The North Outpost wasn't just a camp anymore. In the weeks leading up to the grand tournament organized by the world powers, it had evolved into a makeshift city of tents.

Thousands of tents covered the barren plains like a patchwork quilt. Banners from every major power in the continent fluttered in the dusty wind.

There were the crimson flags of the Seven Kingdom Alliance and the imposing sigils of the Apocalyptic Guild.

Flanking them were the distinct crests of the Dragon and Phoenix Riders Alliance, the Beastfolk Alliance, the Elven and Dwarf Alliance, and the Beast Masters Alliance.

Merchants shouted over the noise of blacksmith hammers. The smell of roasting meat mixed with the stench of unwashed bodies and latrines.

It was a place of opportunity, where fortunes could be made selling potions to desperate youngsters from the world powers, whose recruitment to the three major academies now depended entirely on their performance inside the Rift.

From afar, the horizon was filled with dots of people coming for the tournament.

In a makeshift tavern near the center of the city, a group of cultivators sat around a rough wooden table. They wore the insignias of the Iron Fist Sect.

"I heard the Kingslayer Academy pulled out," one of them said, taking a swig of cheap ale. "Cowards ran back home claiming the mana density was fluctuating."

"Let them run," his companion scoffed, wiping foam from his beard. "Less competition for us. If a Minor Rift opens, the core alone will be worth enough to buy a small town."

They laughed, dreaming of easy wealth.

Then the ground jumped.

It wasn't a tremor. It was a convulsion. The ale in their mugs shot upward, splashing onto the ceiling. The wooden beams of the tavern groaned, and the heavy oak table rattled like a toy.

"Earthquake?" the bearded man shouted, grabbing the table to steady himself.

"No," his friend whispered, his face turning pale as he pointed out the open window. "Look."

The noise hit them a second later.

A roar that bypassed their ears and vibrated directly in their chests. It was a sound of absolute dominance, a challenge to every living thing within a hundred miles.

The tavern emptied.

Men and women poured into the dusty streets, weapons drawn, expecting an invasion. But there was no army marching on the gates.

Every head turned toward the mountains in the south.

The sky, usually a dull grey in the Wastelands, had darkened. A shadow had risen from the horizon, blotting out the weak sun.

"By the Gods..."

A hush fell over the city. It started from the southern gate and spread inward like a wave of cold water. Even the horses stopped whinnying.

High above the distant peaks, a creature floated. It was miles away, yet its presence was suffocating. The obsidian scales drank the light. The wings beat with a slow, rhythmic cadence that sent shockwaves rolling across the plains.

"A Dragon," a voice whispered from the crowd.

"A True Dragon!"

Panic flared. People scrambled back, tripping over each other.

But among the fear, another emotion began to bloom in the eyes of the elite.

Greed.

On the balcony of the central command tower, three figures stood watching the beast.

"It has just emerged from the Rift," a man in golden armor murmured. He was General Kael, a high-ranking commander of the Seven Kingdom Alliance. "It hasn't established a lair yet."

"It's a Master Rank," the woman beside him noted. She wore the violet robes of the Apocalyptic Guild. Her eyes glowed with mana as she used a scrying spell to analyze the distant threat.

"At minimum. A True Dragon is born at Master Rank. If it matures, it becomes a Grandmaster or even the legendary Saint."

"A Master Rank mount," the third man grunted. He was a brute of a man, the Vice-Master of the Beast Masters Alliance. His skin was tattooed with binding runes. "Whoever subdues that beast will have their power increased spontaneously."

The air on the balcony grew heavy.

They were allies for the purpose of the tournament, but in the face of such a prize, alliances meant nothing.

"Don't forget about those riders…"

The three of them froze, looking behind. An Elven woman had appeared behind them without them noticing. "And that woman, Violet."

The Dragon and Phoenix Riders Alliance was currently weakest among the alliances, solely because it had been centuries since one among them contracted a True Dragon or a Phoenix.

If this Dragon had to be contracted by any one of them…

Then the equilibrium the world was currently in would break. And if it was that woman who tamed it….

"The Seven Kingdom Alliance claims jurisdiction over all high-level threats," General Kael stated, his hand drifting to his sword.

"The Apocalyptic Guild claims all magical anomalies," the mage countered, her voice icy. "And that creature is made of magic."

