Reborn as a Devouring Dragon with a System-Chapter 81: Young Avenging The Old

"I wonder why her kick was so strong and powerful," Drakion muttered as he watched Lyla run off, gently stroking the aching little brother down there.

"I guess the shoe she wore isn’t ordinary. It seems like an artifact—that’s what allowed it to hurt you," Drax shook his head, explaining with a knowing sigh.

"No wonder," Drakion grunted as the pain in his groin began to fade slightly.

"But why did you react like that? You had your arm cut off before, and you didn’t scream like this," Drax harrumphed.

When Drakion heard that, he turned toward Drax slowly, his voice soft and ominous, "Bring yours. Let me kick it, and we’ll see whether you scream or not."

"No—don’t worry about it again!" Drax waved his hands rapidly in panic. The next moment, he retreated into silence, sensing that Drakion just might do it if he lingered too long.

Seeing Drax practically fleeing, Drakion burst into laughter. The kick hadn’t been as painful as getting his arm sliced off—even with pain resistance activated. It was just a raw, instinctive reaction... to protect the sacred instruments of his future lineage.

After checking his precious parts and finding them only slightly swollen, his healing ability surged through him, restoring everything to its perfect state. No pain. No damage. Everything... intact.

Drakion resumed his journey. He etched the grudge deep into his memory. The next time he saw Lyla, he would definitely spank that ass before killing her—or maybe... cut her breasts off instead.

He continued aiding the dragons, freeing them from the grasp of death energy that lingered like a curse. Eventually, Drakion noticed the death mist retreating as the morning sun crept over the horizon.

Now surrounded by clear skies and open land, Drakion paused. He was lost. The path to the cave was gone from memory. Thankfully, he’d already told them: if he didn’t return by morning, they were to head west, where they’d find him eventually.

Drakion gazed at the sky. Questions began stirring. The beasts in these ruins—how had they survived the death mist? Where had they hidden? What secrets kept them alive?

As he walked, he attempted to use his telepathic connection to reach out for Vorr members nearby. Nothing. No one responded. Silence in every direction.

Then, as he journeyed deeper, strange beasts of the ruins crossed his path. But with just a sliver of his aura, they stepped aside, letting him pass unharmed.

"If it isn’t Drakion—the one bold enough to speak against the Emperor," a cold voice sneered, halting him in his tracks.

Drakion turned sharply toward the sound, spotting a group of young men and women approaching. Their aura was heavy, noble—rich with lineage and power. Clearly, not ordinary individuals.

The one who had spoken? None other than Leo Ignis, standing tall with a cold smirk that failed to reach his eyes.

Beside him stood a young lady with icy blue hair. Her appearance tugged at Drakion’s memory, as if he’d seen her before. Altogether, they numbered more than twelve.

Of the twelve, four radiated noble blood. The remaining eight stood quietly behind them—servants, loyal and obedient.

Drakion looked at Leo and smirked. "What does a defeated man want now?" he taunted.

Leo’s veins bulged, but he steadied himself, forcing a grin. "Never thought I’d run into you here."

"You thinking of revenge?" Drakion chuckled darkly.

"Would love to," Leo replied, baring his teeth. "But I’m not the one you need to worry about today."

Leo shifted his gaze to the icy-haired young lady beside him.

Drakion followed his eyes, studying her closely. But confusion clouded his face. How had he offended someone like her? He racked his memory but couldn’t recall any encounter with her—no memory that matched her presence.

"And do I know you, young lady?" Drakion said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

"You don’t know me... but you know my grandfather," the young lady replied coldly, her voice sharp as winter steel.

When Drakion heard that, confusion clouded his eyes. Her grandfather? He searched his memory, scanning her face—and then something clicked. A fragment of familiarity rose from the depths of his mind.

"Your grandfather... is that old man who talked too much and had no choice but to be disciplined," Drakion chuckled, the memory surfacing with a trace of amusement.

The young lady’s expression turned glacial. "It seems... you remember."

"Oh, is this what I think it is? The young rising to avenge the old?" Drakion laughed darkly. "Well, now—that’s something new."

"I hope you won’t regret those words," the young lady whispered, her tone laced with promise.

"Let me regret, then," Drakion replied, his voice low and mocking. "I want to know what it feels like... to regret one’s words."

That was the last straw.

The young lady surged forward, fury exploding in her stride. Her fist blazed through the air toward Drakion.

But Drakion merely smiled. With a graceful twist, he sidestepped her blow with effortless ease. As she passed him, his voice drifted to her ear like a taunt on the wind.

"Young lady... it’s never wise to charge blindly at your opponent."

The young lady scoffed as she passed by. "Who told you I was charging blindly?"

