Step to paradise

In the dark green sky like the withered corpse of a sleeping god, the giant rune ball began to shake slightly, each vibration like a heartbeat rising after a thousand years of freezing.

And then it broke.

Not shattered.

But cracked like a cocoon.

From the center of the ball, a giant dragon head made of pale white bones began to rise, slowly, ghostly, and terrifying.

The dragon skull was so long that a single fang was as big as a watchtower.

The hollow eye sockets were like a gate leading to the abyss of the soul.

The jawbones opened bit by bit, emitting a rustling sound like an eternity of crushing.

The sky seemed to tear apart.

The runes that had not yet melted were torn apart by the rising dragon's head, pulling along countless golden chains that were twisted and broken into pieces. Green light glistened on every bone, as if an ancient soul was still smoldering in every crack of the dragon's skull.

The royal wizards, the descendants of the nobles born in silk, were now as stiff as stone statues.

None of them had ever seen a real dragon.

None of them had enough experience to understand what they were facing.

All they knew was that the thing… could not be described with the word "creature". It was a memory of annihilation. It was the image that their ancestors had recorded in blood, not in writing.

One person screamed.

Then another.

The magic circle flew wildly, weapons were drawn, and the formation fell apart.

"No—NO it can't be a real bone dragon—!"

From afar, in the heart of the city, the people could see it too.

The dragon's skull was as big as a floating island, wrapped in mana lightning bolts, floating in the clouds, strange and sacred like a declaration of death.

"T-there's something in the sky!!"

"Run!! It's a monster!! It's… It's the end of the world!!"

Streams of people began to flee like a flood, chaotic sounds, the sound of magic alarms echoed throughout the squares, children cried out, adults were so frightened that they burst into tears, some people fell in the middle of the street because even the air was compressed by magic to the point of bursting their lungs.

The white bone dragon's head was still floating in the air.

The teeth were as long as holy spears, the eye sockets were as deep as the whispers of the abyss.

But then a terrible cracking sound rang out from the center of the cracked sphere. And something continued to rise.

From below the skull as long as a warship, a giant neck gradually emerged, the bones stacked on top of each other like stairs leading down to the underworld, each bone glowing dimly in the demonic mana light.

Then came the chest, a massive chest like a temple, where the ribs curved like pillars supporting the sky, the gaps between the bones filled with fragments of ancient runes, each of its "breaths" made the entire mountainside beneath Flauros's feet tremble violently.

The bony wings spread out like two curtains blocking the sunlight.

Flauros stood still. He did not move. He just looked. And the ancient lines from the ancient books he had read rose in his mind.

"In the time of Creation, when the earth breathed with lava and the sea had no form, the Dragon Clan had nine that stood at the pinnacle of existence. They did not reside, they occupied. They did not live but existed as an inviolable symbol."

"The bone dragon has a shape of ten thousand feet, only appearing when the era is about to end."

"If you see a dragon that does not need flesh and blood, but still makes the heavens and earth tremble. Then congratulations. You are looking at an Ancient Dragon Elite."

Flauros swallowed.

But the dragon was not done yet.

Each segment of the spine continued to rise. A tail as big as a highway stretched out endlessly. The entire body of the dragon was so long that the naked eye could not count the number of bones.

Under the scattered clouds, the giant body of the ancient dragon continued to rise, as if space was being squeezed to accommodate something that should no longer exist.

Each segment of the bone was a miniature land.

Each neck, tail, and wing was a primitive trace, carrying strange, winding patterns as if carved from the core of the earth.

"The Origin was the draft. The Creation was the first time the world truly took shape. And it was the creatures that emerged from that era…

That created the first definitions of life, of power, of bloodline."

"Dragons, in the Creation, were not creatures. They were laws. Each one carried its own will that was tied to the structure of the world, some held reincarnation, some guarded oblivion."

The wind whistled by.

The clanking of ancient bones began to ring like church bells to announce a funeral.

This world was divided into six periods: Origin, Creation, Domination, Separation, Peace, and finally, Development. The creatures of the ancient world inherently carried immense strength and power within them.

According to the ancient documents that were passed down, the newly summoned bone dragon was resurrected during the Creation period. Killing it again was almost suicidal.

Amid the chaos in Ozone City, where the screams of people and the cracking of rocks could no longer be distinguished, a sharp shout rang out like a sword hitting the marble floor.

"Team One! Lead the people to the Third Square! Do not let anyone return to the north and west of the city!"

With each steel step stomping on the cracked stone, the old but never fallen knight still wore the full black armor weighing more than fifty kilograms, his grey eyes like cold steel, still looking through the thick mana smoke.

