"Honestly, does everyone in this group have a death wish?"
I stood on the windswept plateau, looking at Mola's cooling corpse. At least she was dead now. I didn't have to waste energy inventing a reason to kill her. I always knew I'd be the only one walking off this mountain alive.
I turned my gaze toward Zota, the "Hero" of our little group, who now stood surrounded by the cold, silent silhouettes of the Mountain Master Assassins.
"Try it, you bloated prick," I spat, my voice echoing against the jagged ice. "Better men than you have tried to put me in the ground. They're all rotting now."
To my surprise, Zota didn't lunged. He just grinned, a slow, oily expression that made my skin crawl. "I'm not going to kill you, Celosia. Or should I say... the Human Demon who nearly humbled a Hero? I know exactly who you are."
He took a step forward, his eyes gleaming with greed. "I want you to fight with us. Help us take down the Dragon. Do that, and you can keep the gold. All 500 coins. I don't care about the money. I only want the Dragon's body."
I narrowed my eyes. My survival instinct was screaming, but I needed that money for the ship to Asura. "Fine," I rasped. "But on one condition: I explore the summit area first. We fight the beast on my signal."
Zota nodded, confident in his own power. I left them and wandered toward the northern edge of the peak. That's when I saw it—a small, iridescent lizard, its scales shimmering with the same turquoise hue as the Frost Dragon. It watched me with intelligent eyes before scuttling into a hidden fissure in the rock.
Driven by a curiosity I couldn't explain, I followed.
Inside was a cathedral of bones. The cave was overflowing with massive ribs and talons—the remains of dozens of dragons. And there, etched into the frozen stone beneath the skeletal remains, was the mark of the Snow Mountain Masters.
The realization hit me like an avalanche. These "Masters" weren't just warriors; they were parasites. Their legendary ice magic didn't come from training; it came from the systematic slaughter of dragons. To become a Master, you had to kill a god of the sky and feast on its essence.
Should I kill the Dragon or the Assassins? I mused. If I killed the Dragon, I got the gold. If I killed the Assassins, I started a war with one of the most dangerous sects in Nordara.
The lizard vanished into the shadows of the cave. I made my choice.
I returned to the plateau. The air was heavy with the scent of sulfur. The Dragon was sleeping, its massive head resting on a bed of permafrost. Zota gave the signal, and the Assassins fanned out with practiced, lethal precision.
The ambush was brutal. They struck while the beast was dreaming, their ice-enchanted blades tearing into its majestic wings. The Dragon roared, a sound of pure agony that shook the very foundation of the mountain.
As it lunged to its feet, my decision was solidified: Today, everyone dies but me.
I activated my Shadow Magic, melting into the blizzard. I moved like a ghost, weaving through the chaos until I reached the Dragon's head. With a surge of strength, I reached out and gripped the hilt of the Sword of Qelo, still embedded in its eye. I pulled.
The black steel came free with a spray of turquoise blood.
"Celosia! Cut its legs!" Zota screamed, his face contorted with effort as he channeled a massive frost spell.
I ignored him. Instead, I turned the blade on the nearest Assassin. Before Zota could even finish his command, eight of his men were headless, their blood turning the snow into a crimson slush.
The Dragon looked at me. For a moment, our eyes met—mine violet and cold, its turquoise and filled with an ancient, weary wisdom. It didn't attack me. It understood. Together, we turned the summit into a slaughterhouse.
For an hour, the mountain screamed. One by one, the Assassins fell. But Zota was a monster in his own right. He used the distraction to deliver a fatal blow to the already wounded Dragon, beginning a forced absorption of its remaining life force.
"Finally!" Zota roared, his aura exploding with newfound draconic power. "The last one! The power is mine!"
The Assassins were dead. It was down to us. One on one.
We clashed in a storm of steel and magic. Our swords met with enough force to shatter the surrounding ice. Zota was fast, his new ice magic bolstered by the Dragon's soul, but I was fueled by something deeper: pure, unadulterated spite.
As he prepared his final, ultimate Ice Art, the Sword of Qelo began to glow in my hand. I felt a sudden, violent surge of energy. The Dragon's essence wasn't just being taken by Zota; it was choosing me. My Kyrokinesis evolved in a heartbeat, reaching levels the Mountain Masters could only dream of.
And then, I saw them. The Dragon's memories.
I saw centuries of peace. I saw the Mountain Masters stealing hatchlings. I saw them torturing his kin for power. I saw the Dragon's loneliness, being the last of its kind on this peak, hunted by the very people who claimed to be "Masters" of the mountain.
A cold, black rage filled my soul.
"You're nothing but a scavenger, Zota," I hissed.
I channeled everything—my Shadow Magic, my evolved Kyrokinesis, and the Dragon's dying fury. I unleashed a Shadow-Frost Dragon Breath. A pillar of black and turquoise fire erupted from my blade, consuming Zota where he stood. He didn't even have time to scream before he was erased from existence.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I walked to the Dragon's nest at the very back of the summit. There, hidden beneath a pile of protective scales, was a single, tiny Ice Dragon hatchling. It looked at me, chirping softly. Through the memories I had just witnessed, I felt a bond click into place. It was as if the parent had entrusted me with its soul. I was fourteen years old, a fugitive and a demon, and now, I was a father to a god.
I didn't stay to celebrate. I returned to Daqi, walked into the guild, and threw Zota's severed head on the counter. I took my 500 gold coins and left before they could ask questions.
But I wasn't done with the Snow Mountain Masters.
Before heading to the coast, I made a detour to their hidden sanctuary. I didn't use stealth. I used the Shadow-Frost. I slaughtered every single member of the sect. I left their heads impaled on the icy spires of their own temple—a warning to anyone who thought they could feast on the divine.
Finally, I reached the port city of Ferolia. The salt air felt like freedom. I walked up to the grandest galleon in the harbor—a ship bound for the Asura Empire. I threw a heavy purse of gold onto the captain's table.
"One ticket," I said, my voice cold and certain. "To Asura."
I stood on the deck as the ship pulled away from the docks of Nordara. The hatchling was tucked safely inside my shadow, its presence a warm spark in my cold heart. Nordara had tried to hang me, enslave me, and break me.
Now, I was coming for the rest of the world.
Until next time.