“Ancestor, hm? Soon, you will have the chance to prove that claim, child. But tell me, what is your name, young dragon?” Drokmin asked, sitting on his throne.

  His voice was low and smooth, as if a faraway storm raged in his throat. It didn’t need to be loud to command attention. Its weight alone stirred Sokram’s dragon blood.

  “My name is Sokram di Dracony vid Dracnakrid, ancestor.” Sokram kept his tone humble but not subservient.

  “I see why you call me an ancestor, then, good. How is our family? And how long has it been since I died now? The last visitor, the elf from whom you got the second pair of gloves, said it had been close to fifteen thousand years. Then he died during the trial.” Drokmin lamented.

  “He was quite talented and came looking for my War Art, but wasn’t prepared enough. Quite the pity.”

  Sokram nodded, thinking about the night elf, then answered honestly. “It has been 15,155 years since the fall of the Northern Draconic Empire, and the remnants of it formed the nation named Dracony, which is west of here. As for your death, I don’t know exactly.”

  “Are you a part of Dracony then?” Drokmin’s curiosity piqued.

  “No, although my father and grandmother are from their Duchy, I was raised here in Norwinter and have no desire for nobility as it will only delay my progress in the Path,” Sokram explained.

  “I see… that’s wise of you. Many desire to rule, but are driven by wrong ambitions. I didn’t desire to become Emperor either. I only wished for peace in the north. The rest was consequential.” As Drokmin looked at Sokram, his gaze glinted with approval.

  He knew Sokram only spoke truths. The enchantments in the chamber forbade those in the trial from lying.

  Drokmin’s tone was filled with gratitude as he spoke, “Well, thank you for sating the curiosity from this fragment of my soul. It’s been a while since I talked with another dragon.”

  Then his tone turned sharp and decisive again, “Let’s proceed with the trial. You passed the test of the Heart, which alone gives you the right to choose one item from my treasury, but if you do, you will forfeit the remaining trials and be expelled from this chamber. Will you take the next trial or stop here?”

  “I’ll proceed with the trial,” Sokram answered without hesitation.

  “Good, the next trial is the trial of the Blood. If your bloodline is judged unfit to receive my inheritance, you will die. Only those with their primordial bloodlines awakened can pass. Even if you only have it partially awakened, your bloodline might entitle you to something.” Drokmin explained.

  Then he pointed at the pillar on the far left, “All you have to do is spill some of your blood in the bowl on top of the pillar.”

  As Sokram walked toward the pillar, he asked casually, “If I pass the three trials, all that you left behind will be mine?”

  “Greedy little dragonling, aren’t you?” The air in the chamber suddenly thickened, Drokmin’s astral pressure pinning Sokram in place as he shook slightly, like a dragonling gazing at an ancient dragon for the first time.

  “Only a true dragon would be so greedy. Sigh… Although it’s not impossible to get my full inheritance, I advise you against it. Not only because you’re not strong enough, but because I’ll only gift all of what is mine to you if you’re truly a descendant of mine.” Drokmin explained as he retracted the power he had leaked.

  “Well, there is only one way to find out, hm?” Sokram continued walking toward the pillar of the Blood Trial.

  He drew his katana across his palm, a sharp hiss of steel on skin. He clenched his fist over the bowl, letting the crimson offering flow.

  The metallic tang spread faintly as the warm, red liquid steamed slightly, filling the cool bowl.

  The stone beneath Sokram’s feet vibrated slightly.

  The array lit up instantly, its runes flaring in violent violet light as a purple flame bloomed atop the bowl, warping the air around it.

  Drokmin’s eyes went wide with shock. But Sokram was expecting that reaction, and the words that followed as well.

  “Amazing… Truly amazing work of Biomancy that bloodline of yours.” Drokmin mused.

  “A new race, but the draconic part of your blood is clearly related to mine as well. Not only that, but your human bloodline is also connected to my own."

  Drokmin went deep in thought for a while, in deep contemplation, "How?”

  Sokram’s voice broke him out of his daze.

  “I don’t truly understand that myself, but the Dracnakrid Family is known for its Draconic Human bloodline. As for how I carry five primordial bloodlines in my veins, it’s because I’m the result of a Biomancy ritual that went wrong. My birth wasn't planned. My father mixed Soul Magic into the ritual and paid the price for it. And I was born instead of him being reborn,” Sokram explained nonchalantly.

  “You seem quite fine with that fact.” Drokmin looked at him, surprised by his mental fortitude.

