When Lathus stepped into the scorching yet familiar volcanic lava cave, what surged within him was not just the warmth of memories but a deep sense of belonging tied to his very bloodline.

  This cave, born from the churning magma, had long been etched with the marks of his life since birth. Despite the conflicts and strife that filled his home—the aloof Dragon Mother, the ever-quarreling brother Agnus, and the fiery, stubborn sister Catilia—the profound bond he felt still made it impossible for him to abandon it all.

  As soon as he entered the cave, Lathus was met with the sharp, urgent sounds of an argument.

  The voices, filled with anger and defiance, seemed to echo from deep within the cavern. Curiosity led him closer, and he soon found Agnus and Catilia locked in a heated dispute.

  Agnus stomped his foot, the rocky ground trembling beneath him as he roared at Catilia, "I am the strongest! Of course, I have the final say! If you won’t listen to me, who will?" His tone was domineering, a clear display of his reliance on brute strength.

  Catilia raised her slender neck, her voice piercing as she shot back, "The strongest? Ha! Just a brute with a bit more muscle! Everyone knows the eldest is the leader. By seniority, you should be listening to me!" Her words were laced with sarcasm and disdain.

  The two young dragons’ faces flushed with anger, their immature scales bristling with excitement as their voices rose higher and higher, neither willing to back down.

  The argument quickly escalated into a physical clash. Agnus swung his chubby claws clumsily at Catilia’s wings, while Catilia, her fangs not yet fully grown, snapped mockingly at Agnus’s neck.

  Their young bodies collided with dull thuds, sending up clouds of dust and rock fragments. Though their dragon breath was little more than faint sparks and their scratches left only shallow marks, the fight was fueled by the innate combative instincts of young dragons and their primal desire to establish dominance.

  Lathus watched from the shadows of the cave, his crimson vertical pupils calmly observing the scene as if it were a farcical play unrelated to him.

  The roars of the young dragons echoed in his ears like distant beastly cries, mere background noise that failed to stir any emotion within him.

  His human soul seemed detached, floating above, coldly observing this juvenile and laughable struggle for power.

  The law of the jungle? How primitive and crude.

  A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. This contest of pure strength was far removed from wisdom and reason.

  The sharp, escalating argument did not pique his interest but instead filled him with an indescribable weariness.

  Through this farce, he seemed to glimpse a future tragedy for the red dragon clan—a descent into endless internal strife, consumed by the thirst for power, ultimately reduced to mere puppets of their own strength.

  A chill crept up his spine, like the cold undercurrents deep within the lava cave: if even he could not escape the shackles of this instinct, what would become of the dignity and nobility the red dragons prided themselves on?

  As Agnus and Catilia continued their heated argument, their claws and fists clashing, Lathus watched coldly, thinking to himself: the young dragons’ fights were nothing more than instinctual contests, devoid of thoughtful wisdom.

  He sighed softly, turned away from the noise, and made his way to a warm volcanic rock, where he lay down to rest.

  The warm rock, glowing faintly red from the residual heat of the lava, was Lathus’s favorite spot for relaxation.

  He lay there, half-reclined, quietly observing the sounds of argument and occasional scuffles coming from within the cave.

  To him, it was like watching a play—both amusing and thought-provoking.

  Though he wasn’t sure when Agnus and Catilia had woken up, this fight was just another routine episode in their household, hardly worth noting.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  For him, his nearly human-like rationality made it seem like nothing more than childish bickering, not a conflict driven purely by the law of the jungle.

  As the warmth of the volcanic cave enveloped him, Lathus had just begun to relax, his curiosity piqued by the ongoing arguments at home.

  At that moment, Agnus, with his astonishing physical strength and ferocity, finally defeated Catilia in a fierce confrontation, solidifying his position as the "leader."

  But before the joy of victory could fully settle, Agnus’s gaze turned to Lathus, filled with arrogance and an unmistakable challenge.

  "Lathus!" Agnus’s voice was low and commanding as he straightened up, declaring, "I challenge you first. You’d better bring your full strength, or I’ll knock you down!"

  With those words, the cave fell silent, as if all living beings held their breath, waiting for the clash between the young dragons.

  To them, this was not just a simple sparring match but a ritual to determine the leader of the red dragons.

  According to dragon tradition, becoming the leader not only meant priority access to food but also greater authority within the territory.

  Lathus listened to Agnus’s proud words, his heart churning with conflicting emotions.

  He glanced around, noticing the wounds Agnus bore from his fight with Catilia—thin, bleeding cuts that dripped with fresh dragon blood—while Catilia’s injuries were even more severe, with several scales missing.

