if he's resurrected, it'd be just a body without his consciousness—more like a puppet.
I have no interest in playing house with a puppet, especially one that's my old father's body. If someone takes control, wouldn't that mean I'd have a new cheap dad after 1,500 years? That's terrifying.
Even if a new Vortigern rose on this island, it wouldn't be the White Dragon of the past but a new being born to destroy this land. Most likely? A certain Goblin King.
Hiss... Think about it. If the Goblin King showed up, Aslan might just give a real lesson in filial piety. A liar, arrogant, hypocritical, handsome, and irritable. Wouldn't conquering him be a huge accomplishment?
Wouldn't it be thrilling to see the Goblin King blushing, cursing, and crying?
Suddenly, Melusine's golden eyes flashed cold. She was alert—this was an intuitive warning about the man competing for Aslan's favor.
Of course, Aslan was only joking. Or was he? Did Melusine's body feel too stiff? Maybe the Fairy King was just teasing? Huh? Was that a strange voice mixing in?
Putting distracting thoughts aside, Aslan quickened his pace through the ruins. Thunder and lightning flashed repeatedly in the sky. The black dragon eyes reappeared, and roars echoed one after another. The ruins' center seemed to be shifting.
The stones moved rapidly as if pulled by some force, forming an open space in the middle. At its center stood an elderly man with a magic wand shaped like a dragon's claw.
Aslan stopped, squinting from a distance. The old magician seemed overjoyed. He ran and jumped like a playful monkey, waving his staff wildly. In the staff's claw, something was condensing rapidly.
Every thunderclap made the figure inside the staff more solid—an image of a curled white dragon with hints of black light. Yes, the island's residual power was gathering.
"Success! I did it!! After years of effort, I finally succeeded! It was worth every hardship to find the White Dragon's capital city. Worth every effort to arrange it all these years—just to extract some of the White Dragon's power! Look! This is the power of the White Dragon, majestic even after a thousand years!"
Exhausted, the old magician knelt, covering his face and sobbing. It had been too difficult, too lonely. No one believed he'd find the White Dragon's city, let alone extract its power again.
"Everyone misjudged me. Your loss for not persevering!"
Aslan frowned at the wild old magician. He looked like a rogue—never part of a proper organization, probably a family magician relying on his own heritage. Such magicians often possess unique legacies, some forbidden.
My goodness... is this old man causing trouble on my cheap father's grave?
Aslan wrote fairy words in the air with his magic. The words turned into water that burst forth, wrapping the old magician like vines and chains—binding him tightly.
He was preparing to give the old man a new experience, one he hadn't encountered in his long years.
Maybe this would open a new door for him.
Thinking this, Aslan began preparing the fairy script for [Electric Shock]. For such a reckless old man, the treatment proposed by a professor—to calm him while stripping resistance—was fitting. That way, he could be safely subdued and imprisoned.
-End Chapter-
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