“What?!”
No time to react.
She felt that all-too-familiar magical ripple—her own clansman’s energy.
Even though Jikuhir knew the magical projectile was aimed at her, her body simply couldn’t move fast enough.
A crimson flash. Blood splattered onto the earth.
Every soul on the battlefield froze, jaws slack.
“Why… why… why would you attack me, Cuihua?!”
Ice in her hands shattered into glittering snowflakes.
Her petite, delicate hands were instantly stained crimson by blood welling from her abdomen.
Teeth gritted, brows twitching from searing pain, the wounded Jikuhir shouted at the clanswoman who should’ve been her ally—Tracy.
“Hehe. Why? After seeing this, don’t you get it yet, Dragon Sovereign?”
Tracy licked the blade slick with Jikuhir’s blood, a chilling smirk twisting her bewitching face.
“Once you’re dead, I’ll be queen of the Dragonkin. Is that so hard to grasp? Didn’t *you* call me just the second-in-command?”
Killing intent—never shown even against imperial soldiers—surged toward Jikuhir without warning.
No breath spared. Sword blazing with friction-sparks, Tracy lunged again.
“Tch. This idiot.”
Truly, the Dragon Sovereign lived up to her title.
Wounded or not, her power remained undeniable.
A quick frost sealed the wound. Using her small frame, Jikuhir nimbly dodged the strike.
“Damn. She can still move?” Tracy clicked her tongue, annoyed.
“Hehe. I *am* the Dragon Sovereign. Did you think I’d miss something that obvious?”
Jikuhir shot a forced glance at her wound. Treated hastily—but still sharp.
Brow furrowed slightly, she looked at her now-enemy clanswoman, then at the confused imperial troops. A sigh escaped her.
“Tch. So you pulled this stunt mid-battle… just for a hollow title? Have *some* limits. Is Dragonkin pride just empty words?”
“Dragonkin pride? Hmph. Who cares!” Tracy’s face contorted. “Always the backup. Everyone names *you* strongest. I’m Divine Tier too! Pureblood Dragonkin too! So why *you* as Sovereign and not me?! I won’t accept it! We’re no different!”
Her furious roar unleashed a powerhouse’s aura, silencing the entire battlefield.
Startled back to their senses, imperial soldiers finally stirred.
Jikuhir faced the pressure head-on, expression blank, mind lingering on those words: *Why not me?*
Honestly… she felt a trace of sympathy.
Just a trace.
“I… I never *wanted* to be Sovereign… I just wanted to be an ordinary Dragonkin girl…”
She muttered.
Memories surfaced: over a century ago, forced into the throne for her strength, for pacifying other races.
Jikuhir was the one truly misunderstood.
Glorious on the surface, yet tirelessly serving nameless clansmen behind the scenes.
Who ever saw her burden?
Hearing Tracy’s reason for betrayal, Jikuhir resolved to teach her what being Dragonkin truly meant.
“Not by choice… but today, I’ll show you the gap—why *I* am Sovereign, Cuihua!”
“It’s *Tracy*!”
With that line drawn, grievously wounded or not, Jikuhir cast caution aside.
Awakening the rare “Ancestral Return” bloodline—a pureblood trait few possessed—she maxed her power, accepting the future cost.
Two Divine Tier Dragonkin girls. Peak power. Roars ignited the clash.
“Damn… we’ve been fighting *this*? This joke’s gone too far.”
Meanwhile, imperial soldiers finally grasped the shift: two Dragonkin now fought each other.
The scrawny captain wiped cold sweat, feeling a tightening below. He clicked his tongue inwardly.
*Live to fight another day.*
Without an Arcane Cannon or equal weapon? Facing *that*? Suicide.
Retreat now—or die.
He ordered the pullback.
Then—the new Arcane Cannon arrived. His eyes gleamed.
“The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. Today, let *this* Gouzi cripple the Dragonkin.”
He aimed the Arcane Cannon at the oblivious duelists.
Just as the three-way chaos seemed his to exploit—
A shadow shot from the forest at near-sonic speed.
“Cake! How the hell do I brake?!”
“!”
Total chaos.
The shadow zipped past Jikuhir and Tracy, then careened wildly through imperial ranks, shattering their formation.
Even Dragon Sovereign Jikuhir couldn’t predict its path—until it targeted the empire’s only trump card: the Arcane Cannon.
“No good! Fire it—now!”
Better used than destroyed.
Soldiers scrambled under the scrawny captain’s petty command.
But—
“If you value your lives, get back!”
“Everyone, hit the deck!”
No hesitation. The shadow slammed straight into the Arcane Cannon.
Propelled by unknown force, the barrel swung—pointing directly at the captain and his own men.
“Holy shit, press E—”
Too late. The cannon fired the instant the shadow zipped back toward Jikuhir. Silence.
“Damn. Rotten luck.”
Tracy, quick to react, unfurled emerald wings and soared upward.
Jikuhir tried to follow—
Then the backlash hit.
“Damn… my strength…”
Her magical wings dissolved into shimmering motes.
She collapsed. Azure eyes swallowed by flame. The inferno consumed her.
…
“Never imagined witnessing the Dragon Sovereign’s death like this.”
High above, Tracy gazed down at the scorched wasteland.
Killing Jikuhir herself, claiming the throne—that was the plan.
But what did it matter now?
“No matter. I’m first now. The throne is mine.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
After years of waiting, she slashed her arm with her sword.
Carrying the tale of the Dragon Sovereign’s “heroic sacrifice” to save her, she flew toward the World Tree.
Scene shift: post-blast battlefield.
No imperial soldier survived their own weapon.
The few still breathing were mangled beyond recognition—death inevitable.
Amid the grim scene, a figure pushed through the dust, brushing off clothes.
The shadow—Cang Xiaoxi—stood.
“Guess these jet boots aren’t ready for casual use yet.”
Jet boots: flight via air pressure.
His first official Arcane Artifact.
But as before—crafting with the Dragon’s Eye required full structural understanding.
School knowledge barely sufficed. Without grasping the mechanics? Uncontrollable chaos.
“Ugh… this scene’s… *way* too much.”
He stared at the scattered, mangled remains. Nausea rose.
Hours ago: ordinary high schooler in a peaceful world. Now: banned-film horror.
After vomiting and confirming minor injuries (and feeling uneasy about his clothes’ unnatural durability), Cang Xiaoxi steeled himself.
“This may feel like desecration… but survival leaves no choice.”
No backing. No money. No identity. A triple-no undocumented soul.
Use what you can. Morality aside.
His hard-won rule.
“But… before that—what about *this*?”
His gaze shifted from corpses to where he’d emerged.
There she lay: Jikuhir. Eyes closed, face serene. Dust-streaked clothes couldn’t hide her beauty.
Cang Xiaoxi sighed, a flicker of annoyance in his chest.
