Dragonic lineage

Leon's voice was steady, carrying the weight of experience. "It's okay to be angry, but do not let it consume you."

Teress took a deep breath, the embers of anger still flickering behind her sharp gaze. "I know. This won't happen again." Her lips were pursed, her tone forced into calm, yet her fingers remained clenched at her sides.

Leon acknowledged her words with a nod, then effortlessly summoned the fallen scroll back into his palm. The air shimmered faintly around his fingertips, the magic responding to his command with seamless ease. Without another word, they turned their attention back to the enchanted parchment, watching as the events continued to unfold before them.

The mysterious man moved with breathtaking efficiency, dispelling the Wyvern's draconic magic as though snuffing out a candle flame. Then, with a single precise strike, he drove his sword deep into the beast's skull. For a moment, it seemed as though the battle had ended. The Wyvern went still, its massive form sagging under its own weight.

But before they could fully process what had transpired, the unexpected occurred.

The Wyvern stirred.

Its enormous, clawed tail lashed out in a blur, delivering a devastating blow. The red-cloaked warrior was sent hurtling skyward like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane. He vanished into the storm-darkened heavens, his body spinning out of control.

Teress inhaled sharply. "The Wyvern didn't die," she murmured, disbelief lacing her voice.

Leon's expression hardened, his gaze sharp as a dagger. "Undead." The single word left his lips like a curse, dripping with certainty. His grip on the scroll tightened, and the bloodlust that flared in his eyes made even Teress hesitate. She looked away, her attention snapping back to the unfolding vision, unwilling to comment further.

The enchanted parchment flickered, skipping forward through nearly half an hour of blank, unreadable space. Then, abruptly, the recording resumed. The Wyvern reappeared, its immense wings flapping violently against an encroaching storm of ice. However, rather than breaking free, its movements grew sluggish. Crystalline frost crawled up its limbs, turning the once-majestic beast into a prisoner of winter's embrace.

The Wyvern roared, calling upon the Draconic Tongue once more, but something was amiss. Instead of being consumed by flames as before, the ground beneath the creature shimmered with an eerie glow. A vortex of raw mana surged toward it, swirling in an unnatural dance before vanishing completely.

Confusion twisted the Wyvern's monstrous features. The same perplexed expression was mirrored on Leon's and Teress's faces.

Then, without warning, a cataclysmic explosion of freezing energy erupted from the runic circle.

A towering hailstorm burst forth, so intense that it sent shockwaves through the sky, scattering the thick veil of storm clouds above. The sheer force of the magic was staggering, a merciless blizzard that threatened to consume all in its wake. It dwarfed even the Wyvern's massive form, as though the wrath of winter itself had descended upon it.

And then, just as swiftly as it had come, the storm dissipated.

What remained was a frozen monument—a regal yet lifeless sculpture of ice, once a mighty Wyvern, now preserved in eerie stillness.

A figure reemerged through the thinning frost. The crimson-cloaked man strode toward the frozen beast with deliberate steps. Blood dripped from beneath his mask, trailing down his chin, but his posture was unshaken, his presence undiminished by his wounds.

Leon exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "He wields magic runes."

Teress nodded, but her eyes held something deeper—a mixture of recognition and bitter hatred.

Leon continued, his voice decisive. "Last moments seems genuine. But even if he isn't tied to this invasion and merely helping, he's far too dangerous to be left unchecked. We must apprehend him." He turned to Teress, expecting her agreement.

Instead, she clenched her fists, her body trembling with restrained emotion. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely above a whisper. "I expected nothing less from one of them."

Leon frowned at her cryptic words. "Teress?"

But she was no longer listening to him. A chilling intensity radiated from her as she uttered a final vow. "Finally… I will have my revenge."

Leon gave her a sidelong glance, sensing that there was more to her reaction than she let on, but before he could press the issue, the vision on the scroll faded.

---

Far beyond the imperial walls, in a desolate expanse shrouded in unnatural gloom, an entirely different scene unfolded.

A voice seethed with unrestrained fury. "I will kill him... I will fucking! kill! him!"

One of the two black-masked men Orion had seen in the tavern—now exposed as the necromancer behind the undead Wyvern—paced in agitation. His rage crackled like an unstable spell, his fingers twitching as if itching to strangle the very air.

"Does he even comprehend the rarity of a Wyvern's corpse?" he spat. "Bastard. That bloody bastard."

His anger darkened further. "And that final gaze… That arrogance. He thinks himself victorious because he felled a mere Wyvern?" His breath came in ragged gasps before he erupted into manic laughter. "I will make him suffer. Oh, he will suffer. Slowly. Painfully. That sounds right. That sounds perfect… HAHAHAHA!"

As his deranged cackling echoed through the night, the second masked figure remained silent, standing a few paces away. Unlike his companion, he was calm, composed. He held a mystical communication scroll aloft, its surface flickering with a malevolent red glow.

A voice emanated from the scroll—deep, commanding, laced with displeasure. "I distinctly warned against engaging in battle. Yet, you chose to defy me."

"The city guards were closing in there scunity had triggered persi to kill him," the second masked man explained smoothly. "We had to relocate. I allowed the lunatic free rein to create a distraction. I also disrupted the dimensional gates to stall reinforcements while completing the runes."

"Did you eliminate all witnesses?" the voice demanded.

"Yes, but Perci lost his Wyvern in the skirmish," he admitted.

"Lost?" The voice turned cold. "Did you not tamper with the dimensional gate?"

"It wasn't reinforcements that took down the Wyvern," the masked man clarified. "There was another force at play."

A pause. Then, the voice inquired, "why not Eliminate him?"

The masked man hesitated. "No."

The air grew heavy, the red eyes in the scroll narrowing dangerously.

"I mean," he corrected himself hastily, "we shouldn't. He's worth more than a simple execution. We should capture him, alive. He dispelled the Wyvern's magic. That alone warrants further investigation."

A long silence followed. Then, the voice spoke, slower this time. "Are you certain?"

"Beyond a doubt," the masked man confirmed. "I saw it with my own eyes."

Another pause. Then, a sinister amusement crept into the voice. "Only a dragon can override a Wyvern's Draconic magic."

A realization settled between them—cold and foreboding.

"If he is what we suspect… Lord Agmus will be most pleased," the voice mused. "A bearer of dragonic lineage."

The masked man flinched. "You dare speak his name?"

The voice darkened, laced with unhidden malice. "Know your place, maggot."

The masked man felt a cold shiver race down his spine.

"And yes… Bring him to me. Breathing or breathless."

The crimson eyes flickered once more before the scroll went dark, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake. The masked man exhaled, glancing toward the horizon where Orion's fate now awaited him in the shadows.