The news of Saintess Candidate Colette arriving at the royal capital and performing "miracles" struck the core of Lordaeron's underworld like a bolt of lightning.
Escorted by a Red Dragon. Accompanied by the Saintess. Inspired by miracles. The mysterious destruction of dark forces along the way... Piece after piece of news arrived, and finally, someone realized something was wrong.
Although the Lordaeron Empire was known as the "Country on the Back of a Dragon," that was another matter entirely.
The Sub-dragons ridden by nobles, the Earth Dragons pulling carriages, and even the Pseudo-dragons kept as pets were merely beasts that shared the name "Dragon."
But a True Dragon... that was a strategic-level existence capable of destroying a nation. They were mobile natural disasters, beings on a completely different level.
Their interactions with human Empires were usually limited to ancient covenants and border skirmishes; when had they ever intervened so deeply in internal affairs, and so intimately with the Church?
At the heart of the capital's underworld, the Eight Fingers headquarters—a vast hall hidden beneath a bustling commercial district, shielded and reinforced by multiple layers of magic—the atmosphere was now tense to the extreme.
Seven people sat around a long conference table (one was away on "business"). Every person sitting here was a powerhouse who controlled a vast black industry, their hands stained with blood and gold.
The one sitting at the head of the table was not the strongest, but a hunched old man draped in an aged but exquisitely made black velvet robe.
His face was covered in deep, furrowed wrinkles and age spots, and his hands, thin and withered like eagle claws, slowly stroked an open box on the table. Lined with crimson velvet, the box held eight exceptionally smooth, polished finger bones. This was the symbol of his identity and the token of the Eight Fingers' supreme power—the "Box of Bones." Each finger bone came from a once-powerful rival he had personally defeated and devoured.
The old man's name was Marcus Resaldo, known to outsiders as the "Bone Duke." He was the founder and supreme arbiter of Eight Fingers, a legendary figure who had lived for an unknown length of time and about whom even the kingdom's secret archives were vague.
"Speak your minds," Marcus's voice was hoarse and low, like two pieces of rusted iron rubbing together, yet it possessed a strange piercing quality that made everyone's heart tremble.
"My Lord Duke, I believe this is over-worrying," a bald, muscular man with skin that had an unnatural metallic sheen said in a deep voice. This man was "Iron Fist" Goron, who controlled all the blood-related businesses—Mercenaries, thugs, and assassin groups.
"Don't the Church and those noble lords take a huge 'tribute' from us every year? How much of their dirty business and money passes through our hands? Tearing off the mask benefits no one. This Red Dragon might just be here to talk about some new business."
"Stupid," a small man wrapped in a large black robe, revealing only a pair of sharp, rat-like eyes, retorted sharply from across "Iron Fist."
"Has your muscle grown into your brain? Look at what my people risked their lives to bring back!"
Silver, the "Spectral Eye" in charge of the intelligence network, flicked open a magic projection scroll. It unfurled in the air, displaying dense rows of data and lists.
"In the past six months, the Churches of Light in seventeen border provinces have purchased holy water, exorcism silver ingots, and holy enchanted arrowheads at fifteen to twenty times the average annual rate! Especially the warehouse of the capital's main cathedral—the guard force has tripled, and carriages are moving in and out day and night, all transporting Demon-Sealing Boxes!"
He paused, his voice turning even colder. "Also, in Emerald Port of the southern border, thirty percent of our smuggling routes have seen patrols by the Church's Sea-Purifying Knights over the past month. They aren't preventing enemies from coming in; they are blocking people inside from getting out. This is the prelude to 'catching a turtle in a jar,' Goron."
A woman in a revealing red dress, with a seductive face but eyes as cold as a venomous snake—Lina, the "Blood Rose" in charge of human trafficking and the gray entertainment industry—played with a gem-encrusted dagger and spoke softly:
"What's even more suspicious is the rumor itself. It appeared too suddenly, completely bypassing our usual rumor filters."
