Crack, crack, crack!
Ian slowly loosened the stiff, knotted muscles in his shoulders and neck.
“Ugh, it’s been a while since I did that, feels awkward. Well… it must’ve hurt a bit, but it was worth it. Don’t feel too wronged.”
He rolled his shoulders and muttered.
To an outsider, it might have looked like Ian had simply beaten Ralph senseless out of spite.
But in truth, there was a reason Ian had pummeled Ralph as if he were a dog on the hottest day of summer.
In the northern continent, Krohoka, there were many warriors who, like Lucas in his previous life, had once received the blessing of the plains.
They were born with innate divine power. Ironically, because of that very blessing, they had never developed much need to pursue aura cultivation methods, unlike other continents.
But as time passed and intercontinental exchanges became more active, they too came to learn of aura cultivation.
From then on, the northern continent had spent generations searching for a method to break through the hardened mana circuits of these already-matured warriors.
The method they discovered was precisely the technique Ian had just used on Ralph.
“Chugung-gwahyeol”—Pushing the Palace, Passing Through the Points.
The subject’s entire body is swept, struck, pressed, and hammered.
The body, subjected to continuous external shocks, instinctively widens its blocked mana circuits to survive.
At that precise moment, practicing aura cultivation produces far greater results than normal training.
While it didn’t provide permanent benefits like the elixirs brewed in the eastern continent, when done consistently over the years, it could rival such elixirs in effect.
Despite its tremendous efficiency, however, hardly any warriors—whether of the east or the hardened north—continued this method for long.
It came with one small drawback: enduring pain that felt like the body was being broken apart, every single day.
“Youngsters these days have no grit… tch tch.”
Like an old man grumbling, Ian thought of Ralph, who was no doubt sprawled somewhere in the training grounds.
‘He should have realized it by now.’
Ralph was hot-tempered, sure, but he wasn’t stupid.
It wouldn’t take much for him to figure out the cause of the changes happening within his body right now.
Soon, he would understand.
The despair and pessimism he had wallowed in were nothing but petty tantrums.
There was no such thing as an unsolvable problem in this world.
If one searched, there was always a path forward.
Ralph would soon recognize how small-minded and cowardly it had been to wall off all his possibilities simply because he couldn’t obtain an elixir.
“Well then… looks like I’ve spoken enough with three of them for now. Tomorrow, I’ll need to have a word with the mage and the priest.”
Ian crossed his arms, lost in thought.
What should he say to those two?
Unlike the three he had spoken with so far, magic and divine power were not his specialties.
Thus, he couldn’t precisely grasp what their struggles were.
Just then—
Whish! Thunk!
“…Hm?”
A faint sound reached him from not far away.
Even Ian would’ve missed it had he not been paying close attention.
Drawn by the rhythmic noise, he moved closer, and soon his eyes fell on a veiled young girl.
Not in the training ground, but in the small courtyard adjoining his quarters, she was fiddling with something.
Tug, tug, tug!
Crouched low, timidly tinkering with a stick in her hand, the girl slowly rose to her feet.
Streeetch!
Despite her timid appearance, the way she drew the string was anything but ordinary.
The next instant, she loosened her right hand, and the object hooked to the stick slammed into the courtyard wall.
Whish! Thunk!
The exact same sound Ian had heard earlier in his quarters.
Now he saw it clearly.
In her hand was a small, slightly curved stick with a string attached.
“Aah… how do I stop trembling….”
After loosing just one arrow, she flinched and nervously darted her eyes about.
Ian’s lips curled into a smile at the sight.
At least for one of them, he knew exactly what he needed to say.
That night, after thrashing Ralph senseless and later speaking quietly with the priestess, Ian turned in.
The next morning, he planned to finally meet with the last remaining member, the mage.
But his plan fell through.
For some reason, though they usually spent their mornings separately, all of the squad members had gathered in the training ground at dawn.
What had summoned them was an edict delivered straight from the Lord’s residence.
—To the Dormant Dragon Squad, your first mission is hereby given.
The newly established strike force, the Dormant Dragons, had been officially assigned their first mission.
“Well, it was later than I expected, honestly.”
Most strike forces under the Lichtenauer martial family were dispatched to the borders against the Great Sea.
Their role was to defend the people of the Aslan Kingdom from monsters.
But humans required rest, naturally.
So the strike forces of House Lichtenauer rotated assignments among groups of equal strength and influence.
Given that, granting the Dormant Dragons more than a week before their first deployment could be considered a form of leniency.
Flap!
Because he had risen unusually early, Ralph was the first to open the decree.
The moment he turned the page that revealed their assignment, his face went pale.
“Th-this is insane….”
“What? What does it say?”
Sensing something wrong, Ruan snatched the decree from Ralph’s hands.
A moment later, his expression too turned ashen.
One by one, the members read the decree, each paling in turn.
Finally, Ian looked down at the words inscribed in bold strokes:
—Eliminate the Red Fang Orc Tribe rampaging near the Mountain of Fire.
“…So the first mission is an orc subjugation.”
