Chapter 575: Verdant Spring, The Dance of Two Dragons

Far out in deep space, a vibrant planet floated quietly.

From a distance its surface was swathed in dense greens and blues, clouds drifting slowly above, rivers threading inland to the sea like silver ribbons, and mountain ranges rolling on.

Everything looked so natural and harmonious,

as if untouched by any sentient hand—a primeval world drifting calmly through the ocean of stars, day after day, year after year.

But that was only the surface.

Countless rage beasts nested across the planet’s surface.

Their forms were bizarre and varied: some were muscle-bulging colossi, some grotesque fusions of plants and flesh, others so distorted their original species were unrecognizable. Their pupils burned only madness and slaughter. They tore into one another like insect-breeding rituals, contending for dominance and spawning powerful rage beast lords.

The killing never ceased.

Then, in an instant, every rage beast stopped.

As if they sensed something, or had received an order.

They all raised their heads simultaneously and looked in the same direction—the direction of planet Bernardo.

At the same time, deep within the planet’s crust.

Here there were no solid rocks, only boiling magma and pressure enough to crush any matter.

At the very core burned a flame.

Its colors shifted constantly—sometimes searing white, sometimes dark crimson, sometimes hues that did not exist in ordinary reality.

At the flame’s center, an ever-morphing, formless silhouette writhed.

“He… he’s plundering my potency.”

“That dragon… he carries another kind of power, similar to mine, yet utterly different.”

The flames flickered, emitting a distinct psychic response, as if excited.

“Feed, grow to your fill.”

“When his talent matures, at least to the form of a potency, then harvest… he will become my nourishment, freeing me from this pitiful lingering existence. Perhaps I’ll have a chance at rebirth.”

The flame flickered for several seconds, then gradually calmed.

The innumerable rage beasts lowered their heads and resumed their previous frenzy—murder resumed, flesh flying—as if the brief pause had never occurred.

Meanwhile,

planet Bernardo.

Garoth was unaware of what had transpired in the distant void.

He was strolling through the Emerald Royal City of the Greenwild Kingdom with Cerora, soaking in the kingdom’s scenery.

Afternoon sunlight filtered through thick canopies, casting mottled shadows on the ground.

A forest breeze swept through, carrying scents of grass and earth.

Cerora’s hand was looped through Garoth’s wing-arm, her body leaning slightly toward him.

Her long hair drifted in the breeze, the ends occasionally brushing his arm with a faint scent of foliage.

The pair—one tall, imposing, dignified without anger, posture like a drawn sword, broad-shouldered and steady-footed, radiating an inner light like a living statue of a god; the other, an exquisite beauty crowned and robed—should have drawn many stares on the street.

Strangely, passersby did not glance at them.

It was as if an invisible wall separated them from the crowd; people automatically skirted around when passing, and their gazes slid away as if seeing nothing worth noticing.

“You used your suggestion charm well,” Cerora said softly.

“So did you,” Garoth replied.

He had used a suggestive spell, and Cerora had used a similar one.

Their magic layered together, forming a powerful cognitive filter.

To onlookers they were merely two ordinary pedestrians, not worth a second look.

They wandered through the crowd, enjoying a leisurely time.

After about a quarter hour they reached a plaza-like area.

It was wide and paved with neat flagstones, surrounded by beds of colorful flowers.

At the plaza’s center stood a huge green dragon statue, lifelike—wings spread as if about to take flight, every scale pattern clearly visible.

Now and then citizens of the Greenwild approached to pay respects to the queen’s statue.

Garoth raised his head slightly.

His gaze passed the dragon statue to a massive ancient tree.

It looked like an oak but on an enormous, spectacular scale.

It rose at the heart of the Emerald Royal City, its branches lush; the highest crowns pierced the clouds and cast a shadow over much of the city. Dragons could be seen flying and circling between the tree’s branches, darting like birds among the boughs.

