In the Capital City of Lorderon, preparations for the annual Tidal Festival have entered their final stages.
The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of roasted apples, honeyed nuts, and freshly baked "Holy Cakes," as street performers hurried to rehearse ancient poetic dramas telling the story of the "Sea God Calming the Storm."
Vendors sold more than just ordinary festival toys; they also offered timely "Silver Scale Wind Chimes"—said to be modeled after the tail scales of a Silver Dragon, with their chime capable of praying for safe voyages in the coming year.
However, beneath the city's skin, in the narrow alleys where sunlight rarely reached, hidden taverns, and sunless basements, the atmosphere was entirely different.
A rumor of unknown origin was spreading through the capital's intricate undercurrents—the True Dragon Imperial Court and the Church of Light had reached a secret agreement to use the Tidal Festival as a cover to purge all "unclean" shadow forces within the Empire.
At first, the bosses entrenched in various places scoffed at the idea.
"Nonsense! For that batch of smuggled Elven artworks at 'Blackwater Pier' last month, the tax officials took thirty percent, the city guards took twenty percent, and only the rest came to us. If we're gone, how many people's pockets will start leaking?" inside a tavern, a scarred Mercenary downed his ale and jeered loudly.
"Exactly," a thief sharpening his dagger nearby chimed in. "The big shots at the Church take enough dividends from us 'Eight Fingers' every year to support an entire knight order. As for the Dragon Court? Would those fat-bellied lizards care about us rats in the gutters?"
The old bartender behind the counter wiped a glass, his cloudy eyes glancing at the Church Inquisition spies patrolling outside. He said slowly, "The last person who said that has bones feeding the blind cavefish at the bottom of the moat. Don't forget, a True Dragon might not care about you, but they definitely care about gold coins."
A chorus of agreement and laughter immediately rang out in the tavern.
This was one of the many informant outposts of "Eight Fingers." Eight Fingers—a behemoth that controlled nearly seventy percent of the underground trade in the Capital City of Lorderon, with tentacles extending into smuggling, intelligence, Mercenaries, and even some gray-market businesses—had long since integrated with the city, like an ancient poisonous vine with roots deep in every crevice of the stonework. Many believed that even if the king changed or the nobility shifted, Eight Fingers would continue to operate in the shadows.
However, this afternoon, that confidence deeply rooted in the shadows was brutally torn apart by a sight in the sky.
"Dragon! Look at the sky! It's a Red Dragon!"
"god of light above! It... what is it holding in its claws? A carriage? It has the Church's emblem!"
The cries of surprise started sporadically, then spread like wildfire across the streets, eventually detonating throughout the outer city district. Peddlers, merchants, travelers, and even housewives peeking from attics all flooded into the streets, looking up at the breathtakingly magnificent figure.
A giant dragon, over twenty meters long with scales as dark red as lava, was folding its sun-blocking wings and slowly landing in the square near the city gates.
Every movement carried a heart-stopping sense of power. The gale stirred by its flapping wings made those nearby stagger, and shop signs rattled. Most impossible to ignore was that within its hideous claws, capable of easily crushing city gates, it carefully held a magnificent carriage adorned with the Holy Emblem of Light.
The rumor about the "purge," which had originally been dismissed as a joke, exploded in the minds of countless people lurking in the shadows at this moment.
"A Dragon... Why would a carriage from the Church of Light be with a Dragon?"
At the same time.
Inside the carriage, Cecilia felt her stomach, intestines, and even the hard bread she had barely swallowed last night screaming in protest against this journey.
It was too miserable. It was simply the darkest chapter of her short life as a dragon.
When they set out from Osterburg, she still held a faint hope of "having a grand feast at the capital."
However, the reality was that she spent most of her time curled up in the jolting carriage, gnawing on marching biscuits distributed by the paladins that were hard enough to be used as concealed weapons, and drinking water that tasted of leather bags. Sleep? That was a luxury. Every violent jolt of the carriage would bounce her off the ornate seat, her head thumping against the carriage wall.
Even more terrifying were the endless attacks.
At first, they were just some blind bandits who were scared witless by the flames Fafnir casually spat out.
But soon, the "quality" of the attackers rose sharply. There were Bog Dweller assassins lurking in the roadside swamps, emitting rot and badly poisoned spores; there were crazed cultists rushing forward shouting "Eating the Saintess's flesh grants immortality"; and there were even two or three human experts shrouded in purple battle qi, clearly possessing the strength of the Amethyst Tier.
These attacks were not disorganized. They seemed to always find the weak moments in the convoy's defense or use complex terrain to launch ambushes. The aftershocks of the battles nearly overturned the carriage more than once, leaving deep scorch marks, frost marks, or corrosion on the walls.
High Paladin Thomas's face grew darker by the day. "This is absolutely a conspiracy against Lady Colette! There's a mole leaking our movements and weaknesses!" he asserted hoarsely.
As the days passed, according to Church regulations, the Saintess Candidate had to arrive at the Capital Cathedral for final registration before sunset on the third day before the Tidal Festival. With the deadline approaching, the journey was severely delayed due to frequent attacks and detours.
Seeing that they were about to endure eighty-one tribulations if things continued this way, Thomas had no choice but to brace himself and ask the Red Dragon envoy, whose expression was becoming increasingly sour.
