Na: Luciassax
Race: Ancient Dragon (Royal)
Level: 60
Attributes: Vigor 30, Mind 15, Endurance 15, Strength 25, Dexterity 20, Intelligence 9, Faith 15, Arcane 10
Skills: Ancient Dragon Combat Techniques (Unranked), Storm Swordsmanship (Unranked)
Legendary Abilities: Dragon Bloodline Inheritance (Locked), ??? (Locked)
Inside the rhythmic sway of the carriage, a youth who appeared no more than fifteen years of age stared listlessly at the shimring data panel floating in his mind. His gaze lingered on a particular attribute—his intelligence, sitting at a modest 9 points—and he let out a heavy, weary sigh.
He possessed long, silver hair that caught the dim light like fresh frost, and ice-blue eyes that flickered with a faint, predatory golden glow. By any human tric, this physical vessel was nothing short of a masterpiece.
He had transmigrated. To make matters worse, he had landed in the world of Elden Ring, the very ga he had poured thousands of hours into.
As a veteran Tarnished with over two thousand hours spent speedrunning and dissecting the movesets of every boss in The Lands Between, he knew where every legendary blade was buried and exactly which way the footn in every catacomb were facing. He was certain that if he had arrived during the era of the Tarnished, he would have claid the Elden Throne before the first autumn leaves began to fall.
But the universe had a cruel sense of humor. He hadn't arrived in the right era, he wasn't a Tarnished, and he wasn't even human.
It was currently the year 46 of the Golden Calendar. The Elden Ring remained whole and unbroken. It had been less than fifty years since Eternal Queen Marika claid the Altus Plateau and established the Golden Dynasty. The cataclysmic war between the sky city of Farum Azula and the Golden Order had ended barely a decade ago. The demigods who would eventually tear the world apart during the Shattering were, for the most part, still children or adolescents.
As for himself, Luciassax was the only son of the Dragon King and the Dragon God, hatched from a "Supre Egg" that had supposedly gathered dust for millennia. He was the world's only living Ancient Dragon Demigod and the rightful heir to the crumbling sky city.
On paper, this was the ultimate power fantasy. A top-tier bloodline and the keys to a global superpower should have been a dream co true. But this was Elden Ring.
History was a grim teacher. Not a single demigod from the Golden Age lived a life worth envying. They were assassinated, exiled to the sewers, driven mad, devoured by serpents, or rotted away until only a single hand remained. It was, without question, the most high-risk profession in existence.
Even his inheritance was a liability. After learning to fly in his dragon form, Lucia had looked down upon the sprawl of Farum Azula. While it hadn't yet reached the state of total decay he rembered from the ga, it was a crumbling ruin that seed held aloft by sheer stubbornness alone.
The final nail in the coffin arrived three months after his birth: a formal letter from the Golden Dynasty.
The missive opened with flowery congratulations from Queen Marika and Lord Radagon regarding his birth, followed by several paragraphs emphasizing the "deep friendship" between their two nations. Then, the velvet glove ca off.
"Their Majesties are concerned about the current situation, where the Dragon King remains in a deep, wounded slumber and the sky city falls into disrepair. Therefore, Prince Lucia is cordially invited to the Royal Capital, Leyndell. The Golden Lineage shall provide the Prince with the finest education and the warmth of kin, as a testant to our bond."
Stripped of its diplomatic fluff, the intent was bone-chillingly clear: he was being summoned to be a hostage.
Two weeks later, Lucia set out for the capital. It wasn't cowardice; it was math. The sky city simply didn't have the strength to defy the Golden Dynasty. Marika's empire was teeming with demigods and heroes. anwhile, the Dragon King was lost in the cracks of ti, the Mother of Wyverns was asleep in the wilds of Caelid, and the Great Priest Gransax had been dead for thirteen years, his corpse a monunt in the capital's streets.
Lansseax was busy serving as a priestess in Leyndell, and her brother, Fortissax, was so inseparable from Prince Godwyn they might as well have been brothers.
Against that kind of power, what was a Level 60 dragon going to do?
Lucia shook the thoughts away. For now, he was a bargaining chip—a piece of gold to be traded or a sacrifice to be slaughtered if war broke out. He needed strength, and he needed it before the world started burning.
