Artorius walked up to the central courtyard of the tower, where his followers had gathered in a loose formation. Standing before them, he took a moment to survey his forces. A pitiful number, all things considered, and many of them still weak. Only a handful were even near level 5, and the vast majority of them were classless and archetypesless. However, they were his, and he had to make do with.
Deep down there was a sense of excitement in his chest. He could chart his own course, be his own man, and do what he desired. Best of all he had his men… or more like his dragons behind him!
"We have thirty-six of them remaining," Ouroboros said aloud, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Including myself and you."
Artorius said nothing for a long moment, studying the creatures before him. Their eyes watched him some with reverence, some with apprehension, others with nothing but exhaustion.
He looked them over: a diverse mix of draconic creatures, each with its own unique appearance and mutations. Most of them were common draconic types; fire dragons, storm drakes, and venomous wyverns — dragons of lesser rank, feral, scavenger types, some wounded, some raw. But there were three who stood out, whose presence Artorius could feel more acutely.
There was his first follower, the wyvern with the mismatched scales, whose eyes seemed to have life now. Despite its unusual appearance, it was loyal and fierce. Artorius knew this one had the potential for something greater, but for now, it was a wildcard.
Second was the Azure Serpentine Dragon, a majestic creature with shimmering blue scales that reflected the light of the world around it. Its long, sinuous body was both elegant and deadly, and it carried an intelligence in its eyes filled with mischief.
The third was a creature that Artorius had come to know well, the Bull-Headed Snake Dragon. A towering beast with the muscular build of a bull, but the long, serpentine body of a dragon. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a force of nature waiting to be unleashed.
"Each of you will be given a role as War Sergeants," Artorius began. "You will be split into squads. Each squad will have a leader. I am assigning you to these leaders based on your abilities and potential."
He turned to the Bull-Headed Snake Body Dragon first. "You shall lead one of the squads. You are a natural leader, and your strength will guide your squad to victory." He presented the Lancer Class Token to the dragon, watching as its eyes gleamed with recognition. The Bull-headed dragon bowed its head in thanks.
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Next, he turned to the Azure Serpentine Dragon. "You, with your cunning and arcane knowledge, will lead another squad. I bestow upon you the Magician Class Token." The dragon hissed in pleasure, its serpentine form coiling with energy.
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Finally, he turned to the Wyvern. "Your time will come soon. You'll get your token, but not yet. For now, you shall lead a squad until we acquire the resources necessary to grant you your Class."
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He nodded, and the three dragons stepped forward, acknowledging their roles. The rest of the forces were divided into squads of ten, with each squad under the direct command of one of the three new squad leaders. There were whispers of excitement among the troops, and Artorius could sense their energy building.
Artorius stepped back, surveying the gathered survivors. "Three squads," he said. "Ten in each. You lead them. Train them, strengthen them. From this day forward…"
His voice carried through the chamber like fire rolling over oil. "You are not prey. You are Draconis Reborn. My flame will be your law."
A ripple went through them first disbelief, then hope. The lesser drakes straightened. The wyvernlings lifted their heads. Even the kobolds' eyes gleamed faintly.
But, as Ouroboros looked over their forces, it was clear that there was little to be proud of. "Pathetic," Ouroboros muttered, his eyes scanning the assembled dragons. "This army is a joke. Anyone could come in and tear them apart. Even you, Artorius."
Artorius looked at his sort of mentor, Ouroboros. The words stung, but he knew they were true. Artorius had no delusions of grandeur this motley crew of broken creatures could barely do much.
He flexed his hand slowly, feeling the quiet thrum of his power. Ouroboros had the right of it, he could break them himself. A single Heroic Blow, charged with the Word of Flame… he could turn them all to vapor.
"Do you think so little of them?" Artorius still asked, though he already knew the answer. "They can't be all bad, they held their ground against the elites of the silver dragons."
"This is a joke of an army, and you know it," Ouroboros replied bluntly. "But you'll be able to make it something more. You'll need more than just leadership, Artorius. You'll need power."
Artorius nodded grimly. "True, but how? So far I noticed a lot of issues but the main thing is this class tokens. I wasn't even able to give enough to my sergeants."
"That is true, the reason is because not only are they very rare and sought after, but they are also shortcuts. You skip the grind of understanding what you are, and the System just shoves it into your soul."
Artorius frowned. "So it's forced enlightenment?"
"Of a sort. Imagine stuffing a library into someone's skull and calling them a scholar. They'll know how to read, sure but they'll never understand the stories."
He turned to his small army that was getting into the swing of training, his sergeants were putting them through the ringer already. He found most draconic creatures to be like draconic creatures. "Then how do most people earn a class?" he turned back to Ouroboros.
The snake stretched, tail curling idly through the air. "There are two ways, the old-fashioned way. Training. You find a master who already holds the class, you learn under them, and once you reach the System's threshold of understanding, it unlocks naturally. It's the steady path, strength built from repetition, discipline, blood, and time."
