Throne glanced back. The Flying Dragon plummeted from the sky, one wing torn away, the left side of its body a mangled ruin. It slammed into the water with a thunderous crash, spraying scarlet mud high into the air. A full-power strike from a professor-level mage—Sellen's prowess was unmatched, even among humans. Throne wiped the mud and water from his face. Agheel struggled to rise. Its wing was gone, its left arm a bloody stump, yet it clung to consciousness.
The dragon's head jerked up. A torrent of fire erupted from its maw, engulfing the villa in roaring flames. "Still fighting back," Throne muttered. "Typical of a famed Flying Dragon." He charged forward. He couldn't stop the dragon's breath, nor did he need to. Sellen was stronger now than she'd ever been at the academy. Agheel roared—a mix of pain and savage triumph. The mage had gotten too close to ensure precision, leaving her frail body no time to evade.
Why hadn't it attacked from a distance? Simple. If it had sensed a powerful mage earlier, it would've fled long ago. Its slit-pupiled eyes locked onto Throne now. This swordsman? No threat. The dragon's tail lashed across the lake's surface, forcing Throne to leap high to evade. He hung in mid-air, defenseless, as the dragon's claw swept toward him. But he didn't try to dodge. He didn't have to. The Caria light swords descended in a flash, striking the claw and driving it down. The dragon's expression shifted to outright terror. A third mage? This wasn't Liurnia of the Lakes! Before it could react, streaks of starlight appeared—one fast, one slow—on either side of its head. Throne and Sellen locked eyes across the distance, their blades and staffs raised in unison. The same azure magic surged. Agheel froze, bewildered, as they struck together.
Spiral Burst.
The drill-like magic tore through scales and burrowed deep into the dragon's slender neck. The beast thrashed, its agony palpable. The rotating magic stalled, then exploded outward from within. Spiral Shatter. Flesh and blood erupted like a crushed tomato, revealing pale cervical vertebrae. Throne was drenched in blood, his vision blurred. He didn't bother wiping it away. As he fell, star-frost gathered into a slender spear of light—
And pierced the beating Dragon Heart.
Trapped in the mud and struck by a combined master-apprentice attack, Agheel's ancient body couldn't withstand the assault. Its neck shredded, its heart impaled, the massive creature froze. Its head lowered, its slit-pupiled eyes fixed on the knight standing before its chest. There was reluctance, confusion, and a surging, overwhelming curse. It still couldn't comprehend who these two were or why they'd hunted it down. They didn't look like soldiers from the Haligtree Army.
"Do you feel innocent?" Throne's voice was calm. "When you burned villages and hurled people from the sky, did you ever think—" He shook his head silently, meeting the dragon's gaze.
"There is only a fine line between the hunter and the prey!" He twisted his long blade. The Spiral Burst's magic detonated inside the dragon's chest cavity, extinguishing all signs of life in an instant. With a dull thud, the colossal body collapsed, sending up a wave of muddy water.
Agheel didn't even have time to curse. Throne had killed it with brutal efficiency, unleashing a Crystal Burst inside the dragon's body. A true expert leaves no room for resurrection. The silver Banished Knight armor, once gleaming, was now smeared with blood and caked in mud. Drips of crimson fell into the lake, spreading ripples across the surface. Throne stood frozen, his blade still lodged in the dragon's chest. The stench of gore seeped through the gaps in his armor, but he felt nothing. His mind was empty, his body numb.
Sellen's backing had given him the perfect chance to grow stronger. But Throne knew he couldn't cling to her forever. Her passion lay in unraveling the mysteries of Primeval Sorcery, not babysitting him. Using their master-student bond to keep her as his personal NPC was selfish—pathetic, even. That's why he'd rushed to hunt the dragon. While Sellen still stood by his side, he needed to seize every opportunity to uncover the secrets of power. What could the dragon race offer him? He focused, feeling a surge of energy travel from the blade into his body.
His extensive experience in killing told him this energy was different—not human, not like the Ulcerated Tree Spirit. Different species, different powers. The realization clicked into place.
Boldly hypothesize, cautiously verify. Another kill, another lesson learned. Humans and animals granted basic physical attributes: strength, speed, endurance, intelligence. The potency depended on the target's strength and whether they carried Grace.
Take the giant crabs of Liurnia. Massive, intimidating—yet their essence offered him little. The Ulcerated Tree Spirit belonged to the Erdtree lineage. Soulless, its energy centered on faith, like the epiphany experienced by priests after prayer. "And this Flying Dragon…" Throne closed his eyes, sensing the power condensing in his chest. His eyes snapped open in shock. A Dragon Heart?