The carriage slowed. The sound of rhythmic hoofbeats drew level with his window.
"Your Highness, we have reached the Vanya River Valley," a respectful voice called out. "Shall we make camp, or press on another fifty miles to Vanya Town?"
Lucia slid the window open. A tall Dragon Scale Horse paced the carriage, ridden by a handso youth with shock-white hair and piercing red eyes. It was Aegis, one of the two guard captains of the mission—a Greater Drake of imnse power.
"We camp here," Lucia decided. "Tomorrow, we bypass the town and head straight for the resupply hub at Caelid City."
A distance of fifty miles was easy for them, but a diplomatic envoy of five hundred people would strip a small town bare in a single night. There was no need to cause unnecessary friction.
"Understood." Aegis wheeled his horse around to relay the orders.
Fifteen minutes later, the camp was a hive of activity. Lucia sat before a crackling fire outside his royal tent, a cup of warm wine in his hand.
"Is the periter secure?" Lucia asked as Aegis returned.
Aegis bowed low. "The Storm Knights are set for three shifts. Thirty Wyvern Warriors are stationed at the primary nodes. Elders Muriel and Atok are guarding the east and west flanks respectively."
Lucia nodded, but then paused. "And what of Guilel?"
Aegis hesitated, his expression flickering with a touch of awkwardness. "Captain Guilel has stationed herself on the ridge overlooking the camp. She insists on monitoring the valley personally."
"Did she say anything else?"
Aegis gave a strained, bitter smile. "Nothing else, Your Highness."
Lucia offered a noncommittal grin and set his wine aside. He grabbed the dragon-scale blade leaning against his chair and stood up. "Everyone is working while I sit. Take around, Aegis. It's ti I played the part of a leader."
The twilight was a bruised red, spilling over the Vanya River and turning the adows into a sea of muted gold. As they walked, Lucia stopped to speak with the knights. Aegis remained half a step behind, his face a mask of solemn duty.
When they reached the main gate, the Storm Knights snapped to attention, fists striking their heavy breastplates in a resounding salute. These n were the descendants of the warriors of Stormveil, serving the dragons for generations. In this era, they were not yet the "Banished Knights" the Tarnished would one day fear; they were the elite guard of the sky.
Outside the walls, the security was even tighter. The two Elders had used earth incantations to raise the camp walls from the dirt itself, reinforcing them with glintstone magic until they were as hard as granite.
They rounded a watchtower and saw the hill Aegis had ntioned. At the very peak, a slender figure sat cross-legged on a jagged boulder. She wore a high ponytail that whipped in the wind, and two dragon-scale katanas were crossed over her back.
Guilel. A Greater Drake who, despite being over two centuries old, was considered a youth by her kind. She was motionless, her eyes closed, appearing more like a statue than a warrior. Even as Lucia and Aegis approached the base of the hill, she didn't acknowledge them.
Aegis bristled, his hand moving toward his weapon. "Your Highness, shall I summon her to give her report?"
"No need. Let's keep walking," Lucia said softly, turning back toward the river.
He wasn't acting out of political grace; he genuinely didn't care. He knew the internal politics of the sky city were a ss of factions. So wanted to control him, so wanted to use him as a scapegoat, and others, like Guilel, simply didn't respect him. To them, he was the "wet-behind-the-ears" prince who had surrendered his dignity to beco a hostage before he had even grown his wings.
To these proud, ancient creatures who worshipped strength, Lucia was a disappointnt. They would die for his title, but they would not bow to his soul.
"Your Highness," Aegis asked as they moved further away, "are you truly not offended?"
Lucia stopped. He kept his back to the captain, looking out at the shimring water.
"I know what she thinks," Lucia said quietly. "She's angry that I accepted Marika's 'invitation.' She sees a coward making a humiliating compromise. In her eyes, I haven't proven I'm fit to carry the legacy of the Dragon King."
Aegis stumbled over his words. "That... Your Highness, you did what was necessary for the big picture. Even Priestess Lansseax said—"
"It's alright, Aegis." Lucia turned and offered a small, sharp smile. "I'm not being self-deprecating. I'm being honest."
He looked up at the darkening sky, his eyes flashing with a brief, cold intensity.
"They want to prove my caliber," he whispered. "And I will."
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