The storms in the wilderness grew ever more chaotic and dangerous, the ferocious beasts and magical creatures restless, and territorial quarrels unending.
At the sa ti, far to the south between the neighboring nations, a massive civil war that had engulfed the entire Federation was intensifying, the flas of war consuming nearly every inch of land worth fighting for.
After the initial chaos and wavering, many duchies and kingdoms had completely split into two starkly opposed camps.
They faced each other like water and fire.
The first camp was a punitive alliance centered on the Kingdom of Rybos, united with nurous allied states.
Its mbers had signed strict pacts with the Kingdom of Rybos, vowing to advance and retreat together.
They claid they would purge the Federation of disorder on behalf of the late Holy King and punish the treacherous heir, openly labeling the current King of Lothrian as a Sinful King. They swore to punish the Sinful King, cleanse the royal stain, and restore justice to the Federation.
Their slogan rang loud; they occupied the moral high ground in public opinion.
The second camp coalesced around the Lothrian Kingdom itself, rallying so traditional allies to a pro-royal front.
Its mbers firmly supported Lothrian’s legitimacy, believing the king’s blood contained the undisputed lineage of the Holy King. Though his fratricide and usurpation were indeed brutal and extre, legally it could not be deed treason—after all, he was a mber of the royal family.
They denounced the punitive camp as opportunists and profiteers seeking to exploit chaos and destabilize the Federation, pledging in the na of defending the Holy King’s legitimacy and maintaining unity and order, to rectify the disorder and root out traitors.
As ti passed, the balance of victory began to tip.
The punitive camp had absorbed more duchies and kingdoms; their combined national strength, troop numbers, and resource reserves were greater, gradually securing advantages in major theaters of war and steadily nibbling away at the pro-royal camp’s borders and strategic positions.
By contrast, the pro-royal camp, fighting on multiple fronts, appeared increasingly strained and passive.
However, this vast civil war had not yet reached its final, white-hot stage.
The modest advantages won so far could be lost in an instant on a rcurial battlefield, by one major strategic error or the defeat in a crucial battle.
Who would ultimately laugh last in this war that decided the Federation’s fate remained anyone’s guess.
Now, deep within the Lothrian royal court.
Inside a ticulously tended, flower-bedecked royal garden.
The sky was heavy, and a sparse, cold drizzle fell silently from the gray canopy, wetting the tender, dewy prized flowers in the courtyard, droplets trembling on the petals.
Two figures strolled through the rain-soaked garden.
One was a tall, graceful woman in an elegant court gown, her face exquisitely beautiful.
The other was a relatively ordinary-looking man, yet remarkably imposing and athletic in stature; his brows and eyes exuded an unspoken, awe-inspiring authority, as if the world itself orbited around him—a middle-aged man.
The woman was the Crystal Princess, well known for her close ties with the Ignas Dragon Cluster.
The man beside her was her biological elder brother, O’Brien, who had seized the throne by fratricide with iron-handed rule and now stood at the eye of the storm as the current King of Lothrian.
At this mont, around King O’Brien there seed to exist an invisible, absolute domain.
As he walked, the falling rain and the wet marks already collecting on the paving stones seed to be erased as if by an invisible eraser, vanishing in an instant to reveal completely dry, spotless ground.
His resplendent royal robes, and the hem of Princess Elina’s dress within half a step of him, bore no trace of being dampened by the rain.
This was not a simple water-avoidance trick, but the hallmark technique of a legendary—Domain.
Activating and maintaining a domain usually required focused concentration and drained power, typically reserved for fierce battles or decisive monts.
To maintain such a domain with such ease during a casual walk, as if instinctively, normally indicated that the user’s control over their domain had reached a level surpassing ordinary legendary tier.
“Brother King, the Kingdom of Rybos and its allies are steadily closing in, each offensive higher than the last.”
Princess Elina could not bring herself to admire the clear sky preserved by the domain; her mind was on holand and war, her face clouded with worry.
She spoke softly, “If the current trend continues—”
“If we do nothing, if we let things be, our disadvantages will only widen… Should we consider changing tactics, or think of other ways to break this deadlock?”
King O’Brien shook his head slightly without pausing.
His expression was calm and unhurried; he seed indifferent to his sister’s concern.
“Elina, you worry too much.”
“War is a contest of national strength, a battle of will and ti. It is not sothing you should obsess over. I have asured it in my heart.” His voice was steady and confident as he continued, “No matter how twisted this civil war becos, it will ultimately end with our complete victory. There will be no other outco. I am certain of this.”
Elina wanted to say more, to relay so unfavorable intelligence from the front lines, but O’Brien’s gentle yet unyielding words stopped her.