The heartbeat was deafening, primal. Even in its infancy, he could feel its potency. Astonishment, ecstasy, confusion—they flickered in his eyes like a storm. "In The Lands Between, harnessing a dragon's power requires a Dragon Communion ritual. It grants dragon-like transformations, but overuse turns you into a Magma Wyrm." So what was this? Some innate Dragon Communion?
No. This was different. He was stealing Agheel's essence, forcing it into his own body. Yet his physique hadn't fundamentally improved. No dragon's head sprouted from his shoulders; no fire erupted from his lungs. So what was the point? Throne didn't know if this was better or worse. He gripped his blade, raising it overhead with one hand. Holding his breath, he focused as the energy coiled around his heart.
Thump. Thump. Thump. The heartbeat pounded like war drums.
Under the influence of that energy, blood surged to his limbs like water through a pump. His bones groaned. A few seconds later, his body hit its limit. He released the energy in a single strike. Boom! No skill, no magic—pure force. The wind pressure carved a three-meter-long gash across the lake's surface. Water rushed to fill the void, but the momentary power lingered in his mind. Huff, huff…
Throne stood knee-deep in the lake, his blade plunged into the water as he gasped for air. His face burned crimson, his head buzzed, and his temples pulsed like a drumbeat. A dragon's heart in a human body—his mortal frame couldn't handle the strain. He'd nearly burst his veins.
He wiped his nose. Blood smeared his hand. It felt like overinflating a balloon, pumping it until the walls strained and threatened to tear. One more push, and he'd have exploded from the inside.
Throne stared at the crimson streak on his hand. The thought of hunting more Flying Dragons evaporated. His body wasn't built for this. If the Dragon Heart grew any stronger, it would kill him. Imagine the absurdity—an enemy staring him down, bracing for some devastating attack, only for Throne to burst apart before he even moved. No. He refused to die like a fool. This was a whole new path, uncharted and unpredictable.
Would the Dragon Heart grow stronger? Would he sprout scales, grow bones? Would he wield the legendary red lightning, or worse, mutate into some Magma Wyrm abomination? The power was there, waiting to be claimed, but Throne clung to one certainty—
The Dragon Heritage's corruption branched into three paths.
"Apprentice, are you all right?" Sellen's voice cut through his thoughts. She hurried over, her brow furrowed. Meditation was one thing, but nosebleeds mid-thought? That was new.
"Fine. Just… experimenting." Throne yanked his sword from the lake. His flushed face cooled as he glanced at the water's surface. His reflection stared back—azure eyes flickering gold, pupils slitting like a dragon's. He froze, his chest tightening. The golden hue faded, the pupils rounded, and his eyes returned to normal. Instant dragonization? His body hadn't changed. Relief washed over him, and he exhaled sharply.
The idea of turning into a grotesque Magma Wyrm unsettled him. How would he explain that to Sellen?
"Experiments should stay within your limits. I've seen too many fools ruin themselves." Sellen's tone shifted into her usual lecturing cadence. She was curious about the power behind his earlier strike, but martial arts weren't her domain. Throne's talents, his secrets—they didn't matter. He was still her student. Their bond was unspoken, a quiet understanding.
She didn't ask. He didn't tell. It wasn't about trust—explaining was too much trouble. The Lands Between teemed with anomalies, remnants of an age when Outer Gods clashed for dominance. The Erdtree had risen late, a weak force that slowly crushed its rivals, banishing and sealing until it stood alone. In its prime, silence reigned. Now, with the Elden Ring shattered and the Golden Order tearing itself apart, monsters crawled from the shadows. Ancient powers stirred, but Throne had no part in their schemes.
What if he ended up taking the blame for someone else? "Besides, this is my business. It has nothing to do with you, teacher."
Throne lowered his eyes. He himself was the greatest uncertainty, and uncertainty meant risk. Both emotionally and rationally, he should not let Sellen touch it. "Alright, Agheel is dead. Let's go quickly, in case we are discovered by some knight and have to silence them." He sheathed his blade and turned around to look. Sellen was standing still, suddenly taking out a dagger. "Teacher?" "You wasteful apprentice, do you know how precious a Flying Dragon is?
