Chapter 93: Ser Loras’ Report [1]

The colossal form of the Black Reaper swept across the azure sky, its massive obsidian wings spanning hundreds of yards as it glided effortlessly above the high spires of the City of Dragons.

Every single flap of those gargantuan wings unleashed violent, howling gales that surged down into the avenues below, rattling heavy stained-glass windows, snapping decorative banners from their iron mountings, and sending loose merchant wares tumbling across cobblestone plazas.

Citizens and visiting nobility alike held onto lanterns and pillars for support, their eyes wide with breathless awe and primal terror as the ancient beast cast its absolute, looming shadow over the entire metropolis.

Seated comfortably atop the spiky, obsidian crest of the 7th-Tier Calamity Devouring Dragon sat Duke Oscar von Rynchester.

The supreme sovereign of the Western territory looked down upon his sprawling capital with a calm, indifferent gaze.

His long, dark crimson hair—the signature mark of the main Darkstar bloodline—fluttered wildly against the biting mountain wind, matching the heavy, embroidered cloak resting across his shoulders.

Duke Oscar had just completed a long, grueling diplomatic journey returning from the Imperial Capital, where he had dealt with the incessant political squabbling of the royal court.

Now, back within his own sovereign domain, his return was marked by the terrifying majesty of his personal mount.

With a deep, resonant rumble that shook the ground miles away, the Black Reaper adjusted its massive tail, veering away from the urban center and heading straight toward the towering, snow-capped peaks of the northern mountain range, where the sacred Temple of Dragons resided.

Meanwhile, far below in the heart of the capital, the massive iron gates of the grand Crimson Castle swung open.

Ser Loras Maverick, the supreme Guardian Knight to Duke Oscar and the head of the famed House Maverick, emerged into the castle’s outer courtyard.

Clad in a majestic set of dark-steel full plate armor that radiated an subtle, suffocating pressure, Ser Loras walked with the deliberate, heavy grace of an absolute conqueror.

He was a practitioner reaching the absolute apex of martial power.

A recognized Sword Dominator class Ranker, a weapon of mass destruction capable of leveling mountain ranges with a single swing of his blade.

Following closely in his wake were three imposing figures, each draped in heavy knightly cloaks and bearing the silver crests of the high military command.

These three high-class knights were all Sword Grand Masters—monstrously powerful Rankers in their own right, each commanding entire legions and holding massive political and military authority across the vast Rynchester Duchy.

Yet, standing behind Ser Loras, their demeanor was entirely disciplined and respectful.

Ser Loras approached his personal mount—a towering, pitch-black war stallion with glowing crimson eyes and hooves laced with dark mana.

He grasped the leather reins and mounted the beast in one fluid, practiced motion, looking down at the three Sword Grand Masters gathered before him.

"I am heading directly to the Temple of Dragons to officially receive the Lord Duke upon his landing," Ser Loras addressed them, his voice deep, resonant, and carrying the unshakeable weight of absolute command.

"During my absence, the safety and administration of the Crimson Castle rests entirely in your hands. Ensure the estate garrisons are on high alert, and instruct the head chamberlains to prepare a grand victory feast worthy of His Grace’s return from the Imperial Capital."

The three Sword Grand Masters slammed their gauntleted fists over their chest plates in unison, bowing their heads deeply.

"Your will shall be done, Lord Commander!" they declared as one.

Without another word, Ser Loras pulled the reins and kicked the sides of his war stallion.

The black beast let out a low, fiery snort and galloped forward, its iron-shod hooves striking sparks against the courtyard stone as it sped through the grand castle gates, leaving the Palace of Crimson behind and surging toward the mountain trails leading to the Temple of Dragons.

An hour later.

Deep within the sacred, ancient territory of the Temple of Dragons, the ambient air grew intensely hot, thick with the heavy, sulfurous stench of dragonfire and ancient mana.

Ser Loras moved on foot through the vast, hollowed-out stone arches of the western depths.

He had deliberately left his black war stallion tied securely at the ancient stone entrance gates of the Temple compound miles back.

Even a high-grade, mana-infused war horse possessed natural biological limits.

Bringing a mundane animal into the primary nesting grounds of high-tier dragons was a recipe for disaster, as the ambient predator pressure alone could cause the horse to go feral with terror or be casually devoured as a snack by a passing wyvern.

Navigating the cavernous, stone-carved halls with familiar ease, Ser Loras soon arrived at the grand, yawning entrance of the western depths.

The primary sanctuary where the Black Reaper made its lair.

The colossal 7th-Tier dragon had already coiled its massive, obsidian body deep within the pitch-black shadows of the central cavern, its glowing crimson eyes slowly closing as it slipped into a peaceful slumber.

Emerging from the mouth of the darkened cave was Duke Oscar von Rynchester.

Having dismounted his dragon, the Duke walked with relaxed, easy strides, a light, pleased smile playing on his sharp, handsome features as he stretched his neck.

The moment Duke Oscar stepped into the dim light of the corridor, Ser Loras immediately dropped to one knee, lowering his head until his gaze met the cold stone floor.

"Welcome back to your domain, Lord Duke," Ser Loras spoke with absolute reverence, his voice echoing off the high cavern walls.

"House Maverick and the Council of Knights greet Your Grace’s safe return."

Duke Oscar’s smile widened as he approached his long-time friend and most trusted Guardian Knight.

He reached out, placing a firm, heavy hand on Loras’s armored shoulder.

"Rise, Loras," Duke Oscar chuckled softly, his voice rich and commanding.

"There is no need for such rigid formality between us inside these caves. I thank you for your dedicated service in maintaining the estate while I was delayed by those useless politicians at the Imperial Capital."

Ser Loras stood up smoothly, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his longsword as he fell into step beside his sovereign.

Duke Oscar wiped a speck of soot from his dark crimson cloak, his expression shifting into a more serious, calculating posture as they began walking back toward the temple exit.

"Now then... tell me, Loras. What transpired across my land while I was away? Has there been any notable movement from my ambitious children, or news from the borders?"

Ser Loras’s eyes narrowed slightly under his helm, his tone dropping into a low, grave register.

"Indeed, My Lord," Ser Loras reported coldly.

"While you were attending the Imperial Court... Hydra has finally made a direct move."