Fafnir's mood was indeed terrible. He had been ordered by his teacher Ilena to investigate the Plasma Cult, but ended up getting caught in the Church's internal strife, becoming a bodyguard who fought all the way. However, remembering his teacher's instruction that "you can cooperate with local forces when necessary," he finally nodded with extreme impatience.
Thus, the shocking scene of a Red Dragon clutching a carriage and flying through the sky occurred in the capital.
"Blegh—!"
When the carriage finally landed with a dull Tackle, Cecilia was the first to burst out of the door, leaning against the edge of a decorative stone planter and vomiting uncontrollably. There wasn't much in her stomach to begin with, so most of what came out was bile.
Not eating well, not sleeping well, living in constant fear, and now having to experience being carried through the sky by a natural enemy—a jolting experience comparable to the most violent turbulence.
Her life as a dragon was truly bleak.
Fafnir had now reverted to his form as a tall young man with red hair and crimson eyes. He frowned, looking at the "human girl" with a pale face leaning against the planter, a hint of scrutiny and confusion flashing in his crimson eyes.
What was so special about this human woman named Colette?
Although the aura of light on her was pure, its intensity was not outstanding. Along the way, those attackers had swarmed forward like sharks scenting blood, and their composition was strangely complex, not appearing to be the work of a single faction... it was more like they were attracted by something invisible, or were trying to block her from reaching the capital?
As he was thinking and planning to use the Church's intelligence network in the capital to investigate, a sudden, overwhelming wave of sound completely submerged them.
"It's Lady Colette! Saintess Candidate Lady Colette has returned safely!"
"Praise the god of light... The Saintess's journey is indeed full of trials, but evil will eventually be purified!"
"Have you heard? Since Lady Colette began her journey back east, seven or eight bandit gangs and black market strongholds that had been a scourge for years along the way have all mysteriously disbanded or been destroyed!"
"More than that. My brother's caravan just came from Black Pine Ridge. He said the Stone-Cracking Orc tribe entrenched there migrated overnight. Before leaving, they piled their looted treasures by the roadside and put up a sign saying 'Inspired by the Holy Light, Abandoning Evil for Good'!"
"A miracle! It must be the holy radiance Lady Saintess invisibly emits that influenced them!"
Citizens waved improvised flags, handkerchiefs, and even newly bought prayer feather crowns, surging forward like a tide, their eyes shining with joy and reverence.
Fafnir was stunned. High Paladin Thomas was also stunned; he opened his mouth and looked at the names of those destroyed factions—some of which were tough nuts to crack that he had heard of before.
Cecilia, barely supported by two female paladins and still dry-heaving, was even more confused, as if a string of giant question marks were floating over her head.
Influence? Purification? What did I do—I'm just a poor dragon who vomited the whole way! Those bandit gangs were destroyed? Could it be... Caesar's shark-like face suddenly flashed in her mind, along with the "efficiency" he showed in dealing with the Osterburg gangs. An absurd guess emerged. But at this moment, looking at the countless eager, upward-looking eyes around her, that bit of insignificant doubt was instantly submerged by another more surging emotion—vanity.
Cecilia forced down the discomfort in her throat, stood steady with the support of the female paladins, and tried to puff out her chest, attempting to regain the "aloof Saintess" posture she had been forced to practice in the Osterburg church. Her slender fingers subconsciously smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt—
By now, keeping up appearances had become a habit.
In response to the believers' almost tangible enthusiasm (and to end this awkward scene as quickly as possible so she could go to the legendary Church headquarters and see if there was any meat to eat), Cecilia decided to perform a "miracle" to liven things up.
The Saintess Candidate exhaled a breath of turbid air and made her voice as ethereal as possible: "To return from a stray path is the greatest virtue. Light, let us Celebrate this moment."
She raised her hand, and a soft white light flickered at her fingertips.
[Celebrate], layered with [Luster Purge]!
It was no simple trick of light and shadow. This time, perhaps because she was at the edge of the faith field surrounded by believers, or perhaps due to a subtle resonance with the "tear of light," the skill's effect far exceeded before.
Brilliant yet non-blinding Psychic elements exploded in the air, forming various fantastical visions:
Phantoms of winged Holy Pegasi soared across the sky, holy lily buds bloomed in the light before scattering into stardust, and there was even a faint, ethereal harmony of holy hymns echoing in everyone's hearts.
Immediately after, countless shimmering, translucent golden bubbles and silver ribbons appeared out of thin air, slowly drifting down. Upon touching the skin, they brought a faint warmth, as if kissed by sunlight.
"Thank the god of light! Lady Colette has been dispelling the shadows all along. Wherever the Holy Light reaches, even bandit dens entrenched for decades collapse on their own! This must be a divine oracle!"
"A miracle! A true miracle!" An old priest was so moved that tears streamed down his face as he knelt on the ground. "This... this is the 'Visions of Heaven and Songs of Angels' recorded in Chapter Three of the 'Holy Scripture: Gospel.' Lady Colette truly enjoys divine grace!"
The crowd completely boiled over; the cheers were deafening, and even more people knelt down to pray.
Cecilia was secretly delighted, but she maintained an indifferent expression on the surface and nodded slightly.
Done!
—She now only wanted to immediately, right now, teleport on the spot to the kitchen of the Church of Light's headquarters.
And so, escorted by a Reception Knight Order in even more magnificent armor, the group passed through the fanatical, almost out-of-control crowd, heading toward the towering, mountain-like white cathedral in the city center.