“This tree is majestic—remarkable and unusual,” Garoth said.

“It is,” Cerora chuckled. “I obtained it by accident.”

“Guess where it came from.”

Garoth thought a moment. “The Nausil Empire? It looks like the mythical World Tree.”

Cerora shook her head, revealing, “No. I brought it back from a dream.”

Garoth turned his head to look at her.

Under his gaze, Cerora continued, “When I broke through to Legendary, I entered a deep level of dream.”

“It was strange—everything blurred, like a spilled palette of paint. I drifted there aimlessly for a long time, and then, in a moment, I saw a seed.”

“It hovered in front of me, emitting a faint light.”

“I reached out and it landed in my palm.”

“When I woke, I found I had brought that seed back into reality. Can you imagine that? Something from a dream appearing in the real world.”

“So I planted it.”

“Now it has grown into this towering tree. I call it the Dream Oak.”

Garoth nodded and looked toward the Dream Oak. “A seed brought from a dream growing into a giant tree in reality—sounds like a fantastical tale.”

He paused, then considered a possibility.

“Cerora, don’t you think these deep dream realms might essentially be akin to the Outer Planes? Real, existing places?”

Cerora nodded. “I have suspected that. But there are few records in any lineage.”

“After I became Legendary, I tried entering those deep dreams again, but each time felt different.”

“Sometimes it was like stepping into a real world—mountains, water, buildings. Other times it was a chaos where nothing was clear.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, I can only explore such deep dreams alone. Other beings cannot remain lucid there—not even you. When you were asleep before, you were inside a deep dream.”

That may not be absolute.

Go enough times and I might learn to remain lucid in those depths, Garoth thought.

Cerora glanced at his profile, shifting the topic.

“This tree is my palace, like your Dragon Court.”

“Want to see inside? The canopy holds vast spaces; the air is fresh—dreamlike—and there are rare flowers and fruits you won’t find outside. You’ll like it.”

Garoth shook his head. “We’ll wander your capital a bit first.”

Cerora nodded and did not press.

She hooked her arm through Garoth’s again and led him onward.

They rounded the plaza and entered an alley.

Houses packed both sides—wood and stone constructions, walls covered in vines and blooms.

Before long they emerged from the alley.

At its end was a crossroads with a gigantic ginkgo tree at the center.

Its trunk was wide enough that a dozen people would be needed to encircle it; its crown shaded the entire intersection.

Ribbons of various colors hung from the trunk, each covered in compact writing—red, blue, yellow, green—fluttering in the breeze like colored leaves.

“This is the Wishing Tree,” Cerora said.

“The citizens believe that tying a ribbon with a wish to this tree will make it come true. This tradition began when the kingdom was founded and continues to this day. At first a few warriors tied ribbons before battle to pray for safety; over time it spread into the kingdom’s custom.”

Garoth approached and read the ribbons.

“I hope to pass this year safely.”

“I hope disaster ends soon.”

“May Her Majesty the Queen reign forever.”

“May the kingdom prosper.”

...

Wishes of all sizes.

“Your people seem to revere you,” Garoth said.

On those ribbons he saw many notes honoring the Green Queen—some heartfelt, some plain, but all reflecting respect for Cerora.

“They mostly revere me,” Cerora corrected. “They fear me because in governing the kingdom and fighting enemies I am strong, decisive, and unhesitating. They know I can protect them in chaos and give them a stable life.”

“And I do not care whether they love me.”

She looked at Garoth with seriousness. “A ruler who indulges in being loved becomes weak, hesitant, indecisive.”

“The Greenwild Kingdom rose in chaos; I came up walking on a knife’s edge. If one day I grow weak, this kingdom will perish with me. I prefer their reverence to their affection.”

Garoth had no reply.

He recalled Cerora’s rise.

Meteor showers had fallen, bringing disaster and ruin. The Fury Curse raged. Orcs fought the elves. Arotala had been thrown into a blender.

