The continuous mountain range stretches across the horizon, the ink-green forest sea undulating with the mountain’s contour. Amidst the dense mid-mountain forest, a simple wooden cabin stands alone, hidden among gnarled branches, with dry moss wedged in the gaps between the wooden planks, blending seamlessly with the surrounding natural scenery.
On the wooden bed, the black-haired young man slowly opened his eyes, still hazy from just waking up, but soon replaced by a hint of brightness.
He propped himself up on his elbows, the washed-out coarse cloth short garnts clung tightly to his body, unable to conceal the smooth lines of muscles — broad shoulders, narrow waist, the tendons on his arms slightly tense with his movents, exuding a wild sense of power.
"The village... is saved."
Karlot murmured to himself, a flash of uncontrollable joy in his eyes. He nearly imdiately tossed aside the thin blanket, grabbed his backpack, and ran out of the cabin barefoot.
His movents in the forest were remarkably agile, like a monkey that had dwelled here for years: toes touched the ground lightly, propelling him several ters into the air; he reached for hanging vines, swinging effortlessly past dense thickets, his motions adeptly shing with the forest.
About ten minutes later, a burly figure suddenly appeared ahead in the woods, prompting Karlot to halt abruptly on a stout branch, and he called in a low voice, "Berg!"
The figure below whipped around at the sound — it was a man taller than Karlot by half a head, with dark red scales covering his bare arms, shining coldly under the tree’s shade; his fingernails sharp like beast claws, pupils narrow and golden, exuding a hint of inhuman ferocity.
"Karlot?"
Berg looked at the young man who lightly leapt down from the tree branch. His eyebrows instantly furrowed, his tone urgent and reproachful, "Why haven’t you returned to the village? Do you know how dangerous it is outside right now? Several High Tier Dragon Blood Warriors in the village have gone berserk, entering frenzied states, indiscriminately hunting living things outside the village; even their own kind might fall victim."
"And those sub-dragon species from the Dragon Nest are searching for our village. You, a low-level warrior without awakened dragon blood, staying outside alone is suicidal! Co, return to the village with !"
Before his words finished, Berg reached out and grabbed Karlot’s arm with such force it nearly sank into his flesh, clearly genuinely worried for his safety.
"Alright, alright, I’ll go with you."
Karlot smiled helplessly, letting Berg drag him forward.
He knew, this childhood friend may have a harsh tone, but he truly cared for him — in Berg’s eyes, he was still that "poor soul" who failed in Dragon Blood awakening years ago, unable to handle the blow and retreating into solitary life in the forest, unaware of his transformation now.
The pair traversed the dense forest, and about half an hour later, a cluster of treehouses hidden among towering ancient trees appeared before them. These treehouses were constructed with sturdy trunks, entwined with vines on the exterior, almost impossible to spot without careful scrutiny.
On the open ground beneath the trees, dozens of Dragon Blood Warriors with features like dragon scales and horns were patrolling back and forth, ard with stone axes and spears, their eyes sweeping the surroundings vigilantly.
There were also many ordinary villagers without any dragon blood traits, just like Karlot.
Karlot looked at those Dragon Blood Warriors he once deeply longed for — those scales and claws were once symbols of power he dread of. Yet at this mont, his heart was exceptionally calm.
This planet was covered with pervasive miasma and primitive jungles, with dragons coiled everywhere and sub-dragon species roaming — they are the dominators of this land, while humans are a frail group struggling to survive in between, scarce in number, constantly facing the threat of being devoured.
For thousands of years, humans, amidst relentless battles with dragons, finally found a path of evolution — "Dragon Blood Warriors."
Specifically, since childhood, they must consu diluted dragon blood and dragon at, allowing their bodies to gradually adapt to dragon bloodlines; upon reaching adulthood, through "Bloodline Guidance Technique," so can awaken the latent Dragon Power within: so gain invincible dragon scales over their arms, so transform fingertips into claws that tear steel, so can even exhale faint dragon breath.
The awakened Dragon Blood Warriors experience a qualitative leap in physique, possessing strength to confront sub-dragons head-on.
In his youth, Karlot’s greatest dream was to beco a Dragon Blood Warrior — not only to protect the village from dragon infestations but also to personally kill a dragon and avenge his parents murdered by sub-dragons in his early years.
For this dream, he trained harder than anyone: waking before dawn to hone his body, practicing combat techniques, never ceasing even in storms or rain.
Among his peers, his combat talent was acknowledged as the best — reaction speed, strength, endurance, martial techniques, all far exceeding others. Even veteran warriors in the village predicted that this child would undoubtedly beco a great Dragon Blood Warrior, and might even have the chance to challenge the legendary "Dragon Blood God," to personally slay the Dragon King.
At that ti, Karlot was the village’s hope, receiving admiring gazes wherever he went.
But fate played a cruel trick on him.
As he grew older, companions who initially couldn’t match his talents awakened their Dragon Power one by one through bloodline guidance — so grew dragon claws, so acquired dragon scale defenses, but only he, no matter how many tis he tried the guidance technique, his Dragon Power remained dormant like a stubborn stone, utterly unresponsive.
The genius under everyone’s spotlight overnight beca the "poor soul" in their eyes.
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