One month later.

Central Land Northern Border, site of the Alita Forest.

The once-lush forest no longer existed. In its place was a barren wasteland, dominated by that massive rift cutting across the center.

It looked like a wound that would never heal, sprawling across the land and day after day exuding a malignant aura.

Today, everything would end.

Hum!

A radiant light blossomed.

It poured forth from between the six arms of the Red Iron Dragon, condensing into a huge globe of light before falling to the ground.

It grew larger and brighter.

Then the light detonated.

Like a new sun rising on the surface, the brilliance swallowed everything in an instant, spreading outward in all directions, illuminating the sky and even making the snow on distant peaks reflect a blinding gleam.

Where it passed, spatial structure shattered on a massive scale.

The great rift, the roiling abyssal energies, the lingering demon auras.

All of it was annihilated and erased by this strike.

Nothing could withstand it.

When the light faded, the air was filled with fractures of every size, some as fine as hair, some as thick as arms, densely webbing the heavens.

But they were healing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The Material Plane’s space could repair itself, and very quickly. Crack after crack closed and vanished until only the normal blue sky remained.

At the spot where the Abyssal Rift had been, there was now only a vast, bottomless pit.

Its surface was covered with a glazed, shell-like crust, devoid of any sign of life.

The Red Iron Dragon hovered high above, looking down at his handiwork.

His six arms hung loose, the three heads drooped, and all three pairs of dragon pupils stared at the enormous pit below. The faceplate, cast like steel, gave no hint of expression.

Yet deep in his eyes a flash of exhaustion passed.

Only a flash, and he pushed it down quickly.

He had not truly rested this past month.

Fighting a Great Demon.

Recondensing the Dragon Pearl.

Repairing the ravaged body... Those bone-deep wounds had closed, but the lost flesh, drained energy, and worn organs still needed restoration.

Only after the strike just now had fallen and he confirmed the Abyssal Rift’s complete disappearance did he finally stop.

Garoth exhaled a slow, scorching breath.

“I should rest.”

He assessed his condition inwardly.

“Let sleep smooth out the weariness.”

For a great dragon, even ordinary sleep could solve many problems without needing full slumber.

Injured? Sleep a while.

Exhausted? Sleep a while.

In a foul mood? Sleep a while.

...

The dragon turned and flew north.

Red Emperor Capital.

The Dragon Court’s uppermost level, above the sea of clouds.

There stood a vast metal door behind which lay the bedchamber only the Red Emperor could enter.

When the Red Iron Dragon stepped inside, the enormous metal door closed behind him, cutting off the outside clamor.

There were no attendants or guards here, only peace and quiet, and soft daylight filtering through a skylight.

The Red Iron Dragon slowly lay down.

His thick tail curled forward into a comfortable coil, he closed his eyes and let the sunlight fall over him, feeling warmth and serenity.

Time to sleep.

He allowed his consciousness to sink.

Darkness crept in, his awareness blurred, and he slumped into deep sleep.

Some time later.

“Garoth.”

Suddenly, a gentle voice sounded.

It felt both beside his ear and distant like the horizon, soft and smiling, it pierced the darkness, it pierced his slumber, and entered deep into his consciousness.

Garoth’s eyes flew open.

His pupils contracted, reflecting a scene utterly unlike his bedchamber.

Warm sunlight, a gentle breeze.

Underfoot a soft meadow carpeted with riotous wildflowers—reds, yellows, purples, blues—like a colorful rug laid atop the earth. A brook meandered in the distance, its waters tinkling, crystal clear.

Further away, ranges of mountains stretched on, their peaks capped with snow that glinted silver in the sun.

Was he standing on a field?

The sky had a warm orange-pink hue, like the colors of sunset, gentle and cozy. Clouds floated pale violet, rimmed with gold as if kissed by sunlight.

The scene was as beautiful as a painting.

There was an unreal sense similar to the Serene Spirit Wilderness; it was too perfect, too dreamlike to be reality.

No — this wasn’t the Dragon Court, nor the waking world.

This was some kind of dream!

Garoth’s awareness was clear and sharp; he could distinguish real from illusion and perceived the environment he was in.

“Who is it?”

The great dragon sat up.

His body tensed instantly, aura flaring; golden lightning surged from within him while blood-colored flames welled from beneath his scales, warping the surrounding air.

Though in a dream state, he was confident that even as a spirit he could shred any intruder.