  “Oh, I’m not troubled by it in the least. Instead, I’m quite grateful to my father. Had he not done what he did, I wouldn’t be what I am today,” Sokram clarified, since the enchantments in the room forced him to be truthful.

  “Hah, perhaps I’m wrong about you, child. Not only do you have mental fortitude, but you’re also very wise for your age,” Drokmin gazed at Sokram analytically, trying to decide something.

  “Alright, you passed the trial of Blood. Your bloodline is the most amazing work of Biomancy I’ve seen, something I, in my time, could only dream of achieving.”

  “If you decide to stop the trial here, I’ll give you all my knowledge of Biomancy, but if you impress me in the trial of Power, everything I left behind in these chambers will be yours. I doubt I’ll ever find someone with more potential to carry my legacy than you.” Drokmin declared, making his decision final.

  “Alright, I’ll face the last trial then,” Sokram said, no hesitation in his tone.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Beware, child. Once the trial starts, either you become my heir, or you die,” Drokmin’s grave voice carried more warning than threat.

  “Don’t worry, ancestor. I’ll honor your legacy. Now what is the test?” Sokram wasn’t afraid, because he had already passed the test once.

  Yet Drokmin’s following words caught him off guard.

  “Usually, I would send contestants to a random illusory battlefield with a task so they can prove their might, but you… You’re different, so I’ll face you myself.” The moment Drokmin said that, Sokram’s heart rate went through the roof.

  His fate seemed to have changed completely, as this wasn’t the trial he was confident he could pass.

  Even if Drokmin was just a fragment of what he used to be, Sokram wasn’t sure he could beat him as he was now, for one sole reason: The Black Lotus War Art.

  The same art that inspired Kamus and Kasine to create the Killing Blade Art.

  “I’ll match your Tier and Level of Existence’s combat power, don’t worry. I’ll also limit myself to using only my War Art against you, while you are free to use everything you have,” Drokmin stood up from his throne.

  In the next instant, a wooden puppet resembling Drokmin’s physical humanoid form appeared beside the throne.

  The puppet was a masterpiece of articulation. Polished steel-bark assembled with a Mithranium skeleton and joints, and a face mimicking Drokmin's stern gaze, conveying intense scrutiny.

  It stood motionless, yet even empty of presence, it was perfectly balanced, assuring Sokram it was a lethal weapon.

  Drokmin’s astral form collapsed into an orb of golden brilliance before shooting into the wooden construct.

  The puppet jerked once, then stilled with several sharp clicks as the mithranium joints locked into place. Its head snapped toward Sokram, emitting the colossal pressure of Drokmin's terrifying presence.

  His heart thumped in his ears, each beat loud enough to drown out his thoughts. A stubborn shiver ran through his body, refusing to be silenced no matter how he willed it. His silvery eyes remained locked onto Drokmin’s astral form, his gaze frozen, unable to tear itself away.

  For the first time since his return, Sokram feared death.

  Because he knew exactly how powerful the Black Lotus War Art could be in the hands of a Weapon Master such as Drokmin.

  Like the Killing Blade Art, Sokram had mastered the Black Lotus War Art and fused them into one with Shadow Walking Art.

  He reinvented it countless times during his rise to power, to the point that it became a Supreme War Art that no one could beat.

  Yet, despite the fear that filled his heart, he felt a level of excitement he rarely did.

  Sokram unsheathed his katana, but his usual arrogance and cockiness weren’t present.

  There was only absolute focus.

  “Are you ready, child?” Drokmin’s voice came from the puppet, even though its mouth didn’t move.

  Sokram realized that would be another disadvantage for him: He couldn’t read his opponent's micro-expressions.

  Staring at the puppet was like staring at a wall.

  No twitch of an eyebrow, no narrowing of eyes, no intake of breath to signal an attack.

  Just a wooden caricature that revealed absolutely nothing.

  All he could do was read his movements, but the Black Lotus War Art was close to impossible to read, even with precognition.

  Despite every disadvantage, Sokram didn’t cower and answered firmly, “Yes, ancestor!”

  “Then come! Show me why you chose a killing weapon such as the katana!” Drokmin’s voice boomed with power, and with a flick of his hand, a Chokuto appeared.

  Sokram wasted no time, launching into a full assault. He knew surprise was his only path to victory.

  Although Drokmin’s Black Lotus War Art was a technique Sokram had mastered, perfected, and reformed, he knew that Mentyr and Nhiria would be watching him very closely.

  So he couldn’t use everything he knew.

  He had to fight like an inexperienced person clashing against a Master, but with such odds, fighting while holding back was one thing.

  And winning was close to an impossible dream.