He was once a famous holy swordsman who had fought here and there to bring glory to the empire. Even though he was no longer the same, he still used all his abilities to help the people.

That was Velynrather Kaelthas.

No trumpet, no horse, no golden cloak embroidered with the holy insignia, like when he was the Grand Knight of the Empire.

Just a black iron armor roughened by battle, and storm-grey eyes clouded by the ash wind.

He stood in the middle of the small square at the foot of the mountain, blocking the wind with his body, commanding with his voice, and keeping the hearts of the people with an arm that had never drawn its sword out of fear.

"Don't push. Line by line, group by group. The Second Group follows behind to maintain order. If you see anyone falling behind, immediately turn around and pick them up, don't leave anyone behind."

"Even if it's just one life, don't take it lightly."

The children cried. The mother held her child in her arms, her hands shaking like fallen leaves.

The young men were timid and wanted to run to the South.

But he still stood there, like a shadow that refused to fall before the storm forming in the sky.

From afar, the eerie green light of the summoning magic circle still shone in the sky, the ancient runes swept through the clouds like chains of fate, ready to drag this entire land down to hell.

"Ozone has lost its glory. But if we survive today… at least, people will remember that the knights still exist."

As the last of the people disappeared behind the slope, he turned around, slowly drew the sword that had accompanied him for three decades, and walked towards the dragon that was rising from history.

In the middle of the fifty-meter-high imperial palace hall, the magic lights on the ceiling trembled like lost stars. The alarm bell rang for the third time, signaling the ultimate disaster.

King Albrecht Ozone III, who was once called "The Last Flame of the Imperial Glory", was now visibly old, his silver-embroidered holy robe drooping like the folds of the weary years.

But in his eyes, there was still the light of a fierce lion that had not accepted extinction.

"Summon the entire capital division."

"Call the Frontier Brigades back—2nd, 4th, 6th Brigades. Send orders through the magic gates. Regardless of which side you're fighting, clear them all. The capital is under threat from a Creature of the Tectonic Era."

The ministers were stunned. Many had never heard of that phrase,

"Creature of the Tectonic Era"—it was only recorded in myths.

A young marshal stammered.

"Your Majesty… The Empire is no longer as strong as it once was, the brigades are now just in name only. Doing so would be… fighting a battle without end."

The king didn't look at him. He only clenched the handle of his silver scepter,

speaking in a hoarse voice that was as hard as broken stone.

"We're not fighting to win. We're fighting to let the world know that…

The Ozone Empire, even though it's dying, can still shake the heavens and earth one last time."

The ancient magic gates in the cracked squares were reactivated.

Purple light flashed in waves, the cavalry of the sand wind from the South, the white-capped church troops from the Central region, the mercenaries who were being escorted like cattle in a pen, all poured in like a broken river.

"Returning troops!"

"Fourth Brigade! Hand over the marching seal!"

"Sick soldiers must assemble at the magic infirmary!"

The trumpets mixed with shouts, the magic landing site was packed to the brim, horses were screaming, people were yelling, children were crying amid the mana dust that had not yet dispersed.

An empire was pouring its guts into the last battle line, but the one who withdrew was a body full of bruises, clogged blood vessels, and bulging political fat.

In the central hall, where the divine light still shone through the stained glass windows, the nobles were swarming like a swarm of sacred flies, arguing over which legion was worthy of command, who had the seat to the left of the king, and who had the right to control the protective cannon tower.

"I am a direct descendant of the Hawthorne family. I have the right to summon the academy's mages!"

"And I have the seal of the Eastern City! We need to send our troops to the front lines to—"

"Your Majesty, the one who summoned the bone dragon could very well be… a rebel faction! Or… or a treasonous wizard!"

King Albrecht, his face as stony as marble, merely raised his hand. The crowd fell silent as if a knife had been cut across their necks.

"If we die for dragons, then let us die as men who once had an empire. If we die for the throne, then let the common people laugh at my rotten throne before we die."

Only a few people in the crowd did not speak.

They stood at the edge of the stained glass, old figures, their shoulders worn by time rather than flattery.

One of them was Velynrather Kaelthas. Wearing black armor, no banner, hands still covered in mountain dust, but his eyes were as cold as when he led the cavalry into the mouth of the Northern Ice Dragon.

Velynrather looked at the entire frivolous hall, sneering inwardly.

'These are the people who will fight with me against a creature from the Creation Era? They will die fighting for the seal before they even see the dragon spread its wings.'

A few minutes ago, when he was on his way towards that huge creature, the royal summons resounded throughout the empire. This meant that all soldiers, wizards, and forces under the royal command had to obey the order and come back to listen to instructions.

He had no choice but to return, even though he knew that if he continued to meet, he would not be able to stop it in time.