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It had been several days since Artorius had assigned some roles and reorganized his army. The once chaotic, fragmented group of mercenaries, prisoners, and raiders had now come together under his command, each band of fighters forging their place in his war machine. The training had been brutal. Every member of his army had been tested; physically, mentally, and in some cases, emotionally.
Now, as Artorius watched it all from the upper gallery in the Black Dragon keep surveying the disciplined formations below, he could see the results of that hard work. Below, the training grounds were a living grid.
Durnoth had transformed the infantry into a singular entity, their rocky armor rumbling in unison as they drilled. They were hardened warriors, who had formed into a heavy infantry force capable of withstanding any blow that came their way.
Gryssira was already having her unit honing their aerial maneuvers, archers shooting arrows with deadly precision as they practiced in the skies with their wings spread wide. Their work wasn't just about accuracy; it was about how quickly they could reposition and change tactics mid-flight.
Vareth had transformed what little scouts he added into his force as phantoms, their cloaks blending perfectly into the shadows as they practiced moving unseen through the dense trees of their mock terrain. They were testing their stealth, speed, and ability to strike without being noticed.
Artorius nodded his head as he scanned each group as they trained. He could feel the energy, the raw potential that simmered in the air. The Black Dragon Keep was buzzing with excitement and anticipation. But Artorius knew this was just the beginning. The real test was yet to come.
"Everything looks to be in order," Ouroboros remarked, his voice low and measured. "Our forces are ready, and morale is high."
Artorius permitted himself a nod. "We train until our bones remember the command before we speak it. Then we move."
"You are in deed a harsh task master," the little dragon chuckled.
"I won't have my men do something I myself wouldn't put myself through! But you are right, we've trained them well," Artorius stated, nodding in approval. "But now, the real test begins. We are about to march into hostile territory. We have three dragon lords to cross before we reach the lands of the White Lady."
He laid a hand on the great map that dominated the war room table; its surface was a landscape of pins and painted arcs. Fingers traced the route he had chosen, a curved line of teeth that would take them through three sovereignties before the White Lady's pale realm.
Of all the paths they could take this was the easiest, the path would take them through the territories of three powerful dragon lords. Each one controlled a biome that was as dangerous as the dragon themselves.
As the rest of them filled in, he looked at them each in turn. It was the black dread along with the elder blacksmith, Hewegar. His 3 captains and their seconds. "Alright let's begin. As you know we have 3 obstacles in our way towards the White Lady lands."
The black dread, his cloak a dark ripple in the lamplight, spoke without preamble. "First is Kelthar of the Misty Lakes," he said. His voice was gravel that had learned to command. "A water lindwurm noble. His domain is the wetlands: endless marshes, braided rivers, choked reed, and a fog that eats sight. The ground is treacherous; the water hides teeth."
Artorius nodded his head, "It was easy to get lost in the labyrinth of wetlands, and any traveler who ventured too far would quickly become trapped in the thick mud or drowned in the flooded waters."
Concluding for him was Ouroboros who was all but his second in command, "Kelthar's followers are shaped to the water: long-bodied, webbed, and lithe. They swim like knives and know every eddy and backwater. They strike from depth and vanish into mist. Ambush is their law making them deadly opponents in their own domain."
"Kelthar's forces will be difficult to engage on their turf," Durnoth said, his eyes narrowed. "The marshes will make it hard to keep our formations intact."
"We'll have to adapt," Artorius replied. "Vareth your scouts need to find us a path through this biome. Gryssira we will need to figure out a way for your archers to deal with these fogs so they can shoot. Durnoth, your infantry will need to fight in the muck, so we'll have to equip them accordingly."
"We'll need ways to anchor movement," Hewegar offered. He had been peering at the equipment manifests for days. "Cutting tools for the reedy choke, weights for the archers so they can shoot steady from landing platforms, and reinforced soles so infantry don't sink like stones. I can jury-rig rafts and graft spikes."
Gryssira also jumped in with some advice, "My archers could use some see-through crystal lens from the crystal expanse and powdered salts for fanning the air to reveal movement, and sky-smoke markers we can read from height.