“My dear sister,”
He halted, turned his head, his gaze settling on Elina’s delicate face tinged with fatigue, his tone softening.
“You need to relax, to enjoy the flowers and peace of this garden, not exhaust yourself over military and national affairs that are not yours to bear.”
“Your worry is written on your face.”
He lifted a hand, and just slightly above her skin, he brushed a motion that seed to caress her features.
In an instant, the faint lines of worry and fatigue etched on Elina’s face vanished, her skin becoming impeccably smooth.
It was as if she had been restored to the flawless youth of her girlhood, every minute imperfection erased.
But Elina felt no joy at this near-miraculous beautification; instead, she tightened her brow.
“They were only trivial wrinkles, of little consequence to .”
“You know I never cared for beauty as so other princesses do.”
She reminded him, “You should be more cautious with your domain. Every ti you rewrite reality, you pay with your life. This affects how long you may live.”
Humans who ascend in life level to the legendary domain often do not gain lifespans comnsurate with their power, and they rarely attain the longevity of true long-lived races.
The key reason lay with the domain.
A legendary gains transcendent power by mastering a domain, but wielding this power that touches the rules of the world is not without cost.
Each ti a domain is driven.
Each ti local rules are rewritten.
It burdens and consus the fundantal life source of the legend.
With repeated use, that burden accumulates, irreversibly eroding the legendary creature’s lifespan.
A human legend could live steadily beyond a thousand years if they never used their domain after ascension.
But that is nearly impossible.
If one cannot use a domain before ascending and then, after enduring great hardship to ascend, refuses to use it for fear of the cost—what was the point of becoming legendary?
Of course, exceptions existed.
For example, in the deeply rooted Lothrian Kingdom, there secretly existed ancient legendary guards who chose rituals to seal their domains.
They would only be awakened at the kingdom’s most perilous monts, sacrificing everything to fight for their nation.
Such a deep reserve of strength is a backstop every historic, powerful kingdom possesses; it is their final trump card.
Compared with the recently ambitious Kingdom of Rybos, expanding its influence everywhere, Lothrian had indeed seed conservative in recent years, lacking breakthroughs.
Yet it still retained staunch support from several nations in its storm-tossed state.
That was precisely because others dared not underestimate its profound, unfathomable legacy.
“It’s all right.”
The sovereign rely smiled faintly, seemingly unconcerned by his sister’s warning.
He paused, then abruptly changed the subject, asking, “What happened to that—um—well-fed iron dragon you keep?”
“Elina answered helplessly when she saw her brother’s nonchalance, “The Spark Monastery.”
“Gordon enjoys being worshipped; he often goes there to be admired.”
The king nodded slightly. He didn’t probe about the iron dragon or the monastery further, as if he had only ntioned it casually.
After a brief exchange of family pleasantries with Elina, he turned and left the garden to return to palace matters.
“My lord brother… seems blinded by the confidence accumulated from countless past victories, perhaps a little too complacent.”
Left alone in the garden, Elina watched her brother’s departing figure and let out a barely audible sigh; her worries did not lessen but deepened.
In her view, confidence was necessary for a ruler.
But O’Brien was overconfident now.
Rybos and its allies pressed with great force and were well-prepared; though Lothrian’s foundation was deep, facing such a strong enemy was hardly a guaranteed victory.
Her slender fingers tightened slightly, her chest rising and falling with a deep breath as she strove to steady her scattered thoughts and regain composure.
“I cannot directly influence frontline deploynts and strategic decisions.”
“But I cannot stand idly by. I will, in my own way, secure more chances and bargaining chips for the kingdom.”
She resolved to increase investnt and support for the dragon cluster.
Although the wilderness base had been damaged and the impact on the front was limited, so supply channels were disrupted and strategic distractions created.
Elina could not bear to do nothing; she had to act.
Elsewhere in the Ser Wilderness.
Thick rain still shrouded the vast and perilous land, and it was unknown when the skies would clear.
While the southern Federation’s civil war raged, after the Molten Iron Tribe newly absorbed a Lord of an Athyst Dragon Lion and his pride, the tribe’s strength improved, but they did not rashly send troops to attack other Map Kings.
This was mainly because the remaining Map King territories lay relatively distant from the Molten Iron Tribe’s current domain.
Unlike the previous lion pride, they were not directly contiguous, so conflict was not inevitable.
But the Molten Iron Tribe was not idle.
Under Garoth’s will, the dragon cluster led the tribe to adopt steadier, more solid strategies, centering on the tribe’s existing territories—like a rolling snowball—gradually expanding outward, consolidating and assimilating newly acquired lands and populations.