Artorius nodded his head. "And the other way?"
"The idiot's route." Ouroboros bared a toothy grin. "Do it yourself. You want to be a swordsman? Swing a sword until the world believes you are one. The System follows conviction more than technique. If you fight, you're a fighter. If you protect, you're a guardian. If you burn, you're a pyromancer. The cosmos rewards consistency."
He looked up toward the wyvern, who was overseeing the others as they sorted salvaged weapons. Her mismatched scales shimmered dully under the forge-light. He exhaled slowly. "Ouroboros," he said at last, "what do we do about them? None of them have classes. They can fight, sure, but not well. Can they… learn? I mean, the second way you mentioned, the intuitive path."
The old dragon's tail flicked lazily, golden eyes glinting in the firelight. "Hmm. It's possible. The System doesn't care what you are only that you become something. If they act like warriors long enough, believe it deeply enough, the System will recognize it."
"Then we'll have to earn it the hard way," Artorius spoke. He looked across the chamber at his three newly promoted commanders; Velkra, Tzharun, and Sereneth. The wyvern was overseeing weapon repairs; the bull-headed dragon drilled spear thrusts into dummies of melted crystal; and Sereneth traced glowing runes in the air, teaching younger wyrms to follow the flow of mana.
"They can't all be magicians or lancers," Artorius muttered. "We'll need structure. Cohesion."
Ouroboros yawned, stretching his coils lazily. "Then start simple. The System loves rudimentary basics. They're the bones everything else grows from. You want something quick, stable, and strong? Stick to the basics."
Artorius raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
"Three that have stood the test of every world and age," Ouroboros said. "Spearmen, swordsmen, and archers. Those who thrust, those who cleave, those who strike from afar. They're simple paths, but foundational. Once the System binds them, you can build specializations later — priests, duelists, mages, hunter… whatever fits the bill."
Artorius nodded slowly, already dividing his forces in his mind. "Three squads. Three paths. One per commander."
Ouroboros's tail flicked approvingly. "Good. Let them live their class every waking hour; train, spar, hunt, bleed. Once their intent burns hot enough, the System will take notice. It's how civilizations used to do it before Tokens cheapened everything."
"Then it's decided," Artorius said, voice rising over the hum of forges. "From now on, each squad trains to master one path. Velkra's unit — spears. Tzharun's — swords. Sereneth's — archery. Every day, without fail."
The dragons looked up at him, uncertain but listening. "Eat, fight, and sleep by your weapon. Live by its rhythm until it's part of your soul," he commanded. "We'll earn our classes the hard way, the right way."
Ouroboros chuckled behind him, low and pleased. "Now you're speaking like a real warlord."
-
The lower terraces of the tower had once been a place of storage and transit, just another layer in the Silver Dragon's machine of cruelty. Artorius turned them into a killing ground.
The training ring was open to the Nest's simmering air, encircled by half-collapsed pillars of argent crystal. Molten veins ran through the floor and walls, glowing like buried lava, throwing wavering light over everything. The forge fires in the Atrium below rose through the cracked stone in gusts of heat. It smelled of ash, metal, and old blood.
Perfect place to teach monsters how to be soldiers. Days blurred together. Sleep, eat, train, bleed, repeat. It reminded him of when his father made him train with his family's personal armed forces under the purview of Ser Ector.
Tzharun's squad took the inner circle. Ten draconic shapes of wyverns, drakes, scaled brutes and others moved in halting unison, spears breaking the air in stabbing patterns. Their weapons were ugly things but solid: hafts forged from the Silver Dragon's bones, tips made from sharpened shards of crystals. When they struck the practice dummies, constructs cobbled from broken constructs and melted glass sparks jumped in bright bursts.
"Thrust! Recover! Guard!" Tzharun barked in a gruff tone, tail smacking in rhythm. "Again!" They lunged as one, formation ragged but improving, spearheads hammering the same points over and over until cracks spiderwebbed through the dummies' chests.
On the outer ring, Velkra's sword squad clashed with jagged crystal blades. The wyvern was amongst their midst mismatched scales slick with sweat and blood. "Feet wider," he snarled at a trembling half-drake. "You're not dancing, you're killing. If I can knock you over, so can everything else."
He demonstrated, crystal sword sweeping through a precise arc, stopping a hair's breadth from the soldier's throat. Then he nodded, and the drills resumed, parry, step, cut, repeat the sound of crystal on crystal ringing out like a broken choir.
On the far side of the terrace, Sereneth and her archers occupied a raised platform overlooking the ring. Arcane circles glowed faintly beneath their feet. Each held a bow made from fused crystal and bone, their strings spun from silver dragon sinew. The arrowheads were polished teeth from the Noble Silver's jaw.