A powerful physique required an equally powerful mind; forged by countless trials, his spirit was as unbreakable as his flesh, steel-strong.

“Don’t be tense.”

That voice sounded again, amused.

A figure coalesced, walking from the brook.

She wore a pale green dress, the color of fresh leaves unfurling—clean and natural. The hem flowed like nightfall and was dotted with silver luminescent specks. Her long hair cascaded like a waterfall, the tips slightly curled and gleaming as she moved.

She walked slowly.

Each step unhurried, each movement imbued with a languid grace.

Cerora.

In humanoid form, the Green Dragon Queen now stood before the Red Iron Dragon, hands clasped behind her back, body leaning slightly forward, her head tilted as she regarded him.

“Cerora.”

Garoth’s gaze sharpened, fixed on her. “Intruding into my dream—what do you want?”

“Relax, my dear His Majesty Ignas.”

Cerora answered with a smile. “This is not your dream. To be precise, this is my Domain; I pulled you into my dream.”

It was one of her skills.

Whenever she wished, she could form dream links with any being and even drag a target into her dream while they were awake.

Garoth said, “Dream or not, it makes no difference whose dream this is.”

He paused, his gaze narrowing, pupils sharpening into needles. “Answer me. Why are you here?”

“Simple.”

She met his look without flinching. “I only wanted to see you.”

“My followers left in Atral reported that you fought a Great Demon, and it looked fierce. I was a bit worried, so I came to check—see whether you’re missing a limb or had a few scales nibbled off by demons.”

“In such... an unauthorized manner?”

Garoth’s tension didn’t ease.

His muscles remained taut, his aura ready to shred the dream at any moment.

The Green Dragon’s cunning and scheming were legendary; her kindness often came sugar-coated with thorns. Moreover, Cerora’s talents were bizarre and dangerous; he needed to be cautious.

“Unauthorized, yes—my intrusion was rude. Forgive me.”

Cerora accepted it with graceful ease.

She inclined her body in an elegant apologetic bow, then lifted her head and added:

“However, I’m fully aware that with the strength of your mind, if you felt violated or simply wished to leave, you could at any time tear this fragile dream link apart like thin paper and return to your rightful slumber.”

She paused, her tone softer.

“The fact that I can stand here and converse calmly with you proves that, at some level, your subconscious does not reject this encounter.”

“Your body is in the Dragon Court, your consciousness here. If you wish to wake now, you may.”

Garoth was silent for a moment.

He didn’t answer, but his tension eased a little.

Indeed, the dream felt unstable.

He could sense its boundaries; if he concentrated, a single burst of will could shatter everything and return him to ordinary sleep.

“In that case, you have already seen me.”

His voice cooled. “Now I need to rest, uninterrupted.”

Cerora blinked, lashes fluttering.

“So eager to send me away?”

“I’m going to rest.”

“You can rest here too.”

Cerora replied.

She lifted a hand and pointed at the surroundings.

“My dream is comfortable. Look at the sunlight, the meadow, the brook... how beautiful. Resting here will relax you better.

“And within my dream, you won’t have nightmares, you won’t be disturbed, you won’t awaken.”

“You can sleep soundly and comfortably.”

“Here with me, you’ll rest far better than by yourself. I guarantee that when you wake, you’ll be more refreshed than ever.”

Garoth said nothing.

He lifted a talon, gathering a powerful surge of mental force; thin cracks began to spiderweb across the dreamscape at his claw’s edge as his will tested the illusion.

“Wait, wait.”

Cerora hurriedly waved her hand. “Don’t be so hasty. I pulled you here without asking; that was my fault. For that, I believe I should give you a small compensation—call it an apology and a... meeting gift?”

“No need.”

Garoth shook his head.

His talon made a small motion and tore a slit in the scene like a curtain.

Cerora smiled to herself and said, “In the realm I built, you can rest and do things you can’t in reality.”

Then she snapped her fingers.

Snap.

The scenery shifted instantly. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

The meadow and brook vanished.

Images around them flickered wildly: one moment mountains rose, jagged peaks shrouded in mist; the next they stood atop clouds looking down while the world seemed nearly microscopic; then they were on a storm-tossed ocean, waves raging, sky and sea merged...

Caught in those wondrous vistas, Garoth paused.

His talon hung in the air, abandoning the tear.

“This dream is also the best training ground.”

Cerora’s voice came from all directions.