  Besides, Sokram hadn’t fully recovered from the blow he received from the troll earlier.

  Yet, as suicidal as this battle seemed from the outside, Sokram had a card up in his sleeve, knowledge.

  Covertly dropping a needle where he stood, Sokram stepped forward using his favored movement technique.

  ‘Killing Blade Art – Swift Wind: One Step!’

  In a flash, he appeared in front of Drokmin, swinging his sword horizontally at him.

  Drokmin quickly blocked and deflected his strike upward.

  The parry wasn't hard; it was filled with impossibly precise strength.

  It hit the flat of his blade at the exact angle needed to numb his fingers, sending a shockwave up his wrist. A movement that seemed simple but with such mastery that it threatened to disarm Sokram from his katana.

  “Oh, nice grip!” Drokmin mused.

  But that brief first exchange showed Sokram this would be even harder than his worst predictions.

  The puppet’s movement was so precise and perfectly calculated that this simple deflection threw Sokram off balance as he struggled to keep his sword.

  This also forced his body to spin to the side.

  In the next moment, Sokram’s precognition triggered, and he saw Drokmin swinging his sword down, aiming for his neck.

  ‘Dark Lightning – Storm Step’

  His right foot hit the ground, and thunder cracked.

  Sokram’s figure blurred into lightning, snaking away unpredictably to evade the decapitating strike, reappearing behind the puppet.

  Before Sokram could slash his sword at it, Drokmin had already turned to face him, easily parrying his strike, swinging upward again.

  This time, instead of meeting force with force, Sokram decided to use Drokmin’s force to give himself momentum.

  ‘Killing Blade Art – Swift Wind: Leaf on the wind!’

  Sokram, using precise footwork empowered by Elemental Manipulation, didn't fight the parry’s impact.

  He rode it like a leaf caught in a gale.

  He spun above the parry, his weightlessness transforming into momentum as he raised his sword overhead.

  Empowered by the wind that increased his movement's kinetic energy, he connected his next attack.

  ‘Killing Blade Art – Crushing Mountain: Mountain Splitter!’

  Sokram shifted his center of gravity to increase the power behind his sword further as he swung down at Drokmin.

  “Swoosh!”

  But Sokram only hit Drokmin’s puppet afterimage.

  At the same time, his instincts screamed for him to escape, because as soon as his movements briefly showed an opening in his guard, reality itself fractured.

  One Drokmin became five, a house of mirrors of wooden bodies and flashing steel that surrounded him from every angle, blurring the line between illusion, spacetime, and death.

  ‘Black Lotus – Five Floating Petals’

  It was the move Drokmin was using, and one of the first moves Sokram mastered from the Black Lotus War Art in his previous timeline.

  Sokram didn’t hesitate and teleported back to the place he stood before the fight began.

  At the same time, the five Drokmins swung their sword at the same time where Sokram was supposed to be.

  The sound of blades cutting through the wind reached Sokram’s ears five times with barely a microsecond between them.

  ‘He’s truly a Weapon Master deserving of praise, and he isn’t even using his preferred weapon,’ Sokram thought, seeing the puppet turning to face him.

  “Good! Very good. I was wondering why you dropped that needle so stealthily before rushing at me, so it was some sort of pinpoint teleportation spell, very insightful.”

  Drokmin praised sincerely, “Alright, you show great promise, Sokram. I think I can go all out on you then.”

  The air around the puppet distorted.

  The playful testing was gone, replaced by a suffocating killing intent that felt like a physical weight on Sokram’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

  ‘Fuck…’ was the only thought Sokram had time to form before Drokmin appeared right in front of him, swinging his sword up in a diagonal slash.

  “Peng!”

  Their swords met, and Sokram managed to block the attack only to be met with a flurry of precise, lightning-fast combos that pushed him back every time he either blocked or deflected.

  Sharp, overwhelming, and punishing.

  Sparks ignited between them every time their blades clashed, the vibration traveling up Sokram’s arm and rattling his recently reglued bones.

  Yet he ignored the pain, truly fighting for his life.

  Drokmin, aiming for his vitals, made it impossible for him to even look for an opening to counter or dodge, much less flee to create space between them.

  The world shrank to the reach of Drokmin’s blade.

  Every hit, a thundering impact of steel and pain.

  Sokram's lungs burned, his muscles screamed, his bones ached, and the relentless rhythm of attacks left him drowning, gasping for a single moment of respite that never came.

  Sokram, the ancient being, pinnacle of the Realm of Kings, was cornered like a rat with no escape in sight, clashing with a ghost.