"Ice King Art: Frozen Ice!"

In a flash, frost burst from her body, spiraling through the air. It swept over Drakion like a storm, encasing him in solid ice—his entire form frozen into a lifelike sculpture in a matter of seconds.

With a fluid somersault, the young lady flipped back beside Leo.

"Piece of cake," she smirked, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

"That was a nice one, Sarah," Leo said with a smirk, watching her return victoriously.

"Oh... Sarah. That’s a beautiful name," came a voice.

The sound echoed eerily from within the ice.

Everyone turned toward the frozen sculpture—only to see a wide, confident smile forming on the lips of the frozen Drakion.

The next moment, the ice exploded in a burst of shattered frost. The shards rained down like glittering razors—but Drakion stood untouched, completely unharmed, the smile still lingering on his face.

Shock gripped them all.

"Don’t look so surprised," Drakion said smoothly, stepping out of the icy debris. "Have you forgotten... I once defended against your father’s attack. And you, Leo—have you already forgotten the battle we had? You expected me to be defeated this easily?"

He gazed at them with cool amusement. They had underestimated him... and now they would pay for it.

Leo and Sarah’s expressions turned grim.

In that moment, Drakion raised his hand. The remnants of the ice around him swirled toward his palm, absorbed like mist into his flesh.

Now that he had gained the Ice Dragon Bloodline, the cold no longer stung—it felt like home, warm and familiar.

"Since you’re not attacking..." Drakion said softly, his eyes gleaming like twin storms, "...then allow me."

"Ice Art: Ice Fall!"

In the blink of an eye, the sky above twisted, darkened, and shifted. Then, without warning, ice began to rain down—massive, chilling fragments that cascaded toward the earth with relentless fury. The frozen storm consumed everything beneath it, devouring their figures in a cold grip of paralysis. None of them could move. The realization struck like thunder—they were frozen in place, and panic flared in their eyes.

Leo’s figure erupted into flames, fire enveloping him as he moved in a fiery blur, barely escaping the suffocating hail of ice. The others followed suit, each deploying their own techniques to evade the icy demise.

When Leo finally emerged from the assault, he turned toward Drakion with sheer disbelief.

He had now witnessed Drakion control three different Originats—the Ice Originat, the Death Originat, and an unknown third. They weren’t even related. Unlike elemental opposites such as fire and ice, these powers were worlds apart. Yet Drakion wielded them like limbs of his own body.

"Ice Art: Blizzard Strike!"

Sarah snorted and struck again.

In the next moment, the sky burst into a flurry of white. A blizzard descended with a scream, not soft snowflakes—but blades of condensed frost. The storm struck Drakion’s body, each flake sharper than any sword, slicing the air with lethal precision.

Drakion’s brow lifted slightly, a glint of surprise flickering in his eyes.

"What a nice attack art you have," Drakion smiled, unfazed. "But this won’t be enough to defeat me." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

With a wave of his hand, the blizzards scattered like dust in the wind, disintegrating into harmless mist.

Sarah’s heart tightened. She had underestimated him—badly. He had nullified her skill with insulting ease.

But she wasn’t one to yield.

She charged at Drakion once more, launching into close combat. Her strikes were fierce, her movements crisp, but to Drakion... it was boring. He could end it at any moment.

If this was truly her full strength, then it was laughable.

Her cultivation? Mid-stage Origin King Realm. Weak, by Drakion’s standards. He had once clashed with Leo when he was just stepping into the Origin Ancestor Realm—and back then, Leo had already been at Origin King level.

This... was nothing.

The fight dragged on. Drakion’s patience wore thin.

"Devouring Art: Devouring Void Step."

He vanished.

Sarah’s punch met only empty air.

And then—boom.

He reappeared behind her, his fist raised high, cloaked in swirling Devouring Energy.

"Devouring Art: Devourer Strike!"

He struck.

The force of the punch sent Sarah flying like a ragdoll. She crashed against a thick tree trunk, blood streaking from the corner of her lips as she crumpled to the ground.

"Sarah! Are you okay?" Leo and the others sprinted toward her, lifting her gently, standing her back on her feet.

Sarah’s expression was colder than ice. Her mere presence sent chills crawling over the grass.

"You can’t strike again... there might be more danger ahead," Leo whispered into her ear, his voice calming. Sarah didn’t reply, but her aura slowly receded.

Drakion waited. He expected retaliation.

But it never came.

Instead, he watched as the group slowly retreated.

"Drakion... we shall meet again," Leo said, his voice low and unreadable as they vanished into the forest.

Drakion stood still.

He wanted to chase them—to end it. But he wasn’t foolish. He didn’t know what protections the Emperors might have placed on their precious descendants.