"You mean someone is intentionally muddying the waters?" "Iron Fist" Goron's brow furrowed.
"Muddying the waters?" "Spectral Eye" Silver sneered. "I'm afraid someone wants to fish in troubled waters, or even... boil the water and scald us all to death inside."
The debate grew more heated. Some advocated for immediate maximum alert and transferring core assets and personnel; others believed they should use political leverage to pressure their "partners" in the royal family and parliament; still others proposed concentrating forces to root out the "mole" spreading the rumors.
Marcus remained silent throughout, his withered fingers lightly tapping the edge of the "Box of Bones." The hall gradually fell silent, and everyone's gaze focused on him.
"Fifty years ago, during the 'Blood Claw' coup," Marcus began slowly, his voice sounding as if it came from the dust of history. "The second prince at the time wanted to establish authority and raise military funds by purging the underworld. We argued just like this back then. In the end, we funded his rival—the father of the current king, who was then a border town count. The price was fifteen percent of the Empire's mineral revenue for the next fifty years, flowing permanently into our vaults."
His clouded eyes slowly scanned the group. "This time, the opponent is different. It's a True Dragon, a combination of national power and the power of faith. How much weight do those 'leverages' we have hidden in nobles' drawers hold against absolute power and 'righteousness'?"
Just as he was about to issue the command to "retract completely, wait and see, and use all political resources to test the waters"—
A sudden change occurred.
First, the liquid in all the cups on the table, whether water or wine, began to vibrate slightly without warning. Dense ripples appeared on the surface, as if invisible drumsticks were striking the heart of the earth.
Then, a low, monotonous, yet pervasive rustling sound came from all directions. It didn't come from outside the door, but from within the walls, the ceiling layers, and even deep beneath the floor. It was as if the entire solid stone building, reinforced with multiple protective spells, was being hollowed out and turned into sand from the inside by an invisible force.
"What is that sound?!"
"Guards! What's happening outside?!"
Someone shouted sternly, but there was dead silence outside. The loyal magic warning runes didn't trigger any alarms, and the elite guards who should have been patrolling the corridors were nowhere to be heard.
Creeeeeak—
A sharp sound rang out. The heavy oak door of the conference room, half a foot thick and inlaid with anti-magic metal, saw the stone walls around its frame silently crumble into fine sand, as if weathered by a thousand years in an instant. The door lost its support and tilted forward, but before it hit the ground, it too turned into sand, merging into the thin layer of yellow sand that had appeared on the floor at some unknown point.
A tall figure stepped through, walking on the carpet of sand formed by the door and walls, moving against the dim magical lights of the hall—
It was not a "human."
The cloak could no longer hide his form. Through the tears, deep blue skin as hard as rock was revealed, along with jagged white bone spurs on both sides of his thighs.
That was a... Dragon?
Or rather, a Dragonoid?
Under the horrified gazes of the eight leaders, the figure walked to the center of the conference hall.
He slowly raised his hand and removed the hood covering his head and face.
A hideous, ferocious shark-like dragon head was exposed before everyone.
There was no emotion in those golden vertical pupils.
"You..."
Marcus, the old man leading them, was about to question him when he saw the dragon's mouth open slightly.
[Dragon Pulse]!
Vroom—!
There was no time to react at all!
A purple energy shockwave centered on Caesar instantly swept through the entire small conference hall!
Members below the Gold Rank didn't even have time to scream before their bodies exploded in the violent energy, turning into a shower of flesh and blood!
"Bastard!"
The Eight Fingers leader Marcus, a Level 38 Gold Rank powerhouse, let out a roar. Dark purple mana armor instantly condensed on his body as he attempted to withstand the blow!
But the other leaders beside him were not so lucky.
Their protective mana was like paper, instantly shredded by the shockwave, following in the footsteps of their underlings.
Crack!
Under the continuous impact of [Dragon Pulse], Marcus's mana armor lasted less than a second before it became covered in cracks and shattered!
Pfft!
He spat out a large mouthful of blood and was sent flying, crashing heavily against the wall.