Kingdoms collapsed amid calamity and countless lives were lost.

In that chaos Cerora rose like a comet.

She was decisive, unyielding, swift—never weak or fearful.

Those who challenged her authority met grim ends; they did not even have a chance to regret.

Garoth had collected rumors about her.

To the Greenwild citizens she was a bloodless, tearless dragon queen; some privately called her the Emerald Tyrant.

But Garoth also knew that was only one facet.

Before him Cerora was lively and bright, a sharp contrast to the rumors.

He found the contrast intriguing.

They continued, crossed the crossroads, and entered a busier street.

Taverns and eateries lined both sides, and the air was thick with food and drink scents. Greenwild citizens of many races streamed in and out; the atmosphere was lively and loud. Tavern signs varied—one showed a roaring bear, another a frothing beer mug, another a blood-stained sword.

“This is the entertainment district of our capital,” Cerora said.

Garoth scanned the taverns and stopped at one door.

A wooden sign showed a goblet and a playing card; a halfling stood beneath, shouting loudly.

“Come! Card duels now available! The hottest pastime in Emerald Royal City! Whether veteran or novice, you’ll find fun here!”

“Win prizes, lose and you still gain experience! Try it now!”

“Special event today: three consecutive wins gets you a limited card! Limited supply, first come first served!”

Garoth glanced at Cerora. “Card duels?”

She smiled. “It’s a recent trend—duels played with magic cards. Each card depicts creatures with different skills. When played, they emit magical lights and shadows.”

“Want to have a look?”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

They entered the tavern.

Inside it was larger than it appeared from outside.

Dozens of tables filled the hall, almost every one occupied by Greenwild citizens.

Card duels were lively.

Each table had a special magical cloth printed with a battle grid that glowed faintly. Players sat on opposite sides holding stacks of cards, taking turns placing them on the cloth.

Whenever a card was played, its magic activated.

A beam of light projected a three-dimensional image into the air.

One card conjured a roaring red dragon that breathed fire; the heat warped air around it and consumed the opponent’s creature into glimmering scatter. Another card projected an elf warrior wielding a greatsword; the blade slashed with metallic clangs against monsters.

The images were vivid, like miniaturized living beings fighting.

It wasn’t just visual—the sound and aura were simulated. The red dragon’s roar reverberated, its flames radiated heat, frost attacks chilled the air.

Garoth watched for a while.

“What’s this game called?” he asked.

“Heroes’ Glory,” Cerora replied. “It began as a pastime made by some spellcasters and steadily grew popular. The rules are simple but strategically deep.”

A shout cut through the hall.

Someone played a card.

Instantly, a brilliant radiance exploded from the card, dimming the lights nearby.

The light condensed into a huge projection.

It was Cerora’s dragon form—entirely jade green, scales like polished emeralds.

Her spectral form slowly unfurled wings that nearly covered the whole table. Green runes shimmered around her, radiating a mysterious, formidable aura.

Dreamlike!

Several large characters appeared beneath the image, denoting a skill.

The projection transformed.

The green dragon became ethereal and hazy, like a dream-phantom. Wherever she passed, the opponent’s card creatures fell into slumber, one after another, collapsing.

The opposing player paled and checked his hand, but it was too late.

An advantage flipped. Victory tipped wholly to the other side.

“Amazing!”

“Her Majesty ends the game every time she appears. It’s impossible to beat.”

The defeated player sighed and laid down his cards—his face not so much dejected as resigned, impressed by overwhelming power.

Garoth squinted at the card.

He noticed lines of small text on its face detailing Cerora’s legendary deeds.

[Green Dragon Queen Cerora, Founder of the Greenwild Kingdom.]

[The Queen rose amid chaos, uniting all the Greenwild realms by her own strength. Her decisions are like blades, her will like iron. She never retreats, never hesitates, never shows weakness. She is the most powerful dragon queen on the Arotala Continent.]

