The battlefield was silent at first, but it was not the silence of peace. It was the silence of death. The ground was blackened by fire, and the air was thick with smoke. Siege towers lay broken and splintered, their charred remains pointing at the sky like the bones of fallen giants. Half-burnt tents smoldered in the distance, their canvas collapsing into ashes. The once-green earth was now a sea of mud, blood, and broken steel.
The stench was unbearable—burnt flesh, rotting corpses, and the iron tang of blood. Even the wind carried death.
At the center of it all stood Kael.
His silver armor, once a proud symbol of his command, was cracked and darkened with blood—his own and that of his enemies. His sword, once sharp as dragon's fang, hung heavy in his hand, its edge chipped and broken from endless clashes. His broad shoulders rose and fell with each breath, ragged and uneven, as if every inhale dragged knives through his chest.
He turned slowly, scanning the ruin of what had once been his proud army. Thousands had marched beside him into this war—men who had sworn loyalty, men who had trusted his command, men who had believed in his dream of a free kingdom. Now, barely twenty remained.
They were no longer soldiers. They were shadows of themselves—bloodied, limping, eyes hollow. One clutched a broken spear as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. Another pressed his hand against his gut, trying to hold back his life spilling into the mud. Their faces carried the same empty look: the look of men who already knew their deaths were certain.
A boy, no older than twenty, fell to his knees with a soft thud. His lips trembled as he whispered, "We were betrayed…" His eyes clouded, and his body crumpled into the mud. He did not rise again.
Kael's jaw clenched. His red eyes, burning even through exhaustion, swept across the field. He saw his banners—black silk embroidered with a white dragon—trampled into the filth. Once, those banners had filled his enemies with fear. Once, they had stood as a symbol of hope. Now they were nothing but cloth soaked in blood and dirt.
Kael's heart grew heavy, but his anger burned hotter than despair.
And then, through the haze of smoke, Kael saw him.
Standing atop a hill of corpses was a man in golden armor. His figure was sharp against the dying flames, like a cruel god standing over a world of ruin. His helmet was gone, his face bare—calm, smug, almost serene. The battlefield's blood and dirt had not touched him. Even death itself seemed to hesitate to come near.
General Darion.
Kael's most trusted commander. His right hand. His brother in all but blood.
The traitor.
"You…" Kael's voice cracked like thunder dragged over stone. Blood trickled down from the corner of his lips, but his eyes never left Darion. "Darion…"
The man in gold smirked, lips twisting into a smile that mocked Kael's pain.
"Kael, Kael…" Darion's voice carried across the battlefield like a blade cutting through silence. "Always so loyal. Always so proud. But loyalty is nothing when you are only a beast pretending to be a man."
The words struck deeper than any spear.
Kael remembered.
He remembered the nights in campfires when Darion had stood at his side, drinking, laughing, swearing loyalty until death. He remembered the battles where Darion had charged first, blade in hand, always fighting as though Kael's life was his own. He remembered trusting him, raising him high above the others, calling him brother when blood alone was not enough.
And this was the truth behind those memories.
"You betrayed me," Kael growled, his voice thick with fury and sorrow.
Darion raised one hand. Behind him, rows of archers stepped forward in perfect unison. Their bows creaked as they drew their strings, their tips gleaming in the firelight.
Darion's voice was cold, sharp, merciless. "No, Kael. I freed us from you. You were never meant to be king. Even dragons must kneel."
The sky darkened with arrows.
Kael roared. He lifted his broken sword with both hands and slashed at the storm that rained down upon him. Steel met wood and iron, sparks bursting with every strike. His body moved like lightning, like a storm given flesh. Each swing cut arrows from the air, each step forward broke through enemies that dared to close in.
Around him, his men fought with desperation. They swung rusted blades, thrust broken spears, and screamed their last defiance. But they were outnumbered, surrounded, crushed. One by one they fell, their screams torn away by fire and steel.
Kael fought like ten men, like a hundred. His strength burned through his veins like wildfire, his strikes splitting shields and shattering bone. The enemy began to hesitate. Fear flickered in their eyes. They whispered the word that always followed him—
"Monster."
Kael's sword fell again and again, cutting through armor, flesh, and fear alike. His roar echoed over the battlefield, the roar of a dragon trapped in human flesh. For a moment, even the enemy faltered, stepping back from his fury.
But Kael was still only a man. And no man, no matter how strong, could fight an army forever.
A spear struck his shoulder, ripping through steel and flesh. His teeth clenched, but his sword did not stop. Another blow cut across his ribs, painting his side with blood. His vision blurred, his steps slowed, but still he swung. His will was unbroken, even as his body failed.
Darion walked closer, his golden armor gleaming. His expression was unreadable, his calm smile cruel in the firelight.
"You should have remained a weapon," Darion said, his voice almost pitying. "A blade cannot dream of being king. Today, your name dies with you."
Kael spat blood into the mud. His lips curled back into a beast's snarl. His voice, though weak, shook with defiance. "Dragons do not kneel."
With his last surge of strength, he swung his sword in a wide, furious arc. Soldiers around him staggered back, cut down by his wrath. His roar thundered through the battlefield—raw, broken, but filled with a power no mortal should possess. For a moment, he was not man, not general. He was a dragon standing against the world.
But the world pressed harder.
A spear pierced his chest, driving straight into his heart.
The force dropped him to his knees. His sword slipped from his hand and sank into the blood-soaked earth. His breaths came shallow, slow, fading like the last embers of fire. His eyes dimmed, but his spirit burned.
Darion leaned close, his whisper sharp as steel. "Your bloodline ends here. Your people will be forgotten. You will be nothing but ash in the wind."
Kael's lips twisted into a bloody smile. His voice was little more than a breath, but his words carried the weight of prophecy.
"Remember this, traitor… Even if I fall today… I will return. And when I do… the world will burn."
His body fell forward, lifeless. The earth drank his blood eagerly, as if sealing his oath.
The battlefield grew quiet. Even the fire seemed to still. For a heartbeat, time froze.
Then—
A sound. Cold. Mechanical. Eternal.
> [System Awakening…]
[Host Detected: Last Dragon Lord.]
[Initializing Rebirth Sequence…]
Kael's soul stirred. He should have been gone, drifting into the void where all warriors rest. But something vast and ancient reached for him, pulling him back.
He felt fire ignite in his veins—hotter, stronger than any flame he had ever known. His body was gone, yet he felt scales pressing against skin that was no longer human. He felt wings spread wide, blotting out the heavens. A roar rose from deep within him, a roar not of a man but of a dragon, shaking the very foundation of the world.
The darkness shattered into blinding light.
And Kael understood.
Death was not his end.
It was only the beginning.