Before he could struggle to his feet, a massive shadow loomed over him.
A hideous Dragon Claw covered in deep blue scales pressed down on his face.
"No..."
Bang!
Caesar gave him no chance. The Dragon Claw suddenly exerted force, smashing his head into the hard stone floor like a watermelon!
[Experience Points +3000]
The System's notification rang in his mind.
Caesar shook the blood from his claws and scanned the few survivors left in the conference hall.
Those people were completely terrified, slumped on the ground with wet pants, unable to even utter a plea for mercy.
Caesar casually finished them off with a few [Dragon Claws].
The entire process took less than ten seconds.
He pulled up the System panel and took a look.
[True Name: Capulius Caesar (LV.41)]
From Osterburg to the royal capital, he hadn't been idle.
Those he had diverted to cause trouble for Fafnir were all tough nuts to crack.
And those underworld strongholds he judged easy to handle were all slaughtered along the way. Thus, he slaughtered, devoured, and leveled up all the way.
Without Cecilia, that naive girl, holding him back, Caesar's actions were unconstrained, and his leveling speed was astonishingly fast.
The slaughter and plunder inherent in his dragon nature were gradually overwhelming his former human moral compass.
Several distorted Souls rose from the corpses, scrambling to fly into the [sharp claw] on his hand.
Viola's soul fire drifted out, burning quietly.
The old man was also a bit stunned.
According to his initial estimates, it would take at least several years of absorbing Soul energy for him to fully awaken.
But following Caesar, this time had been shortened to just a few months.
He could even condense a vague Soul dragon body now, but he didn't do so, remaining in the form of soul fire.
"The core of Eight Fingers is gone. Next, are you going to plow through the remaining branches? The Blood Hand Society in the East District? The Raven's Nest in the north of the city?"
In Viola's view, given the decisiveness and immense power Caesar had shown, the most direct way to take control was to seize the opportunity to wipe out the heads of all established underworld organizations in the capital.
However, Caesar shook his head.
He tossed aside the completely ruined covert cloak, revealing the hideous and robust dragon body of a Garchomp.
"No more killing."
Viola's soul fire flickered, somewhat surprised.
"Why?"
Caesar walked to the window of the conference hall, looking at the brightly lit city outside, his mouth curling into a cruel arc.
"I spread rumors to plant the seeds of fear in their hearts."
"I allowed Fafnir to take Cecilia to the capital so that the image of 'the Dragon and the Church joining forces' would become the rain and dew that waters that fear, making the seeds sprout."
"I have now killed the leaders of Eight Fingers, leaving behind traces of Dragon Element everywhere," Caesar turned around, his golden vertical pupils gleaming with a cold and rational luster in the dim light, "to tell everyone in this city hiding in the shadows, trembling with fear..."
He paused and said word by word:
"Look, the sanctuaries of the old era are not safe. The power of a Dragon can easily tear apart your self-righteous defenses."
"Panic needs an outlet; people in despair need a lifeline." Caesar walked to an intact wine cabinet on the other side of the room, picked out a bottle of what looked like the most expensive wine with his claw, crushed the neck of the bottle, and poured the amber liquid into his mouth, letting most of it run down his chin and soak the scales on his chest.
"When they find that the old order can no longer protect them, and the new order seeks their death... if someone can provide a 'third way' at this moment, a 'possibility' to oppose the Dragon and the Church..."
Viola's soul fire flickered violently; he instantly understood Caesar's massive and sinister plan.
"The Plasma Cult?"
Caesar gave a Dragons Kiss and remained silent.
"The preliminary preparations—rumors, panic, the 'Saintess' appearing, and now the 'evidence of a dragon attack'—are all sufficient." Caesar tossed the empty wine bottle aside, the broken glass making a soft sound on the sand. "The actors are in place, and the audience has arrived."
He looked down at his hideous Dragon Claws, then looked up toward the faintly visible cathedral spires in the city center.
"It's time for the Plasma Cult to officially take the stage and receive this... valuable gift."