Chapter 22—Whispers of the dragon
Region 1…
Imperial City…
In a noisy, smoke-filled establishment ironically named Lofty Pleasures, chaos had character. It was a peculiar blend of roasted duck aroma, the stench of unwashed boots, and perfume that tried too hard.
The inn wasn't just a place for drinks and warm food. No—Lofty Pleasures was where traders brought gossip hotter than the soup and juicier than the courtesans.
It served food. It served drink. It served whispers—and if your coin was generous, it served a whole lot more upstairs—a mini brothel, which advertised the inn more efficiently than any tale could.
Tonight, the air crackled with excitement. A crowd had gathered around a trader with wild eyes and an even wilder imagination. His tunic was stained, his beard unkempt, but his voice—oh, it carried the promise of scandal.
He waved his cup like a priest waving incense, eyes gleaming with the pleasure of having all ears on him. "There's a new black horse in the race for the throne," he began, dramatically lowering his voice to a hush that only made people lean closer, spilling some of their drinks. "They call him the Dragon of Region 32... I saw him with my own two eyes!"
Gasps. Murmurs. A drunk hiccuped loudly.
The trader paused, pushing his empty cup forward like it was part of some sacred ritual. Without protest, a listener with shaky hands and wide eyes poured into his cup until it was full to the brim.
The man took a noisy sip, smacked his lips like he'd just kissed a goddess, then leaned forward with a glint in his eye.
"He wears a mask. Holds a flute. Not just any flute—this one? It can summon the very gods themselves. He plays a tune they call —The Rise of the Blade. Makes his followers go wild, like drunk monks at a wine festival. They say his men jump two levels in battle—just like that!" He snapped his fingers, spilling half his drink.
A skeptical old man at the corner raised a brow. "So you're saying a level two Ocean Opening Realm martial artist could slap a level four silly?"
"Not slap. Annihilate," the trader corrected with a burp, clearly proud of his dramatic flair.
Chuckles rippled across the room, but no one left. They were entertained, whether or not they believed him.
"That day," the trader continued, now pacing a little, caught up in his own tale, "Lord Balek sent his finest. Amiel Racta himself came down from the heavens—okay, not literally, but you get the point—accompanied by his moody sidekick, Uzziah Bilu."
"Those two? Sixth and Fifth level Ocean Opening Realm. They came strutting in with 400 men, faces like thunder and egos even bigger. Burnt down a whole city just to prove they could."
A sharp gasp came from somewhere near the bar. Someone dropped their chicken leg.
"And guess what? Five thousand soldiers defected. Five thousand! The opposing army probably just said, 'Nope. We're good. Joining the winning team now.'"
He paused for another drink. This time, he didn't even have to ask—the cup was refilled before he blinked.
"But then… just when you thought the masked dragon would flee or beg for his life like a cheap bard caught in a nobleman's bed… he stepped forward."
Silence. You could hear someone chewing peanuts too loudly.
"He came out holding his rod in one hand—don't laugh, you filthy-minded bunch—and his flute in the other. With just one tune… one note… the heavens cracked open. Thunder struck. Even the gods leaned forward like, 'What's he playing?'"
The inn exploded into laughter. Someone choked on their ale.
"By the end of it, Uzziah Bilu was flatter than a fried pancake. Amiel? He barely escaped using a high-grade teleportation talisman—Earth grade, mind you! Left his boots behind in his panic."
Another roar of laughter shook the beams of the inn.
"The Dragon roared, and men fell like rice sacks. Blood flowed like wine, and not the good kind. He didn't just win… he erased them."
While the crowd hooted and clapped, toasting the lunacy of the tale, one quiet figure in the back slipped out unnoticed. Hood drawn low, steps swift but careful, dashing straight towards the direction of the emperor's palace. This news couldn't be left alone.
This wasn't just a tavern story to him.
The Emperor needed to hear this—real or not.
Because if even half of it were true… the Empire might just have a dragon problem.
A few minutes later...
At the towering palace entrance, the hooded figure approached with a slow, deliberate pace like someone who had either discovered a great secret… or eaten too much at lunch. He pulled down his hood, revealing a sharp-jawed man with tired eyes and a streak of duck sauce still glistening at the corner of his mouth.
The guards who saw him immediately straightened up and bowed.
"Lord Reagent..." they said in unison, sounding a little too eager, as if hoping he didn't notice the half-snooze they were in just seconds before.
Adolph Li gave a single nod, too drained to speak. The man had been across three provinces, fought two thugs and a mislabelled chicken, and had just finished a piping hot bowl of noodles from Lofty Pleasures. He hadn't even fully digested the last dumpling when a drunk merchant started raving about some boy in Region 32 being called "The Dragon." Normally, he wouldn't care for street gossip—but this one smelled like trouble.
"Is the Emperor in the throne room or his inner chambers?" Adolph asked, rubbing his temple.
"He's in the... pleasure room," the guard replied, but his left eye twitched like it had been forced to witness unspeakable things.
Adolph Li sighed. He got the gist. "Either way, this information can't wait."
Without another word, he walked in, leaving the guards staring at each other in the kind of silence reserved for those reconsidering all their life choices.
As Adolph passed through the vast corridors of the palace, he was again struck by how ridiculously big the place was. Every time he returned, it felt bigger—like the Emperor had hired architects just to add extra hallways for no reason.
He walked past more guards, most of whom tried not to meet his eyes. He could hear... noises. Rhythmic, intense, passionate... disturbing.
A deep bellow echoed from within. Followed by heavy breathing, like someone had just conquered a mountain. Then a satisfied sigh.
Adolph stopped in his tracks and shut his eyes.
No. No filthy thoughts. He was a man of the sword. He had seen blood, war, and betrayal—but whatever was going on in there was simply too much. He focused. He imagined rice. Rice was clean. Rice was pure.
When he reached the chamber, he knocked slowly.
There was a pause.
Then a thunderous voice burst out. "You better have a good explanation for this or you will know why I am feared throughout the Empire and in the surrounding nations of the east, west, north and south!"
Adolph's face didn't even twitch. "It is Reagent Li, my Lord. I bring important news concerning the matter of the heirs."
That did it.
There was some shifting inside, a muffled grunt, a slap that sounded like someone tapping meat too aggressively, he slapped the ass of the concubine he just slept with, and then the door opened.
The Emperor stepped out, shirtless, with a robe tied loosely around his waist and an irritated look on his face. His hair was tousled, his skin glistening slightly with sweat, and the concubine behind him still looked dazed.
"Adolph, if you weren't such an important reagent, I would've had you flogged, flayed, and forgotten. This better be good."
Adolph stared directly at the Emperor's forehead. Eye contact was not safe right now.
"My Lord, there appears to be a new dark horse rising in Region 32. The people are calling him 'The Dragon'. He's gaining rapid fame. Already at the seventh level of the Ocean Opening Realm."
The Emperor raised an eyebrow, then held up a hand to stop him. "Send for the priestesses. And the Chief Priestess—Sarzi Uno."
Adolph gave a short bow and turned without delay.