...

Garoth read and smiled.

“Decisions like blades, will like iron…”

“Written with flair. But it’s different from how you are before me.”

He said.

Cerora blushed and changed the subject. “So, what did you glean from the game?”

Garoth calmly replied, “These cards are more than a game. They’re tools to bolster your rule and magnify your prestige. Everyone who plays witnesses your might, and those descriptions subtly shape your image.”

Cerora’s lips curved. “As expected. You see the essence at a glance.”

“The game began as entertainment, but with royal promotion it became a deliberate design to that end.”

She pondered and continued, “Aola could adopt a similar game—your rule would be more secure.”

Garoth shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“The Aola citizens already worship me fervently. My image is entrenched—they don’t need reinforcement.”

That was true.

In his system he was more than emperor—he was a symbol of faith. Every victory and expansion strengthened that image. Minstrels sang his deeds.

Compared to him, Cerora relied more on additional measures to consolidate rule.

Garoth had already cemented his presence in his people’s hearts through repeated victories and sustained ideological education.

He paused and added, “However, the game would enrich citizens’ lives.”

“Aola lacks entertainment. Introducing this would give them something to enjoy.”

“But not as a tool to enforce rule?” Cerora asked.

“Exactly,” Garoth said. “Just to let them have fun.”

Though his kingdom began as a means to gather power and resources, if he could improve his people’s lives he would not object.

Cerora smiled and looked at him. “All right. I’ll have someone send Heroes’ Glory’s rules and design to Aola. But I’m curious—how would you design your image?”

Garoth thought, then said, “A pure dragon image is one-dimensional.”

“For example, I could have multiple forms: human form, true dragon form, multi-headed combat form, ultimate form—each with different skills and effects to enrich layers.”

“Cards for each form could be used individually or combined for strategic depth.”

Cerora showed surprise and interest. “There’s that much possibility? I hadn’t considered it.”

Time passed.

When Garoth and Cerora left the tavern, the Emerald Royal City’s sky had taken on dusk.

Sunset filtered through the Dream Oak’s leaves, casting mottled light.

Streets thinned, replaced by pinpricks of lantern light among alleys.

Day’s clamor faded into the calm of night.

Cerora tugged Garoth’s arm. “Now, shall we go to my palace? I prepared a surprise.”

Garoth glanced at her. “You seem eager for my reaction.”

“Of course.”

She chuckled. “There can’t be many things that surprise you.”

She added, “Also, I prepared that gift a long time ago. If you didn’t come soon, I was going to personally deliver it to the Aola Kingdom.”

They no longer hid their presence.

Cerora spread her wings and soared as an emerald giant dragon, wingbeats stirring a gust that lifted leaves and dust.

Garoth transformed into his true form as well; his wings swirled with red Dragon Qi as he followed.

The two great dragons flew in formation, passing through the Dream Oak’s branches toward the canopy level.

Up close the Dream Oak’s crown was even more breathtaking.

Thick boughs crisscrossed like natural bridges, each as broad as a path for dragons. Leaves were as large as sails; faint phosphorescence ran along their veins as if dream-stars were trapped inside.

Against this grand spectacle, even dragons seemed small.

Cerora navigated like a master.

Finally she paused before a massive nest woven of countless vines and branches.

It looked both organic and artfully constructed—vines and boughs formed walls, domes, and corridors. A curtain of flowers hung over the entrance.

Several Greenwild great dragons lounged nearby. At the sight of Garoth behind Cerora their relaxed postures tightened.

They had been lying across branches preening scales or dozing, but at the moment they saw the red-iron dragon they rose, eyes alert.

Garoth’s red-iron form was majestic and solid.

Though his faceplate showed little expression, an oppressive presence exhaled from him, making other dragons breathe more cautiously.

An older female dragon straightened, her pupils full of suspicion; her gaze lingered on Garoth a few seconds before shifting to Cerora.