“I share it with you. You can freely construct any environment you imagine; if you can conceive it, it will manifest—even the foes you imagine will take form. Then you can simulate battles, rehearse spells, develop techniques... No consequences, no worry—just try.”

“Give it a shot. You already have influence here.”

As she finished, the surroundings convulsed again.

Mountains and rivers dissolved into the innumerable stars Garoth had imagined.

Countless stars, countless galaxies and nebulae filled the space densely. Some shone like suns, some dim like candlelight, some swirled like vortices, some hung like unmoving boulders.

An immense starfield stretched without visible edge.

This...

The Red Iron Dragon beat his wings and hovered inside the starry expanse.

Endless stars around him, void beneath his feet, a brilliant galaxy above his head—his clawing motion halted instinctively, eyes widening as the starlight reflected in his pupils.

Seeing him stop his attempt to leave the dream, Cerora showed a pleased expression.

“The environment is secondary.”

“You can conjure your imagined opponents and fight them.”

“Think of the mighty foes you’ve encountered, those you’ve heard of but not met, or opponents you can imagine might exist... bring them forth and test them.”

“Try it. Let me see how the Red Emperor who felled a Great Demon fights in a dream.”

She encouraged him.

Garoth fell silent.

He didn’t particularly want to linger in a dream, but...

If Cerora’s promise was true, this was a training sanctuary.

Real battle always carried risk and cost.

Here?

He could challenge foes far stronger than himself, experiment with tactics he dared not use in reality, and not worry about consequences or losses.

For a dragon like him who pursued strength relentlessly, longing to spend every waking hour on training, such a dream was hard to refuse.

“She knows what I like and is catering to me.”

Garoth realized that.

After a few seconds of thought, he glanced at Cerora, who smiled back warmly.

Then Garoth concentrated.

Hum!

The Red Iron Dragon’s form shifted abruptly.

Three heads revealed, six arms extended, pupils blood-red; golden lightning and blood-hued flames ignited—he snapped into combat posture in an instant.

Cerora stepped back a few paces.

She cleared a vast stretch of starfield for him and watched without blinking.

At the same time, opposite Garoth, the air began to twist.

Purple demonic miasma surged from all sides, thick as ink, malignant and chaotic, churning through the starry void until it took shape.

Dark, chitinous armor covered the body.

Several curved horns extended from forehead to nape like a twisted crown.

A hulking, powerfully muscled frame radiated raw force.

Abaddon, Slaughter Great Demon.

He materialized lifelike across from Garoth, eyes savage, aura evil.

The demon grinned, baring fangs. “I am Abaddon, Great Demon under the Lord of the Flame Prison. Heh—pitiful dragons of the Material Plane, are you ready to die? Ready to be torn apart, devoured, and utterly erased from existence?”

Garoth felt the same oppressive pressure emanating from him as in the material world.

As if he stood before the real Abaddon.

He nodded with satisfaction.

Then he charged.

Boom!

In that vast starry space, two silhouettes collided violently.

Fists and claws met, scale and armor rang, dragon breath crashed against demonic miasma.

Garoth grew more ferocious as the fight continued.

His six arms spun like windmills, delivering attacks from every angle.

Abaddon matched him blow for blow.

His miasma surged; he shifted between Mountain-Demon Form and Shadow-Demon Form, alternating speed and power to overwhelm Garoth.

Cerora watched from a distant planet rock, not idle.

She sat on a stone with her chin cupped in her hands, thoroughly entertained, calling out comments now and then.

“That timing just now—exquisite!”

When Garoth clawed through Abaddon’s armor she shouted.

“Wow, that reaction—looks like you’ve pushed past your limits again!”

When Garoth’s headbutt sent Abaddon flying she cheered,

“Amazing! Again, again!”

As the battle heated to white-hot she called out.

Cerora’s voice was not loud, but always well-timed—she cheered whenever Garoth landed a beautiful strike.

Before long, Abaddon faltered.

Cracks appeared across his body, his miasma began to dissipate, his movements slowed. Under a brutal blow that pierced his chest, he shattered and dispersed into the starry void.

Garoth hovered there, breathing heavy.

His six arms trembled faintly. Three mouths gaped in deep inhalation. The sensations were almost identical to a real fight here.

The difference was that this time he already knew Abaddon’s tempo and core traits, had studied each habit, and ended the fight during Abaddon’s first Rage Without Fear of Death phase—before the Dragon Pearl triggered.

Garoth raised his head slightly.

