A colossal crimson dragon, its wings spanning more than forty meters, swept across the torn heavens above the Abyssal Rift. The air was thick with a violent downward pull—were the dragon any less formidable, it would have been dragged into the churning maw of the abyss below.

  Its golden slit pupils scanned the depths, as though seeking… or awaiting… something. At last, it spotted its target—a black stone at the edge of the rift.

  The immense body plunged. With a thunderous crash, the red dragon landed upon the stone.

  From behind it emerged a demon wrapped in a tattered black robe. Hunched and crooked, it leaned on a staff carved with the grotesque motifs of its kind.

  “I knew you would come,” the demon said—in flawless Draconic.

  The dragon snorted. “You creatures know how to think now?”

  The demon took no offense and went straight to the point. “Heh… Let us discuss our bargain. You help us retrieve the Fang of Flames, and we grant you the blood of a Demon Lord.”

  The dragon did not answer. Instead it lowered its serpentine neck, coiling around the demon, its head sliding behind the creature as it growled:

  “A drop of demon blood is hardly worth earning the scorn of my ancestors.”

  The demon, tiny as an ant before the towering wyrm, remained unruffled. A mocking curl touched its lips.

  “Every dragon on the continent already knows you’re a shameless creature without a bottom line. I doubt one more insult will trouble you.”

  The words seemed to provoke the dragon—an immense wave of draconic might crashed down upon the demon. Yet the demon stood immovable.

  “Did that fire-drake Redvit bash your head in? Tricks like these don’t work on me.”

  That name truly enraged the dragon. With a roar, its massive claw slammed into the ground beside the demon, gouging out a crater.

  “Do not speak that name in my presence!”

  “Then stop wasting time. Sign the pact now—our Lord of the Flame Tribe is notoriously impatient.”

  The demon ceased provoking him.

  “A pact?” The dragon’s eyes widened. “You never mentioned a pact in your letter. Who knows what tricks you demons will weave into it?”

  “Given your… illustrious history, it is difficult for us to place faith in your integrity. This is unavoidable.” The demon spoke as though stating an ordinary fact.

  The dragon laughed bitterly. “A demon judging my character? By the Creator—that may be the greatest joke ever told. If you wish to trap me, just say so outright!”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Disdain burned in its eyes.

  “We demons are the most faithful keepers of vows in this world. Why else would mortals immediately think of us whenever contracts are mentioned?”

  “Oh, I know—you’ve driven countless souls to ruin. Not a single mortal who signed a demon pact met a good end.”

  Thus dragon and demon bickered ceaselessly.

  At last, the demon seemed to lose patience. “Enough! Since you’re so unwilling to sign, then we will take a step back. Leave behind your hardest dragon scale as collateral.”

  The dragon lifted its head in thought, then nodded. “Very well—but you must give me something valuable in return. I trust none of you.”

  “You dragons truly are insatiable,” the demon grumbled, though its hand reached into its own chest. It drew forth a dark green, diamond-shaped gem.

  “This is a high-grade mana crystal from the Enchantmaw of the Lower Realm. Swallow it, and your breath’s destructive power will multiply.”

  From the moment the gem appeared, the dragon’s eyes were locked onto it. Its ancestral memories recorded such stones—rare treasures capable of doubling a dragon’s combat might.

  It did not question why the demon would offer such a prize. It simply snapped it up and swallowed.

  A vast surge of power flooded into the “furnace” of its draconic breath, triggering an irreversible mutation. Brilliant emerald lines shimmered across the dragon’s crimson neck, running down toward its heart.

  “I feel it! The fire inside me is trembling! It wants to erupt— to burn everything!”

  Driven by a feverish ecstasy, the colossal dragon longed for battle.

  The demon gazed up at the frenzied beast, the soul-fire flickering in its eyes with dark intrigue. Good… the stronger, the better. Our tribe may yet gain another Fang of Flames.

  The dragon loosed a pillar of pure emerald fire skyward— it pierced the clouds like a lance.

  Only after venting its excess might did the dragon regain its composure.

  It lowered its head toward the demon once more. “I heard the Fang of Flames fell into the hands of a seventh-tier werewolf. Have you not troubled their kind?”

  At this, the demon’s temper flared. “The so-called Wolf King is only fifth-tier. We’ve converted countless werewolves, yet through their souls we learned none of them know of a seventh-tier one.”

  “Let me be clear—I will only locate the Fang of Flames. That seventh-tier werewolf is your problem. I’m barely sixth-tier myself—I won’t die for you.”

  The dragon declared the most cowardly words in the most imperious tone.

  As one of the continent’s supreme races, even an untrained pureblood dragon reached the pinnacle of fourth-tier upon adulthood. Those who clawed their way to fifth-tier were already prodigies.

  And this crimson wyrm was one of the rare “young paragons” born in nearly a millennium.

  The demon sneered inwardly, though it said aloud, “Of course. That is only fair.”

  …

  Cade?no Forest—home of the Tashiya tribe of Forest Elves. Within the wooden chamber of the High Priestess, a female elf clad in ceremonial robes lay upon a vast, lotus-like plant. Anxious elves crowded around her.

  A beautiful priestess in a verdant robe—the mark of an elven cleric—had been channeling healing magic for some time without pause.

  “Will the Priestess…” “Don’t speak nonsense! She will survive!” “Those wretched humans—if not for them and poor Gotaya’s death, the Priestess would never have acted so recklessly…”

  Seeing the cleric’s furrow deepen, a few elves whispered in mounting fear.

  When the high-born envoys had arrived without her daughter, the High Priestess had immediately sensed tragedy. She ignored their extravagant compensation—none of it mattered compared to her child.

  She shut herself in silence for a long while. She refused to believe her daughter was dead—had it been true, she would have sensed it. She had sealed a sacred link upon her daughter long ago.

  Thus she resolved to invoke her authority… to commune with the all-knowing God of Truth.

  A perilous act— for with her limited strength, knocking upon the Door of Truth demanded a terrible price.