“ANSWER ME.”
The crimson presence loomed oppressive, pressing against me, as if waiting for me to break first. No answer came. No explanation.
My instinct screamed beneath that crushing presence. It offered no answers, only weight. Stay still, and I would be crushed. It would only respond to action.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my trembling spirit to steady. If it wouldn’t answer me… then I’d tear the truth out myself.
“Alright,” I muttered, breath heavy in the crimson haze. “Let’s see what I actually have.”
The blue screen shimmered before me. Cold, sterile numbers. My supposed ‘power.’
[Strength: 5 (+50% from Black Dragon Chi) = 8]
The Crimson voice rose again, deep, unyielding, like steel grating against stone.
“Eight. Barely above the weakest soldier. Your bones remember sickness more than battle. Strength is not a number it is the right to seize destiny. You do not yet have it.”
I clenched my fists. “Then I’ll take it. Bit by bit.”
The voice did not laugh. It rumbled, like a mountain shifting.
“Good. That is the only answer I will accept.”
[Agility: 5 (+50% from Black Dragon Chi) = 8]
“Your body is slow. Rusted. But speed is not only legs it is instinct, prediction, precision. When your body fails, you must move through awareness. One day, this will save you… if you survive until then.”
I ground my teeth, holding back the urge to shout.
[Endurance: 20 (+50% from Black Dragon Chi) = 30]
“Endurance. The only thing that kept you alive. Do not mistake this for glory it is the mark of a man who survives beatings but does not strike back. Endurance without will is the life of a chained dog. Do you intend to stay a dog?”
“NO,” I snapped, my voice sharp as glass.
The crimson presence pressed closer, satisfied by the spark of rage.
[Instinct: 18]
“Now this… is worthy. Instinct is the blade of the weak. With it, you see danger before it strikes. You may lack strength now, but with instinct sharpened, you will never be taken unprepared again. Feed this. Hone this. Or you will die.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to look away.
[Black Dragon Chi: 70]
The system’s voice darkened into something primal, a dragon’s roar compressed into words.
“A vessel vast as the ocean. Yet you stand here, powerless to even dip your hand into it. Do you know what it means to carry this much Chi? It is responsibility. It is burden. With seventy, you are destined to drown kingdoms or be drowned by them. Do not disgrace the power that runs in your body.”
That one struck me. My hands trembled. “Then teach me. If you want me to use it, then stop talking in riddles and TEACH ME.”
The chamber trembled. The crimson voice thundered, filling the air like an earthquake.
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“You do not command me, boy. You EARN me.”
And then the abilities unfolded one by one, each a blade of truth cutting at my spirit.
[Writer’s View]
“A weapon of the mind. But tell me—what use is a writer who never dares to change his own ending?”
[Endurance of the Broken]
“Born from your suffering. Do not wear this as pride it is only the scar of survival. But scars, too, can become armor.”
[Seven Dragon Palms]
“A legacy technique of your character. But you cannot wield legacy with weak hands. Earn your palms, or they will remain empty.”
[Heart-Shattering Roar]
“A roar without a throat. A voice without power. You must first rebuild the body before the spirit can shake worlds.”
[Aura of the Dragon]
“An emperor’s mantle, wasted on a beggar’s shoulders. The day you wear it properly, the weak will tremble before your steps.”
[Heaven-Forge]
“You carry the right to create weapons of gods. But iron in the hands of a child is only dead weight.”
[Dragon’s Vein]
“The veins of dragons flow within you. And yet you crawl as if they were chains. Rise, or be forgotten as wasted flesh.”
By the end, my chest heaved. “Enough!” I screamed at the crimson voice. “Shut up! Just SHUT UP!”
The crimson system roared back, the walls shuddering as if dragons circled me in the dark.
“If you cannot face words, how will you face war?”
“SHUT UP!” I bellowed, shaking, my spirit flickering.
And then—
“Who the hell are you screaming at, you bastard?!”
The voice didn’t belong to the system. It belonged to Daeryon.
I froze. His voice crashed through me, heavy with chi, enough to set my Instinct ablaze with primal fear. Danger. Real danger.
My soul recoiled, instinct screaming that a predator had its fangs at my throat.
“W-what?” I stammered.
“Who are you telling to shut up?!” Daeryon’s tone was sharp, dangerous, the dragon in him awake.
“I—I wasn’t talking to you!” I stuttered, hands raised in a useless defense. “Sorry! Sorry! I was talking to… someone else!”
Daeryon’s silhouette loomed in the doorway, his aura like molten iron pressing on me.
“…Someone else?” His eyes narrowed.
“Y-yeah,” I blurted. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your wife? She needs you by her side right now, doesn’t she?”
Daeryon stepped into the room, shaking his head. His voice was calmer now, but still edged with steel.
“We left her room a long time ago. I’ve been calling you. Again and again. You didn’t answer.”
My body went cold.
Of course. I hadn’t heard him because the crimson voice had drowned everything else out.
The red system pulsed again, its jagged letters dragging across my vision like a blade across stone.
“Enough rage. Enough words. You have work to do.”
A flare of irritation shot through me. “Work to do? What the hell do you mean—”
[Directive: Revealing Quests.]
The chamber swam with crimson light, the screen stretching wider, deeper, until the walls themselves seemed carved in blood.
Two lines of text burned themselves into my mind:
[Quest I: MEND THE FRACTURED BLOODLINE]
— The Black Dragon’s strength rots if its children devour one another. Restore Daeryon’s bond with his heirs. Without unity, there will be no future.
[Quest II: STRIKE AT THE HIDDEN TALONS]
— The Kang Clan’s shadow festers. Elders plot, unseen figures pull the strings. Find them. Break them. Or watch the clan bleed itself to death.
The words carried weight. They weren’t cold numbers or empty conditions—they were chains, binding me to a future I hadn’t asked for.
My throat tightened. I whispered the truth before I could stop myself. “So… that’s it. That’s what you want from me. I have to fix Daeryon’s family, and I have to keep this clan from tearing itself apart.”
The voice sharpened. “No. Not what I want.”
The crimson voice pressed against my skull, heavy, immovable. “What you already desired. I only carve the path you were too blind to walk.”
“Blind?!” I hissed. “I didn’t come here to play therapist or politician I came here to—”
“To what? To sulk? To scream at fate like a child? You already know why did you come here the second you became connected to Daeryon you yourself wanted to help him.”
The red wings spread wider across the chamber walls, stretching, blotting out the faint glow of the cultivation room.
“Power is not grasped in isolation. The Black Dragon rots from within. Mend it, or all strength you claim will collapse into ash.”
My ghostly fists trembled, but I bit down the fury. It wasn’t wrong. Not completely.
Behind the burning screen, Daeryon’s voice called again, faint this time, cautious. “What are you doing? are you okay you didn't talk for a long time”
I sucked in a breath. “One second,” I muttered, waving a ghostly hand. “Just… one second.”
The screen pulsed, final words searing like iron brands. “Choose wisely, child of ink and dragon blood. The story bends by your hand.”
The crimson glow shrank, folding into itself, until only silence remained.
I turned back toward Daeryon.
His presence filled the chamber broad shoulders, the storm of chi around him, a man carrying an empire on his back.
He was watching me with those dragon like eyes with suspicion and worry.
I steadied myself. The weight of the quests hung like a boulder on my chest.
“Daeryon,” I said slowly. “Our next step is going to be… complicated.”