Artorius considered the map, then looked to Vareth. "You will lead the advance. Find us channels, ambush points, and anything resembling firm ground."
"We'll find their weak points," Vareth said, "and we'll push forward."
With that they concluded their first target, but it would be a great undertaking. Artorius wished they could just come to him like the Black Dread did, that would be very kind of them instead of them having to trek through their lands and be on the look out for constant ambushes.
"Next we have Zalroth, an Acid feathered serpent, her territory is the Toxic jungle. The trees are enormous and endless, their trunks slick with poisonous resin. The skies can rain down corrosive acid, the ground is soft and treacherous, littered with acidic pools and sharp, twisted plants that could melt flesh on contact."
"All around not a great place and the people who make their home there are not the best of folks," Ouroboros remarked. "Zalroth's followers are mostly poisonous or venomous dragons built to withstand this harsh environment."
"We'll need to move quickly through this jungle," Artorius said. "The acid rain and poisonous plants will make it difficult to stay on course. Vareth, I need you to start making antibodies for us so we can make it through safely."
"Will get on it," the dragon bowed its head.
Artorius met Hewegar's eyes. "I will need protective suits from you!"
"Gryssira you and your archers will need to be grounded as we make our way though this jungle as the treetops are as dangerous as the ground and our infantry can't provide backup for you up there."
Gryssira's jaw tightened. "We will march the archers on the flanks."
"Finally we have the Thunder Ryu, Raijin of the Thunderstones," Ouroboros finished. "The skies are filled with endless thunderstorms, with jagged peaks of towering mountains. The land beneath was dry and cracked, the air thick with the scent of ozone and smoke."
"The man's followers are like him creatures of lightning and thunder built for this brutal environment. He is well known and feared for his ability to summon storms of thunder.
"We'll need to move fast," Gryssira said, her voice filled with determination. "The storms and terrain will make our aerial strike difficult."
Durnoth's knuckles whitened on the map rim. "We can't also hope to fight them on equal terms in the open. Their speed and their storms will shred our ranks. We need cunning."
"Yes, that is why for them we will be ambushing them in the valleys and ravines where the storms are less frequent. Gryssira you will be the bait, Vareth will find us the perfect ambush position and rig it with explosives that we will cave them in during the perfect opportunity and Durnoth will hold the choke-points."
"Talk about vicious, let me never be your opponent," Ouroboros whistled as he laid out his plan. Even the others looked startled with how brutal and effective his plan was.
"What needs to be done, will be done," he sighed. Just this journey alone through these territories would be harsh, forget about invading the White lady lands. For a moment he thought about setting aside his ambitions and just relaxing on his laurels.
He had two vast territories and if he took the time to heavily explore them and take out all the dangers there and find all the resources and treasures, he could slowly rack in levels that way. But he quickly shook aside those thoughts, there was one path forward which he set his mind to and there was no going back.
-
The Draconic Vector Engine screamed to life around him. The air rippled, runes flaring like stars along the chamber walls. Artorius stood within the central ring bare-chested. "Let's begin," Ouroboros voice echoed from above, distorted by static mana.
The goal was simple, he needed to get used to the elements that the 3 dragon lords commanded. He was the one going to face them and he needed to be prepared. He couldn't help as a grin spread across his face, he couldn't wait to see the shock on their faces when their elements did nothing to him.
"Trial One, Hydro-strain protocol. Simulate the Misty Lakes." The floor liquefied. In an instant, the chamber flooded dense, heavy water pressing down from all directions. The temperature dropped until his breath came out in clouds, and the light dimmed to a murky green. Artorius barely managed to draw air into his lungs before the water sealed overhead.
Pressure crushed against his ribs. The weight felt like the deepest ocean. His body screamed, but he forced movement, arms cutting through the drag, wings folding tight to reduce resistance. Bubbles trailed from his teeth as he fought to remain upright.
Minutes or hours passed before the pressure eased. The flood collapsed into light, draining away. Artorius dropped to one knee, gasping, his body steaming as the chamber reverted. "Not bad," Ouroboros purred. "Now, the jungle waits."
