The Crimson Royal Castle remained silent beneath the dark volcanic skies of the Dragon Realm.
Silver flames danced quietly within ancient braziers carved from obsidian stone while distant rivers of molten lava illuminated the mountains far beyond the colossal windows of the master chamber. Heavy crimson curtains moved gently beneath the heat-filled winds entering from outside, carrying with them the faint scent of ash and burning minerals.
The atmosphere inside the chamber felt calm.
Ancient.
Heavy with authority.
Kel rested quietly upon the massive black bed situated near the center of the royal chamber. The bed itself had been forged from ancient draconic wood darker than midnight and decorated with silver dragon carvings along its edges. Crimson sheets woven from sacred silk flowed loosely around him while faint golden runes engraved into the chamber walls glowed dimly beneath the darkness.
The Dragon Emperor robes had been removed for tonight.
Instead, Kel wore only a loose black inner robe tied carelessly around his waist while the upper portion remained partially open beneath the soft silver flames. His black hair rested messily against the pillow while one arm lay behind his head calmly.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
And because of that—
His thoughts slowly drifted backward.
Toward the beginning.
Toward the Sacred Wildness Selection.
Kel's dark eyes quietly reflected the ceiling above him.
"…Velor really survived hell."
A faint smile appeared afterward.
Because no one truly understood how impossible Velor's victory had been.
Not even Velor himself.
The Sacred Wildness.
The graveyard of dragon heirs.
The sacred battlefield where only one among thirteen contenders could eventually ascend toward the throne.
The memory surfaced slowly afterward.
—
The skies of the Dragon Realm had burned crimson that day.
Massive ancient gates towered before the gathered dragon clans while countless nobles observed silently from elevated platforms carved into black mountainsides. Ancient dragon banners moved violently beneath volcanic winds while silver fire pillars illuminated the ceremonial grounds.
The atmosphere had been suffocating.
Thirteen contenders stood before the gates.
Each one carried overwhelming pressure.
Pride.
Ambition.
Hatred.
And among them—
Velor stood silently near the far end.
At the time, he looked insignificant compared to the others.
His crimson armor had been worn and damaged from years of neglect. Deep scars covered portions of the black draconic plating while the royal crest engraved upon his chest remained faded and partially broken.
No attendants stood beside him.
No noble supporters.
No cheering factions.
Only silence.
Most dragons watching merely sneered.
"The abandoned prince actually came."
"He'll die within the first month."
"Pathetic."
"The Crimson Bloodline truly fell low."
The mockery had been endless.
Yet Velor ignored everything.
His crimson eyes remained cold beneath the volcanic skies.
Because unlike the others—
He already understood something important.
The Sacred Wildness was not a tournament.
It was survival.
And survival favored patience.
Not arrogance.
Far away above the ceremonial grounds—
Kel and Vistara observed silently through ancient observation magic.
A massive floating mirror formed from condensed mana hovered within a hidden chamber of the Crimson Palace while silver runes rotated endlessly around its edges.
Inside the mirror—
The thirteen contenders could be seen clearly.
Vistara sat quietly beside Kel while wearing a long crimson royal dress woven with silver draconic embroidery. Her silver hair flowed elegantly across her shoulders while golden dragon ornaments rested near her ears softly.
Her crimson eyes remained fixed on Velor.
"…They're already targeting him."
Kel calmly rested his chin against one hand.
"Expected."
Because Velor had entered the competition weak politically.
And weak contenders became prey immediately.
The gates opened soon afterward.
BOOOOOOM.
Ancient dragon horns echoed throughout the mountains while the colossal black gates slowly separated apart.
Beyond them—
The Sacred Wildness appeared.
A vast ancient land covered beneath endless crimson forests, colossal black mountains, rivers of glowing lava, poisonous swamps, ancient ruins, and monstrous creatures capable of slaughtering armies.
The air itself felt dangerous.
Even through the observation mirror, the pressure could be felt.
The contenders entered one after another.
And the Selection began.
—
The first day remained strangely peaceful.
Because every contender understood one rule:
Anyone reckless enough to fight immediately would simply die first.
The Sacred Wildness punished stupidity mercilessly.
So instead—
All thirteen contenders began establishing temporary camps.
Some chose mountain regions.
Others moved toward rivers or forests.
Several immediately formed temporary alliances.
Velor did none of those things.
The moment he entered the Wildness—
He disappeared.
Vistara blinked softly.
"…He vanished?"
Kel nodded quietly.
"He's avoiding early observation."
Unlike the others who immediately displayed dominance—
Velor concealed himself completely.
For three entire days—
He simply observed.
He climbed elevated terrain.
Studied monster movements.
Mapped rivers.
Tracked migration patterns.
Identified dangerous territories.
Recorded potential escape routes.
Watched other contenders from a distance.
He barely fought anything.
And because of that—
The nobles observing the Selection mocked him endlessly.
"He's scared."
"A coward."
"He's hiding already."
Vistara quietly frowned hearing the distant voices from other observation chambers.
But Kel merely smiled faintly.