Across the vast Ser Wilderness, beyond the dominant Map Kings and Federation border bases, countless native clans and monster settlents of various sizes were scattered like stars.
The northwest region where the Molten Iron Tribe now stood was no exception.
As the tribe steadily expanded, it beca like a giant magnet, continuously drawing in and absorbing those scattered clans.
Although this thod did not win the enormous territory that defeating a Map King would, the accession of these dispersed clans diversified the tribe’s racial composition, steadily growing its population and benefiting future developnt.
Of course, expansion was not always peaceful.
Sotis they t stubborn clans.
For such troublemakers, the Molten Iron Tribe did not hesitate to bare its fangs and grind them down.
Wherever they went, those who offered aningless resistance were utterly crushed, their mbers reduced to slaves; others fled their hos in fear and were driven out.
Unlike most Map Kings who sought to avoid provoking the Federation and its outposts, the Molten Iron Tribe was ferocious, relentlessly attacking Federation strongholds in the northwest wilderness.
Under downpours, one border outpost after another, resource collection sites, and even so hidden bases were wiped from the map.
In this process, the Molten Iron Tribe’s prestige in the northwest rose dramatically; their na carried the scent of blood and fire. They seed unstoppable, on course to dominate the northwest and beco its un-crowned ruler.
Compared with the reputations of several other northwest Map Kings, the tribe’s renown had clearly risen at least one tier.
And not only in the northwest—the tribe’s fa gradually crossed regional boundaries and began to draw attention from powerful beings in more distant areas.
At the sa ti, in other vast parts of the wilderness, other exceptional Map Kings were also erging. Their renown was no longer confined to their own regions, but began to spread across the wilderness.
Central region.
The Mad King, the red dragon Gorthax’s ferocity peaked; he was witnessed single-handedly punching through a Map King’s massive army, dragging that ill-fated monarch out of his lair to be brutally slaughtered, then reducing that vast realm to scorched, barren land—his atrocities shocking all.
Southwest region.
The Ogre King rose rapidly. This ancient ogre, hibernating for who knows how long, led an ogre tribe hardened in remote wastelands to expand like a tidal wave, breaking other regional Map Kings back after back.
Northeast region.
The Mountain King arrived—a mountain giant lord who crossed ranges from the far Thalassian Continent. His body was the size of a small mountain, and he commanded an enormous mass of mountain giants; any fortress or enemy in their path was rcilessly trampled and smashed. Their prestige dominated the northeast, unshakeable.
Southeast region.
The Fungus King spread—an unprecedented, mutated mushroom lord from the dark underground world, now leading seemingly endless, diverse fungal creatures to the surface.
Wherever they passed, thick fungal carpets would rapidly assimilate and replace the original terrain, spreading like a plague.
It was foreseeable.
Barring a monuntal, earth-shattering event, these five distinct yet similarly powerful Map Kings were likely to sweep aside all rivals in their respective domains and achieve de facto unification, thereby rising to a higher rank as regional kings.
Even now, though none had truly completed that ascension, so astute, well-inford intelligences had christened the dramatic power shift unfolding in the Ser Wilderness with a historically tinged na:
Five Kings Rise!
News of this, via many channels, naturally reached Garoth’s ears.
He was pleased for a few minutes, then set it aside.
After learning the rough situation about the other four kings, he focused again on his own cultivation and the tribe’s developnt.
He saw clearly that the situation was far from settled, and no regional king had truly triumphed yet.
Deep in the wilderness, so older, more powerful beings might still lie dormant and patient, their true claws unrevealed.
The so-called five kings rising now likely had so exaggeration to them.
Like the northwest Serpent King, who in a flash was replaced by an ergent Bird-Extinction Lord from nowhere, reduced to a re backdrop for another’s rise.
The five prominent lords would certainly be stronger than ordinary Map Kings, but there was no guarantee of their outcos.
The wilderness changed in an instant.
Regardless of external turmoil or rampant rumors, the red iron dragon remained undisturbed, continuing his day-by-day training and steadily increasing his power bit by bit.
He understood very well that in this ga, only real, concrete strength was the most reliable capital.
All other acclaim, rumors, and territory… without a strong power base, were like bubbles in the wind, rootless weeds that burst at a poke.
Suddenly, the red iron dragon paused.
The iron dragon Sorog’s voice sounded in his mind at the sa ti,
He said: “Scouts report that Deer Ground and the Beholder have entered full-scale war with each other and haven’t decided the victor yet. This is a great opportunity.”
If the two could be swept up together, Garoth, the Lord of Molten Iron, could be acknowledged as the northwest’s regional king.
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