The world twisted again. This time, the temperature soared. The air became viscous and thick, filled with choking vapors. The ground turned soft beneath his boots, each step hissing as acid burned into the floor. The scent was overpowering metal, poison, decay.
Acid rain began to fall. It hissed against his skin, blistering flesh almost instantly. Artorius snarled as his body did its best to fight back and neutralize the corrosion. Still, it wasn't enough his blood boiled beneath the surface, pain searing through his veins. He dropped to one knee, breathing harshly, eyes blazing. "More!" he roared.
Ouroboros chuckled. "As you wish, you mad man!"
Toxic winds tore through the chamber. Spikes of venomous mist lashed across him, eating through skin. Artorius forced himself upright, his regeneration quickened; the pain became information, a message written in agony. His body began filtering toxins, breaking them apart, hardening his resistance. His veins glowed faint green as his adaptability awakened fully poison turned to fuel.
"Good," Ouroboros murmured. "Now let's see if you can handle the storm." The world exploded. Light and sound merged into chaos. Bolts of lightning tore through the air, striking his body with deafening violence. Each impact sent muscles locking and bones vibrating. Sparks danced across his body and along his wings.
Artorius gritted his teeth, forcing his stance wide. Lightning carved along his veins, his heart pounding in rhythm with the storm. Every strike made him stronger, faster. His body was alight as the air warping from sheer heat and force.
Ouroboros finally struck the failsafe. The machine powered down with a screaming whine, the elemental storm collapsing inward like a dying star. Silence fell. Artorius was still standing. Steam rolled off him in waves, his chest heaving, eyes burning with draconic fire. Cracks in his skin glowed faintly with molten light before sealing themselves.
Ouroboros floated closer, tail flicking. "You're a monster, you know that right? You little warmonger."
Artorius lifted his head, a faint, feral smile cutting across his face. "Let's get back to it tomorrow at the same time. I want their lakes to try to drown me, the jungles to try to poison me, and the storms to try to strike me. I'll survive them all and come out on top."
"Careful," Ouroboros said with amused pride. "You're starting to sound like a dragon."
Artorius laughed quietly, ragged, but real. "No," he said. "I'm starting to sound like their king." He turned from the fading light of the Crucible, steam and ozone curling from his wings. Outside, his army was preparing for war. And now, so was he.
-
The war drums of the Black Dragon Keep had not yet sounded, but their echo lived in every corridor. The army was nearly ready. The banners hung high as they finished the final preparation to march.
Deep within a ritual chamber, the place was dark save for a single circle of argent light. The runes carved into the stone pulsed slowly, breathing like a sleeping beast. The air shimmered faintly, thick with ozone and the sharp tang of blood.
At the center of the circle lay the preserved heart of the Silver Dragon, his old tormentor. It still pulsed. Even after death, the organ of a dragon refused to yield. Its surface gleamed like polished moonstone, and veins of white fire crawled across it with every slow, defiant beat.
He had kept it all this time as a memento of sorts, not yet willing to let go of his old cruel, sadistic captor. Ouroboros hovered near the altar, his eyes reflecting that silver glow. "Everything is ready," he called out.
As much as he was reluctant of letting go of the final thing he had of the silver dragon, he needed every advantage he could get for these coming battles and this was going to the altar of progress.
Artorius said nothing. His gaze was locked on the heart. He could still remember the dragon's voice, cold and methodical echoing in the depths of his mind. The pain he subjected him to and all the experiments.
He took a knee before the altar. "Let's begin." The runes ignited at once. Silver flame spiraled upward, surrounding him in a cage of light. The ritual circle thrummed with a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
"Focus," Ouroboros whispered. "Don't let it consume you, you consume it. Let its power flow into you, but make it yours."
Artorius reached forward. His fingers pierced the silver flesh. The heart convulsed violently, spraying radiant ichor that hissed as it touched the air. The moment his nail sank into it, pain shot through him not physical pain, but memories.
Chains. Screams. The cold, merciless beauty of silver halls. The weight of a dragon's pride. He roared and tore the heart free from its bindings, pressing it into his mouth and taking a bite of it.
The chamber exploded in silver fire.
