“Your Majesty, Chief Roland Deragon awaits inside,” Hadrian said, stepping aside with a formal bow. Jared drew in a deep breath, pressed the surge inside back down, and walked into Dragon Hall.
The interior’s sheer scale defied belief. A dome beyond measure arched overhead, studded with countless night-glow pearls and star-stone, bathing the hall in daylight-bright radiance. Reliefs of dragons, carved so vivid they seemed ready to fly out, covered every wall.
They chronicled eras, from the ancestral dragon of the primeval age, through the Dragon Emperor of antiquity, to the champions of later times, each tableau carrying a force that seemed to rumble in silence.
On the main seat at the hall’s center sat an elder, hair streaked with white yet posture unbowed.
He wore a gold robe embroidered with nine dragons chasing a pearl; time had etched lines into his face, but his frame remained straight as a spear.
Most striking was the pair of dragon eyes that opened and closed beneath his brows; each flicker sent blades of light through the air, as though nothing could hide from their edge.
A boundless aura pooled around the man like a dark ocean. He kept the power reined in, yet a thin wave still seeped out, and the floor-to-ceiling air gave a nearly inaudible shudder under it.
He was Roland, current Clan Chief of the Sky Dragon Lineage and one of the main pillars propping up the whole Draconian race.
Roland watched Jared step through the doors of the grand hall, then rose from the throne-like seat, descended the marble stairs one deliberate step at a time, and stopped in front of him.
He said nothing at first. His time-worn dragon eyes moved over Jared’s face, shoulders, and hands, lingering there. In those pupils, unspoken sparks, delight, relief, weight, flitted past and refused to leave.
After that silent inspection, Roland bent both knees and lowered his tall frame until his brow nearly touched the floor, performing the most formal Draconian obeisance. His voice came out rough but unwavering,
“Roland, Clan Chief of the Sky Dragon Lineage, greets Your Majesty, the Dragon Emperor!” That one bow signified the Sky Dragon Lineage’s complete submission to the Dragon Sovereign Bloodline.
Jared hurried a step forward, reached down, and helped Roland back up. “Chief, please… There’s no need for such ceremony. I’m only a cultivator carrying a Golden Dragon Bloodline, hardly worthy of that salute.”
Roland straightened, kept his shoulders slightly lowered in respect, and fastened a blazing gaze on Jared. His reply sounded as firm as hammered iron.
“Your Majesty is mistaken. The Golden Dragon Bloodline is the supreme royal blood of our race one in ten thousand dragons. Anyone who bears it is the rightful emperor set by heaven and earth… Since that blood flows in you, you are our ordained ruler, whether you accept the mantle or not. Nothing in the world can alter that truth.”
Jared held the look for a quiet moment, realizing argument would go nowhere, and let the matter rest.
He raised a hand and tapped the dull black ring around his neck, forcing a wry smile. “If titles are off the table, then to business. Someone put this collar on me. It keeps my cultivation chained. I hope you can remove it.”
Only now did Roland truly focus on the inconspicuous Binding Collar at Jared’s throat. His eyes narrowed. A sweep of his consciousness field skimmed the object, and heavy lines dug into his brow.
“A Soulshackle Seal, a Tracker’s Mark, and a layered Binding Seal, three human techniques stacked together and woven with cruel precision. Your Majesty, who placed this thing on you, and why?”
Jared’s gaze cooled. In an even tone he laid out the House of Chance’s deeds, sparing no detail that mattered.
While he spoke, draconic might burst from Roland’s frame and made the jade pillars groan. He let out a low snort, every syllable edged like broken stone.
“Mere mortals of the House of Chance dared wound the Dragon Emperor and mutilate the sovereign blood. Fools courting a death that will come of the day. Presents itself shall personally collect their debt.”
With that vow given, Roland said no more. He slowly lifted his right hand.
Golden draconic energy crowded his palm until it became a blazing sphere, dense with sovereign pressure. He brought that glowing palm down on the Binding Collar.
At once, black runes all over the ring flared, flickering wildly as if alive, twisting in place and spitting static while they fought the invading dragon power.
“Hmph. Human tricks dare flaunt themselves before dragons?!” The contempt in Roland’s snort rode a fresh surge of light; the golden energy doubled in an instant.
Pure Dragon Emperor essence streamed from his hand into the collar. Like midsummer sun on frost, it pressed every rune flat in a heartbeat.