“This—who is he?”

Cerora flicked her tail lazily. “Don’t be so tense. We are not enemies.”

She then led Garoth into the nest.

One male dragon watched Garoth’s retreating silhouette, his look shifting.

Suddenly he murmured, “Red-and-iron dragon… that bearing—could this be the Atlan-born Scarlet Emperor Cangxing, the Red Emperor?”

At his words, the others recalled rumors they had heard.

After a brief silence, the Greenwild great dragons exchanged glances.

“No wonder he can set foot in Her Majesty’s nest… indeed, only the Scarlet Emperor Cangxing could win our queen’s favor. I wondered why His Majesty has been so generous to an outsider.”

“Does this mean we and Aola share the same side?”

“If so, that would be good for Greenwild.”

“I heard rumors he can even manipulate the Mandate of Heaven. He’s comparable to the Gold Dragon King.”

They spoke in low tones.

Inside the nest.

It was larger than it appeared from the outside.

Branches arched into vaults and colonnades, the floor carpeted with soft moss and petals scattered with gold and silver gems that glittered. The whole interior felt like a naturally formed palace.

“How do you like my palace style?” Cerora asked.

Garoth surveyed the surroundings, his claws pressing the resilient floral carpet. “Fresh, natural—relaxing for dragons. Very nice, like your dream world. The first time I entered your dream realm I felt something similar.”

Though his first visit, the place felt familiar.

Suddenly Garoth paused in his steps.

He looked up at an enormous orb tightly wrapped in green vines, suspended within the vault like a vast cocoon.

“What is that?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“You have sharp senses; you noticed it the moment we arrived,” Cerora said with a smile. “It’s the meeting gift I prepared for you.”

She flicked a claw and the vines, as if animated, retreated layer by layer, revealing the object inside.

A pitted meteorite fragment.

Roughly the size of Garoth’s skull, irregular, pocked with hollows and fissures. Its surface webbed with cracks, veins of dark crimson light leaking through as if molten fire flowed within.

Stranger still, the fissures pulsed subtly, inhaling and exhaling like living veins.

Garoth’s pupils contracted.

He sensed frenzied flame within the fragment.

That same mad, violent, twisted aura—the Fury Curse he had devoured before—yet at a far denser concentration.

This fragment’s frenzied flame was nearly solidified.

The meteorite shard was like a sealed source of Frenzied Flame.

“You guessed what it is,” Cerora’s voice grew serious.

“When the meteor showers from the stars swept Arotala, this was a broken piece.”

“I wanted to give you a whole meteorite.”

“But the Fury Curse affected me strongly. I cannot approach too many intact pieces. Most intact meteorites were taken by orcs or elves, or guarded by extreme rage beast lords. Those lords are confused and insane in mind, and some can restrain me.”

“So I could only obtain this fragment.”

Cerora smiled and relaxed again. “Satisfied? It’s yours.”

Garoth did not refuse.

He extended a claw and the meteorite shard was drawn to him.

He intended to place it into a spatial item, but it would not fit.

Unfazed, Garoth ripped open space with a sweep of his claw and flung the fragment into the barren micro-world where he trained.

“This present is exactly what I need.”

Garoth looked at the green dragon. “Cerora, what gift would you like in return?”

Cerora’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Remember when I asked you before?”

“I wondered how to win your favor—whether I must perform gestures from a love story: present you with a carefully prepared gift, demonstrate my sincerity and uniqueness, and pursue you ardently until I capture your heart.”

“You didn’t give me a specific answer then.”

“But looking back, my approach seems correct.”

“Oh, and I must thank your offspring Laria; he suggested many ideas. He said you like concrete things, so I prepared this for you.”

“You ask what reward I want?”

“Garoth, you already know what I want.”

After she spoke, the green dragon’s smile turned triumphant. Her gaze burned like a victor’s and she stepped forward proudly.