Because Velor was doing exactly what he taught him.
Observe first.
Survive first.
Fight later.
The Sacred Wildness was designed to destroy prideful heirs.
And unfortunately—
Most dragon nobles were extremely prideful.
The first deaths happened during the fifth day.
One contender challenged a volcanic drake far beyond his level simply to display strength publicly.
The drake tore him apart before sunset.
Another contender attempted raiding another camp recklessly.
He walked directly into layered traps hidden within the forest.
Only half his body was recovered afterward.
The Sacred Wildness devoured arrogance happily.
Meanwhile—
Velor quietly gathered resources.
Food.
Medicinal herbs.
Water sources.
Monster corpses.
Useful minerals.
Tools.
Everything carefully organized.
His temporary camp remained hidden inside a collapsed canyon covered by volcanic vines and natural rock formations difficult to detect from above.
Even Kel looked impressed watching him.
"…Good."
Vistara glanced toward him curiously.
"You already taught him all this before?"
Kel nodded slightly.
"A king who cannot survive alone doesn't deserve followers."
Inside the observation mirror—
Velor carefully sharpened a black draconic blade beneath dim firelight while pieces of parchment filled with notes rested nearby.
Monster patterns.
Contender routes.
Predicted conflict zones.
Supply movements.
Escape paths.
He was studying the Selection like a battlefield commander.
Not a warrior.
And that difference slowly began changing everything.
Week One passed quietly.
Velor fought only when necessary.
If monsters could be avoided—
He avoided them.
If conflict offered no benefit—
He ignored it.
If enemies exposed weaknesses—
He memorized them.
Several contenders attempted provoking him intentionally.
One poisoned a nearby water source.
Velor discovered it immediately.
Another group tried surrounding his camp during the night.
Velor had already relocated hours earlier.
One contender deliberately led monsters toward his location.
Velor redirected the creatures toward another rival camp instead.
Every move remained calm.
Calculated.
Cold.
Not once did he lose control emotionally.
And slowly—
The observation chambers grew quieter.
Because dragons finally realized something terrifying.
Velor was adapting.
Very quickly.
By the second week—
The Sacred Wildness itself began changing.
The deeper regions awakened.
Ancient creatures emerged from hidden nests while violent mana storms started sweeping across territories unpredictably.
Supply shortages began affecting several contenders.
Temporary alliances started collapsing.
Paranoia spread rapidly.
One contender murdered his own ally for resources.
Another lost an arm escaping territorial beasts.
Meanwhile—
Velor's hidden canyon camp continued expanding steadily.
Stored food.
Water purification systems.
Defensive traps.
Hidden weapon reserves.
Emergency escape tunnels.
Even Vistara stared quietly at the mirror afterward.
"…This doesn't look like a contender's camp."
Kel exhaled softly.
"It looks like survival."
The silver-haired dragon woman slowly looked toward him afterward.
And for a moment—
She finally understood why Velor trusted Kel so deeply.
Because Kel never taught blind heroism.
He taught reality.
Inside the Wildness—
Reality mattered more than pride.
Near the end of the second week—
Velor finally attacked for the first time.
And the moment shocked everyone observing.
One contender named Razeel had spent days sabotaging weaker participants from the shadows. Poisoning camps. Destroying supplies. Manipulating monster routes.
He believed himself untouchable.
Until Velor found him.
The battle itself lasted less than four minutes.
Because Velor didn't fight honorably.
He prepared first.
He studied Razeel's routes.
Tracked his exhaustion patterns.
Mapped his escape tendencies.
Then waited until Razeel finished fighting another monster and attacked during the exact moment his aura destabilized.
Fast.
Precise.
Efficient.
Velor shattered his leg first.
Then his throat.
No speeches.
No rage.
No unnecessary cruelty.
Only survival.
The observation chambers fell silent afterward.
Kel quietly watched the screen.
"…Good."
Vistara slowly narrowed her eyes.
"He killed without hesitation."
Kel's expression remained calm beneath the silver flames.
"Because hesitation gets people killed."
Far below—
Velor silently dragged Razeel's corpse away from the battlefield before stripping useful supplies calmly.
Weapons.
Food.
Maps.
Medicine.
Nothing wasted.
Even the observing dragons looked disturbed.
Because this no longer resembled a royal competition.
It resembled war.
And within war—
Velor was evolving rapidly.
By the third week—
The contenders had already reduced from thirteen…
to nine.
The Sacred Wildness continued consuming heirs mercilessly.
Yet Velor remained alive.
Uninjured.
Hidden.
Patient.
Watching.
Learning.
Growing stronger silently beneath the crimson skies.
And most terrifying of all—
He was beginning to enjoy it.
Back inside the present—
Kel quietly stared toward the dark ceiling of the royal chamber while volcanic winds moved softly through the curtains.
The memories faded slowly afterward.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
Because the truth was—
Velor had never survived the Selection through talent alone.
He survived because he learned something the others never did.
Kingship was not about pride.
It was about enduring longer than everyone else.
And eventually—
The one who survives long enough…
Becomes the ruler.