I have long wanted to kill that Glintstone Dragon and use it as experimental material." Sellen lectured him twice, then went up with the knife to gouge out the dragon's eyes. Then, covered in blood, she urged:
"What are you standing there for? Why don't you come and help?" Throne opened his mouth. It was not just exhaustion; he saw Sellen, who was busy on the massive corpse, her dress brought from Stormveil covered in bloodstains and mud. Well, this clumsy teacher was going to have no clothes to wear again soon!
The full moon sank, and the light of the Erdtree gradually grew stronger, signaling that the day was about to arrive. Agheel Lake had turned into a slaughterhouse. The corpse of the Flying Dragon Agheel had been dismantled. One had to know that the dragon race—from bones and muscles to internal organs—were all materials. It was just a pity that the space in the spirit-calling ring was too small to stuff the whole thing inside. They could only select the most precious items to take away. For example, the Flying Dragon's eyes, the hardest dragon bones, and the fire-breathing organs.
Ripples stirred, and a ferocious dragon head was placed on the lakeside. A sharp spear was embedded in the center of its forehead, looking like some passing knight had acted heroically. "Thank you." Throne grinned at the blood-soaked dragon head, but could not smile due to exhaustion. It was Sellen's proposal, but all the physical labor was done by him. That little dagger was useless, not to mention that she was drenched in sweat after working for a while and had run to the side to read and slack off. He had done all the work on such a huge dragon corpse.
This teacher sometimes really raised one's blood pressure... Throne had no heart to complain. He took one last look at the Flying Dragon's head and then dragged his weary footsteps back to the carriage. He had to run. With such a big commotion, unless the surrounding nobles were all deaf and blind, the people checking on it must be on their way now. When he returned to the carriage, Sellen had already changed into that gorgeous red dress and was sitting in front, holding the reins. It looked very uncoordinated. "You are?" "Apprentice, you must be tired.
I have prepared food for you, and let me do the driving." Sellen chuckled, appearing very reliable. She was still a person, knowing how to care for him. A night of dragon slaying, crawling through mud and water—Throne's physical strength had reached its limit. But touched as he was, he still did not dare let Sellen do things. "Let me do it." Throne climbed into the driver's seat and grabbed the reins from Sellen. "You do not trust me?" "Of course I trust you." Throne smiled, perhaps because the aftereffects of the hypertension from the heart dragonization last night had not faded yet.
He asked back in a very fast tone:
"But can you read the map? Do you know how to get to Summonwater Village? And last time I let you drive, you drove it straight into a ditch, and it took me a lot of effort to fix the wheel." Sellen gritted her teeth. She did not have any issue with losing face; she just felt that Throne did not appreciate her kindness, so she threw the reins. "Fine, fine, fine. Do it yourself." The sound of horse hooves rose, and the bleak autumn wind blew in his face. Accompanied by the dawn, the carriage stepped on the stone road and headed northeast.
Knights thundered past on horseback, their armored forms blurring in the morning haze. They barely glanced at the pair—Sellen's noble grace and Throne's unassuming presence didn't warrant a second look. To them, the two were insignificant, not even worth the effort it would take to stop. Throne kept the carriage rolling, his eyelids heavy but his mind sharp. Last night's gains lingered, a quiet triumph. News would reach Malenia soon, and with it, the chance to twist the nobility's arm. Limgrave's troops wouldn't march recklessly—not if he had anything to say about it.
Throne's thoughts spiraled deeper. The dragon's power had been overwhelming, raw and untamed. He needed to study it, to harness that explosive force without breaking himself in the process. Dragons weren't just beasts—they were conduits of something primal, ancient. He couldn't afford to waste this opportunity.
His list of concerns grew by the minute. Storm Art, Dragon Heart, the power of death, and magic—each demanded his focus. It was overwhelming, but in the best way. Like a seedling pushing through the earth, the sensation of growth fueled him. Potential clung to every thought, every possibility. He glanced to his left, breaking his reverie.
Sellen's slender frame leaned against the carriage bench, her head propped on her hand. Her expression was distant, lost in her own labyrinth of thoughts. "Teacher," Throne ventured, his voice cautious. "Are you angry?"
"Angry?" She didn't look at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm sorry. I might've been too harsh earlier."
"Tch." She waved him off, though her brow remained furrowed. "I don't have the energy to be angry over something so trivial. Magic research has hit a wall, and it's driving me mad." Like Throne, Sellen carried her own weight of unfinished projects, each one a knot waiting to be untangled.
Sellen's slender body was sitting beside him, supporting her head, her gaze fixed on some unseen horizon. The carriage rattled onward, carrying them both toward their tangled futures.