"Breathe in with the draw," Sereneth said calmly, her serpentine body coiled in a loose loop. "Let the mana ride the breath. Exhale with the shot."
Translucent fins along her head glowed as she raised her own bow. Ten lesser dragons mimicked her, hands shaking with effort. She conjured a point of light with a flick of her fingers, a hovering orb of condensed mana and sent it drifting in front of them. "Target."
The terrace flashed with motion. Arrows sang through the air, leaving trails of faint blue and white as they flew. Some went wide. Some skittered off the floor. But more and more began to hit, the mana orb jerking as it absorbed the impact.
"Good," Sereneth murmured. "Again."
Roars, grunts, the grind of claws on stone, the hiss of arrows, the ring of blades; the tower, once a sterile laboratory of horror, now sounded like a barracks. The rhythm of it all sank into the walls. From a broken balcony above, Artorius watched them move.
They were clumsy. Incomplete. Scales didn't match, limbs were missing, wings failed to spread properly. Some still flinched at sudden noises like beaten dogs. But there was something else there now, too. Pattern. Purpose.
"They are working hard," Ouroboros remarked, he was coiled beside him on a jut of stone, head resting on his forelegs like a lounging cat. His golden eyes tracked every movement.
"They were slaves," he said quietly. "Scavengers. Failed experiments. But even broken glass can cut."
"True enough," the little dragon rumbled. "And if you grind glass long enough, you get dust. Dust gets into everything. Eyes. Wounds. Lungs. Weak things kill too, given time."
Artorius watched as Sereneth conjured three mana orbs now instead of one, her squad trying to track and hit all of them. Velkra had his swordsmen practicing in pairs, forcing them to coordinate. Tzharun spearmen thrust in sync. It was working. Slowly. Roughly. But working.
Still, a tight knot twisted in his chest. He blinked and pulled up the faint System overlay, checking the pale-blue tags over each soldier one by one. Level 3. Level 4. Level 2. Level 3. No classes. No level ups. Worse of all not a single one had cracked Level 5.
He let the display fade and exhaled through his teeth. "They're not growing fast enough," he said. "No classes unlocked. Levels barely nudged. At this rate, the Nest will eat them before they matter."
"It takes time," Ouroboros replied, unbothered. "Class thresholds, level ups…the System isn't a charity. You don't get stronger just because you're trying hard. You get stronger because you survive things that should've killed you."
Artorius's jaw tightened. "We don't have time. Not with whatever else is out there sniffing around this place." Already he noticed when he had been using the telescope in the observatory that other forces were scouting out this place.
He did not know how they got word that the silver dragon had fallen, but the word seemed to be out and soon who knew who would come knocking. They needed to be prepared and at the rate they were going they would be in deep trouble.
"Perhaps it's time for something else," Ouroboros stated.
"What did you have in mind?"
Ouroboros's grin turned sharp, a glint of fang in the forge-glow. "You need to stop treating this place like a training yard and start treating it like what it is, boy."
"And what's that?"
The little dragon uncoiled, stretching his body like a cat waking from a nap, eyes bright with something dangerous. "A Nest." He nodded toward the horizon, where the broken glass dunes of the Crystal Expanse glimmered beyond the tower's ruined walls. "And in a Nest, if you want to grow fast, there's only one real answer."
Artorius looked out over his panting, bleeding, determined legion. "What answer?"
Ouroboros smiled wider. "Power leveling," he said. There, beyond the tower's ruined gates, the world shimmered in waves of silver and blue. "Most of your people are below Level 5. Weak. Barely sapient by higher-realm standards."
"So to fix that we need to take advantage of the Crystal Expanse?"
"Excatly, this is the perfect hunting ground. And you already know the old adage… Explore. Expand. Exploit. Exterminate." Ouroboros's laughter rippled through the chamber, low and musical. "A philosophy as old as conquest and the foundation of every empire that ever mattered."
He coiled atop the glowing display, his serpentine form reflected in its light. "There's prey enough out there to feed your rise. Crystal beasts. Glass wraiths. Mana parasites. Kill them. Devour their life essence. Take their exp for your own. The System respects only blood and survival."
Artorius's expression hardened, though a flicker of grim amusement tugged at his mouth. "The tried and true method," he murmured. "Killing, and more killing."
"Exactly," Ouroboros purred. "Nothing feeds growth like the death of your enemies. The Expanse will test you but it will also feed you. Also in the heart of it awaits the dungeon which will grant you great boons and a trail to sharpen yourself against."
The chamber fell silent. Below, his troops were still training; sweating, straining, bleeding. He drew a slow breath, then spoke, his voice carrying through the hall. "Then we begin our true journey. We will venture into the Crystal Expanse!"
-
A/N: I simplified the money system of the dragons by a lot, it is a lot more convoluted with each dragon scale in each group equalling to a different amount.
And it's time to grind some levels!
The Draconic Vector Engine is based on dragon ball z training room(gravity room)