Ouroboros shielded his eyes as the ritual sigils overloaded, their light bending and warping under the intensity. In the center, Artorius stood with the heart in his hands, devouring it piece by piece, his fangs dripping with argent flame. Each swallow sent tremors through the room, each heartbeat echoing louder until there was no distinction between the heart's rhythm and his own.
"Let go of your hatred," Ouroboros called through the blinding light. "Don't let him live inside you!"
Artorius snarled through gritted teeth, his voice breaking into a guttural roar. "He's already dead. I'm just taking back what was stolen."
Stopping himself, he reined in his feelings, Ouroboros was right, he needed to let go and stop fixating on the silver dragon. He had come out on top and the silver dragon was dead, he couldn't let his past weigh him down for the rest of his life. He needed to let go!
Taking a deep breath, he let out a sigh. His time in the tower would be a dark moment in his life, but he needed to move on, he had so many obstacles and trials before him in this nest, but more than that it wasn't who he wanted to be. A broken and bitter man.
The final fragment of the heart melted in his hand, dissolving into light that surged through his veins. The circle went silent. The air grew still. And then a faint chime sounded in the back of his mind.
[You have consumed: Dragonling Heart (Silver)]
+1 Intellect
"That's it?" he muttered, his tone dry, almost incredulous. "I just got one stat point!"
Ouroboros arched a brow. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know," Artorius said, wiping the silver blood from his chin. "Something… more."
The little dragon snorted, smoke curling from his nostrils. "You young ones are always so greedy. Do you know how hard it is to get stat points?"
He smiled faintly. "Alright, I'll stop being so gluttonous."
Ouroboros regarded him with quiet pride. "Tell me, hatchling… does it feel good?"
Artorius lifted his gaze, and for an instant, his shadow stretched long and monstrous behind him. "It feels," he said softly, "like I've finally taken back what was mine." Now that he was ready, he decided to check his character sheet.
Character Sheet
Name: Artorius Pendrath
Titles: None
Archetype: Leader[Awakened] – lvl 7
Race: Royal-Blood Dragonmen(Homo Draconis)[G-hatchling] – lvl 7
Class: Storybook Squire(House Pendragon)[Tier 0] – lvl 7
Health: 190/190 | Stamina: 135/135 | Mana: 170/180
Stats
Strength - 16
Dexterity - 11
Constitution - 19
Intellect - 18
Willpower - 22
Perception - 15
Charisma - 25
Luck - 24
Trait: Commander, Stoic
Skills: Inspect, Heroic Blow, Last Stand
Mutation: Draconic Adaptation, Draconic Communion
Laws: None
Technique: None
Words of Power: Flame(Song), Crystal(Song),
Looking at it, his character sheet was coming along well, though he did note that his dexterity, perception, and strength were lacking. Plus his most important goal was hitting level 10, that easy he can unlock new skills, traits, and mutations.
If he wished to face the White lady he needed those abilities or he stood no chance. Thus these three biomes he was about to invade should give him the levels he needed.
Outside, the army waited. The march would begin soon. And Artorius would lead them with fire, with fury, and with the heart at peace.
-
The Black Dragon Keep stood tall and silent under the breaking dawn, its jagged silhouette a dark omen on the horizon. The time had come. Artorius had known this moment would arrive eventually, but it still carried the weight of finality, of severing the ties that held them here.
His army, already in perfect formation, waited outside the walls, their breath visible in the cool morning air, their armor shining in the first light of dawn. Beneath the banners of the Black Dragon, they were a sea of determination, a unified force forged through sweat, blood, and fire. They had trained long for this day, and the day had come at last.
Artorius stood at the forefront of his army, his wings unfurled, eyes fixed on the horizon where the first hints of war beckoned. Ouroboros circled overhead, his sinuous form darting like a shadow in the sky.
Standing besides him was the Black dread, the noble dragonling's presence was an omen of power, of impending destruction. He was the storm to Artorius' flame, the bloodhound to his hunt.
His lieutenants stood in position before him, the soldiers formed up, standing at attention, their weapons ready, their gazes locked onto him. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Artorius raised his arms, his wings spreading wide as if he could harness the very winds themselves. His voice, rich with authority and power, rang out like thunder over the field.
