Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters Chapter 149: Appraisal of the Firstborn of Drakovitch

Drakovitch’s hand remained heavy and proud on Draculeus’s shoulder. The King looked out at the silent, trembling nobles with a triumphant grin.

"The Dragonrite was once easy. When our blood was pure, we did not struggle. But the war with the Demigods turned our paradise into a graveyard. Every Dragonborn died. I was left alone. You called my restoration ’insanity.’ You called the breeding of human mothers a waste of ti."

He squeezed Draculeus’s shoulder, his claws glinting.

"But look at him! He is the first of thousands! He is the answer to your doubts!"

A murmur ran through the crowd. In Drakarian history, Tiamat’s blood was a wild, unpredictable thing. When a Dragonborn was born, they usually only inherited a small piece of the Dragon God. Yet two traits were certain: the vertical slit eyes... and the armored skin.

"Most are lucky to inherit a single physical trait. A dragon’s arm to crush shields. Horns to gore enemies. But the traits of the True Ancient are rare. Wings? Rare. Magic? Almost legendary."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper.

"My son did not just inherit the strength of the Dragon. He inherited the Wings of Tiamat... and more importantly..."

Drakovitch paused, the tension in the room reaching a breaking point.

"He inherited the Magic of the Main Head!"

The hall exploded. Noblewon dropped their fans. Hardened generals fell to their knees. Magic was the rarest gift—the ability to command the elents as the Ancient Tiamat once did. To have both wings and magic was to be a God among n.

For a brief mont, no one spoke. The entire hall held its breath—Then it exploded. Whispers crashed into one another, frantic and disbelieving.

"Magic of the Main Head!?"

"Is that right?! Is that true?!"

From the gathered warriors near the front, one voice cut through the chaos.

Arteé of House Citrineclaw.

His glasses glinted faintly as he adjusted them slowly.

"That is true..."

Several heads snapped toward him.

"Do you an... he had that extinguishable mystical blue flas!?"

Arteé’s expression tightened as the mory flashed across his mind—the arena, the explosion of power, the heat that had swallowed the battlefield.

"Yes. The famous Midnight Flas of the Black Dragon."

A ripple of shock spread through the nobles. Before the murmurs could grow louder, Drakovitch raised a hand from the front of the hall. The room quieted instantly.

His voice carried across the chamber, calm but filled with unmistakable pride.

"Those flas are not ordinary fire. They are the legendary Midnight Flas of the Black Dragon... the very fire that once killed those whose nas have now beco taboo."

A shiver ran through the hall. Even the oldest nobles lowered their eyes.

Drakovitch continued.

"Long before the age of Dragonborn... before our kind ever existed... there were beings so terrifying that the world itself feared to speak their nas."

He paused.

"And it was those flas... that ended them. The Midnight Flas do not rely burn flesh. They consu everything."

His eyes glinted.

"Steel."

"Diamond."

"Magic itself."

A stunned silence fell over the hall as the nobles slowly turned their gazes toward Draculeus.

Because if the legends were true...

The young Dragonborn standing before them now carried the sa fire that once erased monsters powerful enough to haunt history itself.

"The tradition!"

A voice cried out.

"The Appraisal! We must see the numbers! We must see his true strength!"

Drakovitch nodded slowly.

"Indeed. We cannot rely on re observation to know what traits he carries. We must appraise my firstborn."

His hand gestured toward the front of the gathering.

"Do the honor, Lord Corneo."

From the front of the crowd, the Leader of House Goldensight stepped forward. He was an old man, his back straight as an arrow, clutching a massive staff. The head of the staff was a giant sphere of Black Steel, forged from the dried blood of Tiamat itself.

The old man’s eyes were milky white, but they seed to see through Draculeus’s very soul. He held the staff out, the black orb humming with a dark, hungry energy.

He stopped a few steps away from the stage, lowering his head respectfully toward the King.

"As you command, Your Majesty."

His voice was calm, aged, yet filled with the quiet authority of soone who had perford this sacred duty for decades.

"To witness the birth of the first Dragonborn of the New Age... is an honor House Goldensight will rember for generations."

He slowly lifted the staff. The black sphere at its tip began to hum softly, a deep vibration resonating through the hall. Lord Corneo then turned his milky gaze toward Draculeus.

"Stand still, young Dragonborn. The blood of Tiamat will now unveil the truth within you. Prince Draculeus... place your hand upon the All Seeing Stone. Let the blood recognize its own. Let the truth be written in the air."

Draculeus did not hesitate. He stepped forward, his white silk robes rustling. His face was a mask of calm, but his sapphire eyes burned with an inner fire. He slowly raised his hand and pressed his palm against the cold, jagged surface of the black sphere.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, the sphere turned from black to a blinding, violent midnight blue. A shockwave of pure pressure blasted outward, knocking the wine glasses off the nearby tables. The Elder of Goldensight gasped, his feet sliding back across the marble floor as he struggled to hold the staff steady.

"Appraisal!"

Light bled out of the black sphere, pouring into the air like liquid silver. The energy twisted and gathered, forming massive glowing runes that floated above the stage for the entire hall to see.

First to appear were his Dragon Traits.

[Dragon Traits]

[Eyes, Skin, Talons, Claws, Wings, Tiamat Magic: Midnight Fla (Absolute)]

Gasps tore through the crowd,

"Six dragon traits!?"

"Six blessings from Tiamat!?"

"That’s impossible!"

A group of old generals stared at the glowing runes with pale faces.

"Talons... claws... wings... eyes... skin... and magic..."

One of them whispered hoarsely.

"That is almost... the body of a complete dragon."

On the stage, Drakovitch’s smile widened slowly, savoring the stunned reverence that rippled through the crowd. Yet the appraisal was far from complete—Draculeus’ Magic and Might had yet to reveal themselves.