His injuries vanished in an instant.

As Cerora had said, within this dream he could accomplish nearly anything, so long as he could imagine it.

“Try this.”

Garoth thought, then concentrated and reconstructed.

Abaddon reformed before him.

This time the demon’s body was etched with dense blood-red patterns, covering him like ancient tattoos or eerie runes.

The battle began again.

This time the Red Iron Dragon was pressed nearly the whole fight.

Beyond the massive base stats, Garoth had imbued Abaddon with the attributes of that berserker demon general.

With every strike, the demon drained a portion of Garoth’s life energy, converting it into his own strength, and Garoth kept weakening.

It wasn’t a simple trade.

Abaddon’s already formidable numbers, combined with a life-steal and trait-stealing mechanism, made him instantly overpowering, leaving Garoth scrambling.

But Garoth wanted that pressure.

He maintained composure throughout.

He searched for every chance to counter during the Great Demon’s onslaught, stalling and exchanging blows—if he couldn’t win, he could at least glean valuable combat experience, especially for facing overwhelming foes.

Soon after, under a ferocious blow, the Red Iron Dragon shattered.

His body dissolved into countless points of light, scattering into the starry field.

“Victory! Belongs! To! Abaddon!”

Abaddon howled, roaring his triumph.

The next moment Garoth reappeared unscathed.

He coalesced from the void, six arms intact, three heads raised, breath full. He glanced at Abaddon and the demon’s state immediately restored to full—full health, full miasma.

Then the fight resumed.

After some time Garoth swapped Abaddon out.

Focused, he summoned the Crowned Time Warden Sodrian to stand before him.

But this was Sodrian strengthened by Garoth—possessing a dragonlike robust physique.

Sodrian’s figure was tall and elegant, one hand on a sword, the other on a shield.

“The power of a dragon... is marvelous,” he murmured. “Red Emperor, against me like this you stand no chance.”

With a dragon’s body to bolster him, he could wield time’s power nearly without restraint.

It was a qualitative leap.

Then his body flashed.

More precisely, he paused time, moved, then restored time—crossing space in an instant to appear before Garoth.

A slender sword thrust out.

Before Garoth could react, a blade pierced his skull.

Before he could retaliate, time froze again.

Then the second strike, the third, the fourth... Sodrian’s figure flickered across the starry field while Garoth was shredded to pieces...

“Huh? Does he, like, have masochistic tendencies?”

Cerora, propping her chin in her hands as she watched Garoth fight, showed surprise.

She understood the pattern.

Garoth built environments resembling reality, amplified the enemy, simulated combat, and increased his experience against formidable enemies.

It was an exceptionally effective training method.

But the closer to reality he made it, the more visceral the sensation of being killed.

Being torn apart by a Great Demon, having one’s body cut into dozens of pieces by time blades—those pains and near-death experiences were real enough to break ordinary minds.

And yet the Red Iron Dragon endured these agonies without complaint, as if the pain did not exist. He even seemed to take a certain relish in it.

“No, not masochism—he seeks to grow stronger and endure everything.”

Cerora shook her head, eyes brightening.

“His spirit is tougher than I imagined. Such willpower is top-tier even among dragons.”

She muttered.

“Compared to him, I’ve been lazy—wasting my own gifts.”

Touched by Garoth’s example, Cerora surged with impulse.

She stepped forward, her form changing abruptly.

Her human torso vanished and a giant dragon took shape.

Emerald scales shimmered in the starfield, her lithe, elegant body unfurled, and a pair of jade eyes gleamed like gemstones.

“I can’t be lazy either.”

She whispered and focused.

The surrounding starry space began to warp.

A figure slowly formed before her.

Deep green skin, blood-red eyes, fanged maw, nearly thirty feet tall—bare-chested and rock-hard with muscle—he carried a giant battle-axe at his waist whose blade glowed a dark red.

A Mandate-level orc.

The moment he appeared, oppressive aura billowed outward, heavy as mountains and fierce as fire, warping the starfield.

His gaze swept the scene with contempt; he didn’t bother to speak.

Cerora inhaled, closed in on the orc and struck first.

Her body flickered between real and ethereal, her skillset varied and agile—but the orc simply stood and spun his axe with unrelenting tempo. Each strike cleaved the space itself, his offense and defense perfectly timed.

Minutes later.

Crack!

An axe descended.

Cerora was struck; her dragon form shattered into light.

A moment later she reformed.

“Again.”