"My warriors! My brothers and sisters in arms!" Artorius bellowed, his words clear, cutting through the still morning air. "Today, we leave behind the Black Dragon Keep. We leave behind our past, our safety, our comforts. The time for hesitation is over. We advance, or we perish. There is no turning back. There is no place for weakness among us. There is only victory."
The soldiers started banging their shields and thumping their spears onto the ground. "We stand as one, united in purpose. We are a force born of chaos, tempered in blood, honed in the fires of war. We will carve our names into the annals of history, and we will leave no enemy standing in our wake."
The soldiers roared in response, a great cry that shook the air, a chorus of steel and fire. Artorius's gaze swept over them, seeing the resolve in their eyes. He let the silence settle for a moment, letting their energy build.
"Let the flames of war consume the world ahead of us. We will break any who stand in our way. We march toward our first target, the Misty Lakes. There, we will face Kelthar, the Water Lindwurm. He believes his waters are his shield. But I will drown him in his own domain."
His voice hardened like iron. "We will not stop until the lakes run red, and Kelthar lies at our feet. And when we've slain him, we will set our sights on the next. The jungle. The storm. The White Lady herself." He lifted his head high, eyes gleaming like molten gold. "But first, we will burn our past. No turning back, no safe haven to return to. The Black Dragon Keep falls today. We leave nothing behind but ash."
Already his men who followed him from the Crystal Expanse knew what he meant. Artorius turned away from the tower's edge. A flash of power surged through him, Words of Power spilling out from him. In one sweeping motion, his wings unfurled, and the air itself seemed to tremble with the force of his presence.
He raised his hand.
With a roar that cracked the sky, Artorius released his flames, a tidal wave of destruction that engulfed the Black Dragon Keep. The ancient stone walls, thick with the remnants of past battles and memories, were consumed in an instant. The keep exploded in a firestorm, its foundations buckling beneath the weight of his fury. The sky darkened as the blackened remnants of the keep were swallowed by the flames. The ground trembled as if the earth itself was rebelling against the destruction.
The Black Dread looked slapjawed as his old keep burnt. Artorius stood silent, his expression unreadable as the keep burned in the distance. His wings folded against his back, the tips flickering with residual heat.
"Move out," he commanded, his voice low but powerful. "Our first target is ahead. Kelthar won't know what hit him." Behind him, the sounds of his army stirred into motion. The smoke rose behind them, thick and choking, as the last remnants of their old life were burned away. There was nothing left now but forward. Only the battle ahead. Only the conquest of what lay beyond.
-
The marshlands stretched before like a vast, gray sea of endless water, fog rising from the depths in swirling clouds. The landscape was eerily quiet, broken only by the occasional distant croak of a marsh creature or the soft lapping of the water against the shore. Above, the sky was dark and heavy, as though the very air was weighed down with secrets.
Hidden deep within this biome stood the drifting pavilion of Kelthar, the Water Lindwurm. It was a grand structure, a sprawling castle built atop an ancient crannog, a floating island of moss-covered stone and dark, vine-clad towers that seemed to shift with the water itself. The castle was designed to move, impervious to any enemy seeking it. It was elusive, slippery like the mist that shrouded the land.
Kelthar stood in his grand hall, his long, serpentine form coiled upon the cold stone floor. The air inside his pavilion was thick with the scent of damp earth and the ever-present murk of the Misty Lakes. Beneath the high, arched windows that overlooked the water, the fog swirled in lazy tendrils, weaving around the spires of his castle like ghostly fingers.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/351703052172732185/
For years, he had ruled this place, a creature of the lakes, a Water Lindwurm bound to the ebb and flow of these waters. His servants, a cadre of drakes and lesser serpents, scuttled about in the dark corners, attending to the needs of his keep, ever-watchful of the marshlands and the dangers that lurked within.
Until today when he got word of the invaders that trespassed on his lands, he had heard of rumors of a scaleless one who slew the silver dragon and defeated the black dread, now his attention turned here.