Garoth did not remain stationary either.

He stepped forward; with each heavy tread his massive body cast an ever-deepening shadow, his movement unhurried but each step carried undeniable pressure.

Seeing Garoth advance, Cerora hesitated and took an instinctive half-step back.

But Garoth spread his wings.

His huge wings folded like descending clouds, enveloping Cerora.

The inner surface of the membranes was hot, imbued with metallic and fiery scent, pressing down like a mountain upon the green dragon. The oppressive aura nearly suffocated her, making each scale tremble under the invasive force.

A low whimper escaped her throat.

She instinctively tilted her head away, her slender neck arching.

Garoth allowed her no retreat.

He lowered his head, his jaw enclosing the side of her long neck.

There was no brutal biting—he applied a measured nip; his teeth slid along the edge of her scales, enough for her to feel the presence of fangs but not to pierce her emerald hide.

Cerora’s body stiffened.

She felt each tooth trail along her scales from neck down; where touched, each scale felt like it ignited a tiny blaze, heat traveling along nerve endings.

Then she collapsed as if drained of bones, her whole body going limp.

The wing membranes trembled, carrying her choked breaths—intermittent, as if something blocked them then forced them out. Her foreclaws dug into the ground, talons carving shallow furrows through moss and petals.

Cerora clamped her jaws on Garoth’s broad shoulder.

Her movements were clumsy, teeth lightly clamped—resistance that was almost compliant, the bite merely pressing at the scale surface.

Garoth felt the faint contact on his armor of scales.

He released her neck and lifted his head, his faceplate looming in her view as warm breath washed over her.

“Cerora, I prefer when you think you have everything under control,” he said.

His voice was low, calm, a composed cadence contrasting with Cerora’s previously proud bearing.

Cerora tried to retort to maintain face.

But her mind muddled; words failed to form.

Ultimately she buried her snout into his neck and sank her teeth into the scales along his lower jaw.

Seeing this, Garoth ceased to tease.

He emitted a low rumble and hooked his claws into the delicate scales at the junction of her chest and belly, tracing along the scale lines with a gentle touch—like plucking the strings of an instrument—but each stroke provoked uncontrollable shivers in her.

Her body tensed, then gave into a fresh trembling.

Her wings flapped twice involuntarily, stirring a breeze that made surrounding vines sway.

Cerora felt as if her scales were aflame.

Touched spots burned like ignited fuses, heat seeping along vessels through flesh into bone and organs.

She wanted Garoth to stop yet did not want him to stop.

Ultimately she could only emit a string of muffled sobs.

At the same time the nest began to respond to its masters.

Branches that had drooped animatedly stretched outward; new shoots sprouted at visible speed from nodes, the pale green tips trembling then unfurling into tiny leaves.

Between the leaves small buds swelled and burst open at astonishing pace.

The whole nest seemed to have had a switch flipped—transforming from a static structure into a living organism.

Garoth’s wings spread fully.

Their broad surfaces cast both dragons entirely in shadow beneath, enveloping them in a warm, dusky gloom.

His tail coiled with hers.

The two tails brushed lightly, then intertwined slowly, wrapping tightly from tip to root; scales rubbed with a crisp metallic tinkle.

His grip left no room for refusal—tight yet non-injurious.

His biting traced from neck to shoulder, trailing along the bone line; his teeth skated along the edges of scales.

Cerora shut her eyes.

Her eyelids closed, hiding her sea-green eyes; she folded her wings inward, bringing membrane edges together so the two dragons sank beneath a single winged shadow.

The nest’s vines finally burst into bloom.

Countless buds exploded open in an instant, petals layering to reveal inner stamens. Flowers piled atop the entwined tails, covering the mingled scales and muscles in a sea of blossoms.

Hanging vines wove, one over another, layer upon layer.

They twisted and locked, forming an impenetrable natural barrier that sealed the deepest places from the outside—no one could see inside.

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