"The Beast Masters Alliance claims anything with a heartbeat," the brute growled. "Try to stop me, and I'll feed you to my hydra."

They glared at each other for a heartbeat.

Then, they moved.

"All units! Mobilize!" Kael roared, leaping from the balcony.

"Mages! Flight formation!"

"Tamers! Bring the chains!"

The city exploded into action.

The fear evaporated, replaced by the frenzied rush of gold fever.

It didn't matter that the Dragon could kill them all with a sneeze. The potential reward outweighed the risk of death.

Dozens of streaks of light shot into the sky.

The heavy hitters of the alliance didn't wait for their armies. They launched themselves toward the south.

General Kael flew on a Griffon, his golden armor shining like a beacon. The Archmage levitated on a disk of pure energy, surrounded by a dozen elite spellcasters. The Beast Master rode a massive Wyvern, flanked by three smaller drakes.

Behind them, the leaders of the smaller factions—the Sword Sects, the Assassin Guilds, the Merchant Unions—scrambled to follow.

They knew they couldn't claim the Dragon, but they hoped to scavenge the scraps from the battle.

The sky was filled with the elite power of humanity.

They closed the distance rapidly. The mountains grew larger. The pressure radiating from the Dragon became intense, pressing down on their souls like a physical weight.

"Spread out!" General Kael commanded, his voice amplified by magic. "Surround it! Do not let it escape back into the Rift!"

"Prepare the binding circles!" the Archmage shouted. "Target its wings!"

They formed a wide net, a semicircle of power approaching the beast. They prepared their strongest attacks, their most expensive artifacts. They were ready for the fight of their lives.

They were ready to be noticed.

They were ready to be acknowledged as worthy adversaries.

But the Dragon didn't roar at them.

It didn't breathe fire. It didn't even flap its wings to blow them away.

It hung in the air, a statue of black destruction.

As the army of humans approached, tiny specks of light against its massive bulk, the Dragon simply turned its head.

It ignored the General. It ignored the Archmage. It ignored the hundreds of cultivators rushing toward it with greed in their eyes.

To the Dragon, they were nothing. Dust motes floating in the wind. Irrelevant.

Its golden eyes, burning with an intelligence that predated their civilization, narrowed.

The pupils, vertical slits of black void, focused.

They didn't look at the army. They looked past it.

General Kael pulled his Griffon to a halt, confused. "Why isn't it attacking?"

The Beast Master frowned, his whip dangling from his hand. "It's not looking at us."

"Then what is it looking at?" the Archmage whispered, following the Dragon's gaze.

The creature's attention was fixed on a point far to the north. It was staring intently at something moving across the plains, miles away from the main city.

Its nostrils flared. A puff of smoke escaped.

Miles away, on the dusty road leading away from the city.

Judas rode the stolen warhorse.

He was galloping hard. The wind whipped his hair back. He was bent low over the animal's neck, urging it faster.

"Come on," he muttered, kicking the horse's flanks. "Just a little further. We get to the next trading post, we buy a carriage, and we disappear."

Then he would be safe.

That was what he told himself.

But then, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

It wasn't a cold breeze. It was a sensation of being watched. Not by a person, but by something colossal. It felt like the sun itself had turned its eye upon him.

Judas risked a glance backward.

He saw the city in the distance, a smudge on the horizon. He saw the tiny sparks of light that were the Alliance leaders flying in the sky.

And above them, he saw the Dragon.

It wasn't fighting the army. It wasn't burning the city.

It was staring directly at him.

Even from miles away, Judas could feel the weight of that golden gaze.

It locked onto him like a targeting laser. The connection was instant and terrifying.

"Oh…" Judas sighed, "it seems I fucked."

The horse whinnied in terror, sensing its rider's panic. It stumbled, nearly throwing him, but Judas yanked the reins, forcing it back into stride.

"Why me?" Judas shouted at the sky. "There are literally a thousand high-level cultivators right in front of your face! Go eat them!"

The Dragon didn't blink.

Slowly, deliberately, the massive beast shifted its wings. It ignored the ants buzzing around its chest. It angled its body.

Then he heard a sound which deafened through the entire particles in the atmosphere and a roar which filled with endless pain.

Judas slightly tilted his head back.

There was no Dragon anymore, just a split in the sky which seemed to be closing. Together with a chill more terrifying than the Dragon's gaze on his neck.

"Hello, we met…."

A beautiful, terrifying voice.

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