Gritting her teeth, she charged once more.

This time she lasted longer and tried different tactics, but still she was felled by the Mandate orc’s axe.

Cerora reconstituted, breathing heavily.

“This is Mandate... truly powerful.”

She murmured.

Even in a dream where death wasn’t real, the feeling of confronting Mandate-level force remained weighty.

“Again!”

She focused, preparing to charge.

Suddenly, a towering silhouette barreled in from the side.

Boom!

The impact was massive, sending the orc skidding away in an arc through the starfield like a meteor—his first displacement since manifesting.

Cerora blinked.

Garoth.

Golden lightning and blood-red flames surged over him; the Red Iron Dragon stood before her, his broad, heroic back looming against the starry void, six arms at his sides and three proud heads raised.

“You...”

“Is this the Mandate you’ve seen?”

Garoth didn’t turn his head.

His gaze fixed on the orc, eyes knife-sharp, and a trace of excitement crept into his voice.

Cerora nodded.

“This is a Mandate from the Kantum Empire. I once saw him fight from afar—so powerful I could only watch, never approach.”

A faint curl twisted Garoth’s dragon-lips.

“Good.”

He asked, “Shall we fight together?”

Cerora smiled. “Agreed.”

The battle began.

They confronted the Mandate together.

But the Mandate was overwhelming.

Orcs were among the mightiest of races—tough physiques, staggering strength, with battle instincts honed to a razor’s edge. The Mandate orc’s oppressive presence made breath catch in both their throats.

Each battle ended with their “deaths.”

Yet after each death they reformed and charged again.

Again and again.

How long passed—an hour, a day, a month—time lost meaning inside the dream. Still, their coordination improved.

On the last iteration, Cerora used a confusion skill.

Her body blurred and emitted a hazy light that briefly clouded the Mandate orc’s mind.

A mere instant—less than half a second.

But it was enough.

Garoth seized that sliver.

He flashed across space to the orc’s back; all six arms struck simultaneously, six claws dug into the orc’s body as an eruption of aura surged.

The orc’s body cracked and bled; he roared. His eyes turned blood-red and his body swelled, forcing open the dragon claws by sheer force.

Then the orc’s axe swung in a wide arc.

A blood-red blade swept the starfield. Garoth had no time to dodge; Cerora could not fully blur away. The axe swept past—both of their silhouettes shattered.

At the same time, the orc’s outline blurred and dissolved into nothingness.

Garoth and Cerora reformed.

“Enough.”

Cerora looked at Garoth. “Continuing like this is pointless.”

Garoth nodded slightly, acknowledging.

Then he showed a flicker of expectation. “Have you seen other Mandates in Arotala? We can switch and keep going.”

Cerora sneered inwardly.

“Are you insane?”

She couldn’t help asking. “Though the dream consumes little, endless fights and repeated death—don’t you find it tedious?”

“Tedious?”

Garoth thought a moment, then answered seriously: “No, I find it interesting.”

Cerora looked at him and stifled a laugh.

“You dragon...”

She paused, then added, “That’s enough for now. Maintaining these kinds of dreams costs me; I need to rest.”

Garoth was slightly disappointed, but didn’t press further.

Suddenly Cerora looked at him with a sly smile:

“My dear His Majesty Ignas, may I ask—next time you sleep, may I invite you into my dream? You can use it for training.”

Garoth was silent a moment.

He considered how much faster he might advance if he could train here every time he slept—using the hours other dragons spent resting to become stronger.

“If you don’t mind the fatigue, you may.”

He finally said.

Cerora’s dragon-lips curved, her tail flicked like a contented cat.

“I’ve obtained your consent. Next time, don’t tell me I barged in without invitation.”

Then the surroundings blurred and Cerora vanished.

When Garoth opened his eyes again, he saw the familiar chamber of his palace.

His body was fully restored. He felt unprecedented clarity and vigor, and the memories of the dream-battles were as vivid as if they had just occurred.

Training in the dream had its shortcomings compared to reality—no real risk of permanent death, no actual physiological fatigue or muscle memory. But in some efficiencies it even exceeded reality: infinite retries, adjustable enemy strength, and the freedom to test risky tactics.

The great dragon rose slowly and stretched, thoughtful.

“Cerora’s talent is truly top-tier for auxiliary support.”

Moreover...

He remembered that emerald figure charging time and again, falling and re-forming to charge once more.

“Persistent,” the dragon murmured.