Hill hauled Emperor, Lingxiao, Lingsaki, Lixue, and Lanxia—four people and one dragon—out of the gleaming teleportation array. She turned to seek her parents’ help, when a voice broke like sunlight through cloud—
“Hill, you’re safe—this is so good to see!”
Two figures swept in and hugged her, warmth like home cooking and hearthfire. It was her father, Saint Cole, and her mother, Celia Maya.
Joy should’ve brimmed like spring rain after a long drought, but urgency scalded first. Hill forced herself from their arms and blurted, breath quick like a chased fawn, “Father, Mother, please save Boss and the others!”
“Boss?”
Relief had just ebbed like a receding tide, and puzzled looks washed in. Hearing their daughter’s frantic tone, the air felt heavy, like thunder waiting.
Once calm returned like a cool breeze, Saint Cole and Celia Maya saw five bodies laid beside Hill. Each carried wounds of different weight, like torn banners after a storm. The worst was the golden-haired boy, beauty like frost on dawn petals. If not for a strange aura sheathing him like a second skin, life would’ve already slipped away like sand. Even so, the outlook stayed grim, a sky bruised with cloud.
They knew Lanxia. She was the granddaughter of Dilosdor, the current Dragon Kin patriarch. Talent low and presence soft like mist, she’d always been easy to overlook, yet the name still rang faintly.
“Hill, what happened?!” His voice cracked like a snapped bowstring.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Hill said, anxiety fluttering like trapped sparrows. “Just hurry and heal Boss and the rest!”
She shortened the tale to bare bones, words like tossed pebbles. She introduced Emperor and the others, and sketched the fight in Sait City.
“What—three of them are from the Mizumi Clan? And the attackers struck knowing who they were?!” Shock flashed like lightning.
He let the odd way Hill referred to herself slide like rain off armor. Saint Cole snapped to his wife, voice firm as a drawn blade: “Maya, treat Yumigawa Sumeragi and the others. Use the finest healing elixirs in the Dragon Realm.”
“Mm, understood.” Her eyes stayed steady like a lighthouse.
She knew the weight of it. Hurting members of the Mizumi Clan while knowing their identity was like raising a banner and declaring war to the world.
Which power had the gall to do that? And Hill said the one who injured Emperor held Law Realm strength, a mountain looming beyond reach. That made Saint Cole and Celia Maya take it with utmost gravity, as if stepping on thin ice.
When Celia Maya had moved Emperor and the others into the finest room of the Dragon God Institute for treatment, Hill finally exhaled, breath easing like steam from tea. But worry still pooled like dark water. “Can Mother really heal Boss and the others?”
“Rest easy, Hill,” Saint Cole said, palm warm on her head like sun on snow. “Your mother is the Dragon Realm’s only mid-tier Law Realm Holy Light Dragon. In healing, she’s the strongest under our sky. Besides, Yumigawa Sumeragi and the others aren’t fatally wounded.”
Then a thought tugged at him like a fish on the line. “Hill, why do you call that boy named Yumigawa Sumeragi ‘Boss’? And I sensed a trace of Primordial Source on him, a breath like ancient stone. Does he have some tie to Sir Xino?”
“Boss is Boss!” Hill’s eyes lit like lanterns. “He makes me all kinds of tasty food, and he often cuddles me to sleep. I just really like Boss! As for Sister Xinuo, she’s the master of me and Boss!”
“Sir Xino is the master of you and Yumigawa? How does that work?” Saint Cole’s confusion swirled like falling leaves.
“Boss is a Sword Wielder. I remember you become the master’s maid as the price to become one,” Hill said, voice small like a whispering stream.
“That’s basically Sir Xino’s disciple!” Saint Cole reeled, mind ringing like a struck bell. “If Xino chose him, his potential could rival, even surpass, Yugou Sage!”
That thought shook Saint Cole hard, like a quake under the palace. What did it mean to be a disciple of Xino? As a member of the Mizumi Clan, Emperor might stand equal with the Dragon God. As Xino’s disciple, that status towered high like a peak above clouds.
Though Emperor’s current strength wasn’t yet formidable, the title alone made even a Dragon God look up, like a pilgrim gazing at a sacred mountain.
“If Yumigawa is Sir Xino’s disciple, why is he this badly hurt? Doesn’t Sir Xino intervene?” The question felt wrong, like a blade nicked with rust.
“Master left a while ago because the Worldgate had problems, and she still hasn’t returned,” Hill said, faith shining like starlight. “But Master surely foresaw this, so she told me to bring Boss and the others to the Dragon Realm.”
“What? The Worldgate has issues?! And a sudden Law Realm expert wounded Yumigawa? Is that legend true?!” Color drained from Saint Cole’s face like dusk swallowing light.
If Xino couldn’t return for so long, the Worldgate’s trouble wasn’t small—more like a storm ripping trees from their roots.
“Hill, you rushed them here and must be exhausted. Go rest, like laying down a heavy pack. I need to speak with Dilosdor.”
Saint Cole knew they had to probe the Basiloth Empire. Ideally, they’d quell the force that dared oppose the Mizumi Clan. But with a Law Realm powerhouse, unless he acted, the knot wouldn’t loosen. The problem swelled like a flood.
Unease grew with every step, like shadows lengthening at sunset. After parting from Hill, Saint Cole left the Dragon God Institute to confer with Dilosdor and the elders waiting outside.
“Your Majesty the Dragon God, this matter is no small ripple,” Dilosdor said, voice calm like stone by a river. “If that legend proves true, it’s beyond what our Dragon Kin can resolve. We can investigate the Basiloth Empire. But to truly deal with them, unless Your Majesty personally moves, our Dragon Kin will pay a brutal price, like forests felled in fire. Best to leave it to the Mizumi Clan or Sir Xino.”
“Agreed,” Saint Cole nodded, the motion curt like a sword returning to its sheath. “Dilosdor, send people to scout the Basiloth Empire. As for the Mizumi side, we’ll decide after Yumigawa wakes.”
“By your command!” Dilosdor bowed, age and dignity like old pines. “I’ll convene the Elder Council at once.” He led the elders toward the Dragon God Island’s hall, footsteps echoing like drums.
…
Meanwhile, in the finest room of the Dragon God Institute.
The treatments finished. Once Emperor and the others stabilized, Celia Maya wiped sweat from her brow, relief loosening like a slackened bowstring.
She sat on the chair by the bed, gaze resting on Emperor’s peaceful face, quiet as moonlit water.
“He’s a boy, yet so pretty,” she murmured, amusement flickering like candlelight. “His hair is a bit long; for a boy, that won’t do—people will mistake him for a girl! Since I’ve got a moment… why not…”
A sweet smile curved like a crescent moon. From nowhere, she produced a delicate pair of scissors, silver glint like frost. Celia Maya rose and walked toward the sleeping Emperor, steps soft as falling petals.
