Drakion looked at the dispersing Dragon Soul with a sad smile. What the Golden Dragon had said was still shocking him—only one enemy had annihilated an entire dragon clan numbering in the thousands.
"Where is the Dragon Soul?" Drakion’s thought was abruptly interrupted as the young woman disturbed him. His frown deepened as his gaze turned chilling. Killing intent stirred within him—he felt the urge to erase her from existence.
But then, seeing the confusion in her eyes—eyes clearly unaware of what she had done, still pestering him to explain the disappearance of the Dragon Soul—he held back, exhaling a sigh.
"What happened to the Dragon Soul is none of your business," Drakion snorted and turned away.
Now that he knew there was a way to save Dragon Souls from death’s grasp, he resolved to rescue them all—those still bound by the curse of the death aura.
But as Drakion moved forward, he noticed something irritating—the young woman was still following him.
"Why the hell are you following me?" Drakion snapped, anger lacing his voice.
The young lady, sneaking behind him, flinched at the sudden lash of his tone. She scratched her head and said,
"You’re the only one who can protect me—that’s why."
"Find someone else to follow," Drakion growled.
"Where do you expect me to find someone else? You’re such a meanie!" she pouted.
"Think whatever you like. Just don’t follow me," he muttered coldly, continuing on his path. Yet, she didn’t listen. Her steps remained behind him, trailing stubbornly.
"Do you want to die?" Drakion asked, his voice ice-cold as his killing intent surged. He had restrained it for long enough—he didn’t want to kill her... not yet.
"It’s better than being eaten alive by a Dragon Soul," she said softly, her words striking Drakion with surprise.
"You better leave," he snapped, no longer willing to entertain her stubbornness.
If she wanted to follow him, then she’d have to do so without ever sensing him again.
"Devouring Art: Devouring Void Step."
Drakion vanished—devouring space itself, slipping through the void as his presence dissolved into nothingness.
"Wait for me!" the young woman cried out, racing forward. But she stopped abruptly, stunned. His presence was gone—completely erased. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t sense him anymore. Frustrated, she stomped her foot on the ground and glanced helplessly at the eerie silence around her.
Drakion, now far ahead, sighed.
"What a nuisance..." he muttered.
He continued on his journey, and with every dragon he encountered, he saved them—purging their bodies of death aura, allowing them to pass on peacefully. In a way, Drakion was performing an exorcism.
Yet, despite questioning them, the answers remained the same as those from the first Golden Dragon. None of them truly remembered the battle. What shocked him most was that no matter how many death auras he devoured, the corruption never ceased. It kept coming, as if he had accomplished nothing.
According to Drax, all this death aura stemmed from a single source. Unless that source was devoured, the plague would never stop. After hours of relentless travel and contemplation, Drakion discovered the aura’s origin—it was seeping from the north.
That revelation stirred something within him.
Drakion pressed on, journeying for more than two hours until the cold veil of midnight cloaked the world.
As he walked deeper into the forest, the rustling of leaves caught his attention. He froze, eyes sharp, surveying the mist-wreathed trees.
He shifted into a battle stance. The air thickened.
Then—suddenly—a dark figure lunged from the death mist.
Drakion struck with a fierce blow.
But just as his attack was about to land, a cry rang out—
And Drakion paused, eyes narrowing.
When he looked at the person, it was none other than the young lady—which made his frustration boil.
When the young lady looked up and saw it was Drakion, she jumped up.
"What are you doing here?"
"Same question I should be asking you," Drakion replied coldly.
"Well, after you abandoned me, I was walking all by myself. Luckily, I didn’t meet any Dragon Soul... until I met you," the young lady giggled.
Drakion frowned deeply. What kind of twisted fate was this—for them to cross paths again after all the trouble?
"It seems it’s fate for us to meet again," she smiled, hopeful.
Meanwhile, Drakion’s frown darkened.
"Aren’t you a wolf?" he blurted out.
"How did you know?" the young lady gasped, eyes widening in shock as she stared at Drakion.
Realizing his slip, Drakion masked it with a crooked smile.
"It’s instinct," he said.
"Oh? Then that means your instinct is very strong," she giggled again, unaware of the weight behind his words.
"What about your father and mother? Did they allow you to enter here of your own free will?" Drakion asked, his voice quieter now.
The moment she heard that, her cheerful mood dimmed. A sorrowful aura spread around her like a chilling mist.
"Papa is dead. As for Mama... I don’t know. The entire wolf clan is dead," she whispered—then burst into tears.
Drakion stood frozen, shocked. The Wolf Village... massacred. He didn’t know why, but part of him felt a twisted satisfaction hearing this. Yet, when he thought of the innocents who died, he sighed deeply.
"The Humans... and the Lizard Clan."
"How did you survive?"
"Papa... he was the one who sent me away before it happened," she said through tears.
Drakion moved closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Sorry. That’s the way of the world," he sighed.
"What’s your name?" he asked.
The air split with a sharp cry as Drakion’s blade slashed cleanly through her neck.
Her head flew into the air, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Lyla... remember, in your next life, never trust anyone easily."
A/N: Continue to support this author with power stones, golden tickets, and gifts—your support is my greatest concern and motivation!
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