A dry chuckle slipped from Ian’s lips.
He immediately took back what he’d said earlier.
Leniency? Nonsense.
This wasn’t mercy—this was a deliberate attempt to break the Dormant Dragons from the start.
Orcs.
Pig-faced monsters, among the most common creatures encountered in the Great Sea alongside goblins.
On the surface, it might seem an appropriate mission for a newly-formed strike force.
But appearances deceived.
Unlike goblins, whose full-grown adults were barely the size of children, an orc could reach the strength of two or three grown men within just a year of birth.
For a squad of half-grown youths barely formed into a unit, this was no trivial task.
And the decree didn’t call for subduing a few stragglers.
It demanded the eradication of an entire tribe.
A reckless assault would turn them into nothing more than meals for the orcs.
Considering most strike forces began with goblin hunts as their first mission, it was obvious Alex’s influence had played a role in this.
Still, no matter how much authority Alex held, he could never have sent a squad to certain death on his word alone.
The one who had approved this decree could only have been the master of the House himself—Paon Lichtenauer.
Ian felt as though he could hear Paon’s intent echoing through the decree.
“…So this is a test.”
His lips curved upward.
He could almost hear Paon’s voice.
—Prove to me that what you showed at the Weapon of the Opening Ceremony was no fluke.
From the decree alone, Ian understood: House Lichtenauer was no gentle, harmonious family.
‘Of course. A house facing the Great Sea must carry iron and blood.’
And that truth only pleased him more.
“I’ll show you. Gladly.”
Crumple!
Ian crushed the decree in his hand, then turned to the pale-faced members.
“All members, arm yourselves and assemble in the training ground by noon. We march at once.”
If they wished to test him, he would simply show them.
Show them who he truly was.
The Lord’s residence of House Lichtenauer.
In the audience chamber, Paon Lichtenauer reclined on the throne, his expression bored.
Tap, tap, tap!
Yet his fingers drumming against the armrest betrayed his unsettled thoughts.
“My Lord, you’ll bore a hole through the armrest at this rate.”
The speaker was Nedyr, an old mage from the Tower who had long since sworn service to the House.
He was the only one who could joke so casually with the master of Lichtenauer.
“Does it look that obvious?”
They shared no exact bond—neither sworn retainers nor close friends—but that ambiguity allowed Paon to show his true self a little more freely.
Paon recalled the figure of Alex, who had recently come to press for Ian’s first mission.
—As a direct heir of the family, Ian should not begin merely as a member, but as the commander of his own unit. If his first mission is something as trivial as goblins, his abilities will surely be doubted. Moreover, the members chosen, while lacking in certain personality traits, are each said to be far superior in skill compared to others their age. Ability and responsibility must come together if one is to be recognized.
Alex never made unreasonable demands from the start.
He always circled slowly toward his goal, building justification carefully, never rushing.
That kind of political instinct was rare.
Considering Alex was not yet even thirty, he already possessed the qualities of a leader.
And yet, Paon was not pleased.
“Tch. Alex… he’s certainly capable, but I dislike these methods of his. A commander should not act so small-minded.”
It wasn’t as if Alex lacked martial talent—if he had, Paon would never have entrusted him with leadership of a unit.
‘If only he’d focus more on that talent….’
House Lichtenauer was the spiritual pillar of the Aslan Kingdom, forever clashing with transcendent beasts from the Great Sea.
Its master had to be strong above all else.
Schemes and secret plots—that was the role of retainers, not the Lord himself.
But Alex, with his sharp mind, sought to control both the blade and the schemes.
“Heheh! But in the end, it was you, my Lord, who approved the young master’s scheme. Your words and your actions do differ.”
“…You have quite the knack for making the truth sound unpleasant.”
“The truth is always bitter to the ears, heheheh!”
“Tch. If only you’d learn when to hold your tongue….”
Grumbling, Paon leaned back in his chair.
“You know perfectly well why I allowed it, yet you still harp on.”
“Heh, forgive me, my Lord. When men grow old, they must find their joy in words, since their bodies grow frail.”
“That mouth of yours never stops.”
Paon’s gaze shifted to a document lying on a small table beside the throne.
Rustle.
Opening it once more, a chuckle escaped his lips.
“Alex may think to test Ian slowly, to confirm whether his assumptions are correct. But the Lord of this House is not a seat for the overly cautious. Caution can make an easy path much harder.”
Paon knew exactly what Alex was plotting.
Yet he had turned a blind eye because of a report he had recently received.
Since Ian had claimed the Twin-Headed Blood Serpent at the Opening Ceremony, Paon had discreetly set men to watch him.
And that surveillance had borne fruit.
—Young Master Ian has succeeded in awakening the serpent from its winter sleep.
Just that single line of report was enough.
It proved two things.
First: Ian would not die to Alex’s schemes.
Second: Ian had not accepted the commander’s seat out of naivety.
He had confidence.
Confidence that he could seize control of the squad himself.
Soon, Alex would learn this truth the hard way.
That excessive caution and hidden schemes could just as easily turn to poison.
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