Kelthar's mouth parted, revealing his jagged, needle-like teeth. "So the young dragon has come to my domain," he said, his voice a low murmur that carried the weight of his years. "He thinks he can conquer me here? In the Misty Lakes?"
He turned to his followers and gave his orders, "Call forth the warriors of the marsh. And summon the hydra. We will show these invaders why we are masters of the lakes! Let them come. We will show them that even the mightiest of dragons could be drowned."
-
As Artorius and his army moved through the marshlands, the fog thickened around them like a living wall, consuming their vision and making each step feel like they were marching deeper into the belly of a beast. The sound of footsteps was muffled by the soft squelch of the bog beneath them, but despite the silence, the tension in the air was palpable. Every soldier felt it, even the seasoned veterans who had seen war in every corner of the known nest.
"Stay alert," Artorius's voice was a low command, his wings snapping slightly in the breeze. Ouroboros circled above them, his eyes scanning the horizon. His draconic gaze was sharp, always watching, ever-vigilant.
The Black Dread stood tall beside Artorius, his towering form ready for whatever would come next. The sound of the army shifting forward, the clinking of armor and the rattle of weapons, felt like the first crack of thunder before the storm.
The deeper they moved into the Misty Lakes, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The fog clung to their bodies, swirling around their feet and rising like a living thing to obscure their vision. The oppressive silence of the marsh was broken only by the occasional croak of distant amphibians or the low, droning hum of unseen insects.
Artorius's instincts were sharp, his senses honed by many battles he had been through in the nest. The further they trekked into the heart of Kelthar's domain, the more the air seemed to shift. There was a pressing weight upon them, like they were being watched.
A sense of unease settled over the army like a cloak, and the soldiers felt it too. They began to glance nervously at the shadows in the fog, half-expecting something to leap from the water at any moment. The pace slowed as men kept their weapons ready, eyes scanning the murky surroundings. But there was nothing.
At first, it was subtle. The water in the distance rippled ever so slightly, just enough to catch the eye. Artorius stopped, his keen senses sharpening. His eyes narrowed, scanning the distant haze, but he saw nothing that could explain the disturbances in the water.
Artorius raised his hand, signaling for his forces to halt, though the army behind him remained in motion, unaware of the potential threat. But the veteran soldiers, the ones who had survived countless battles, could feel the shift in the air as well. They, too, began to tighten their grips on their spears and swords, eyes darting nervously to the shifting waters.
From the murky depths, a large serpentine dragon shot forth, its massive body crashing against the water's surface in a flurry of scales and fangs. It was swift, too swift as its jaws snapping shut on the nearest soldier with terrifying precision. The dragon was dragged into the water before a cry could escape its jaws, its body disappearing beneath the surface with a sickening gurgle. Panic spread like wildfire.
In an instant, the marshlands came alive with the sound of rushing water, splashing and slithering as the creatures of the marsh attacked in full force. The soldiers scrambled to form a defensive line, but the drakes, faster than anything they had encountered before, were already among them. The beasts darted in and out of the water with lethal precision, their claws raking across armor and scales, their jaws snapping at exposed flesh.
Each strike was calculated, precise. Artorius's men fought back bravely, but the creatures were everywhere. Some leapt from the water, while others waited just beneath the surface, lying in wait for an opening. The drakes and serpents were quick, their movements erratic, making them nearly impossible to target with arrows or spears.
Even the most experienced soldiers, trained to fight in all environments, found themselves at a disadvantage in the swamp. The water made it difficult to move, slowing their strikes, dragging their feet into the muck as the creatures struck with uncanny timing.
The first wave of ambushes was over as quickly as it had started, leaving the ground littered with the bodies of soldiers, weapons dropped or half-submerged in the muck. For a brief moment, there was silence again. But Artorius knew it wouldn't last long. He could feel the eyes of the marsh upon them.
-
A/N: Let me know if I should tone down with the speeches, mc loves his speeches.
Also I will stop bringing up his trauma from the silver dragon, got more traumatic experiences in store for mc.
As the saying goes no plan services contact with the enemy. As much as the mc had planned he will soon find out these dragon nobles are a tough nut to crack.