  Seeing these wounds, Lathus thought to himself, "If I take advantage of your injuries to defeat you, my victory would be dishonorable. It’s only fair to wait until you’ve healed before we fight."

  He spoke these words with calm and firmness, but Agnus seemed to take them as mockery, his face darkening with anger.

  "These aren’t wounds! They’re my glory! Every scar proves my valor in battle. They’re what make me worthy of being the leader!" Agnus retorted fiercely.

  As their words clashed, the conflict within Lathus grew more intense.

  Though his rationality told him that engaging in this fight would only lead to meaningless strife among the young dragons, he also knew that with Agnus’s provocation, he couldn’t avoid it forever.

  After a brief hesitation, he decided to accept the challenge. After all, the fight would only leave them with a few scars, which were part of the trials of growth.

  Lathus slowly descended from his perch, landing on an open patch of rocky ground.

  Agnus’s eyes burned with the desire to challenge his elder brother, as if ready to unleash all his strength in this confrontation.

  Lathus observed his opponent carefully, noting the fresh wounds still bleeding on Agnus’s body. Each wound seemed like a burning mark, a testament to his past battles. In contrast, Lathus, though slightly weary, remained composed and calm.

  The battle erupted suddenly, as if all the fury of the world had gathered in that moment!

  Agnus charged like a fiery meteor, his sharp claws tearing through the air as he aimed for Lathus’s limbs. Each strike landed like a heavy hammer on hard scales, leaving deep, shocking gashes.

  Bright red dragon blood splattered like broken beads, flying through the air and landing on the rough rock surface. The intense heat caused the blood to evaporate almost instantly, emitting a faint, sizzling sound. The cave was soon filled with the pungent smell of blood and the scorching scent of lava, a grim reminder of the fragility of life and the brutality of battle.

  Every collision was a struggle of life and death, the intense impacts, the flying blood, and the waves of heat pushing the fight to its extreme tension and cruelty.

  Lathus grunted in pain, his amber vertical pupils flashing with agony, but he endured the pain and swiftly counterattacked, his claws slicing through the air in a sharp arc to fend off Agnus’s relentless assault.

  He could feel that each of Agnus’s attacks was fiercer than the last, as if determined to tear him apart.

  In the blink of an eye, the two young dragons had exchanged several blows.

  Their claws tore through the air with sharp whistles.

  Lathus, unable to dodge in time, saw Agnus’s claws closing in. Suddenly, he remembered the combat instincts deep within his bloodline. He clenched his jaws, his chest swelling as a surge of heat gathered in his throat.

  Just as Agnus’s claws were about to strike his scales, Lathus unleashed a burst of crimson dragon breath!

  Though still immature, the breath carried enough force to scorch the air. Agnus roared in pain, forced to retreat in disarray.

  The cave was instantly filled with the acrid smell of burning.

  Seeing Lathus’s counterattack, Agnus sneered, "You’re not so tough! I didn’t expect you to be so weak. Defeating you will be my honor. Just give up!"

  Though Lathus’s anger burned within him, he also considered his dignity and the principle of "victory without dishonor."

  He replied softly, "You’re already covered in wounds. If I take advantage of that to defeat you, my victory would be meaningless. Let’s fight again when you’re healed, and then we’ll see who’s truly stronger."

  Agnus’s face turned ashen, his eyes blazing with barely concealed fury. "Are you mocking my scars? No, each of these wounds is a mark of my glory!"

  Facing this intense exchange, Lathus took a deep breath and, after careful consideration, decided to hold back for now, waiting for Agnus to recover before continuing the fight.

  He wasn’t unwilling to fight—he simply didn’t want his victory to come at the cost of his principles. To take pride in injuring an opponent would strip away the nobility and integrity that a red dragon should uphold.

  The two dragons fought fiercely, their attacks and defenses alternating with overwhelming force. Though their dragon breath was still incomplete and their injuries limited, the fight served as a test of their skills and a chance to gain experience.

  At one point, Lathus and Agnus were so close that their breaths intertwined, their flesh and blood mingling as rage and calm clashed in close quarters.

  After a while, Agnus’s arrogance began to wane under Lathus’s composed words.

  Lathus said softly, "If I defeat you now, it would be a hollow victory. Let’s wait until you’re healed for a fair fight. I’d rather have a true and just battle."

  Agnus, hearing this, grew even angrier. He swung his claws and charged again, shouting, "These wounds are my glory! I don’t need to hide them. They’re proof that I’m a born leader!"

  Yet, Lathus’s eyes flashed with disdain. He knew that true strength lay not in the scars on one’s body but in the maturity and calmness of one’s heart.

  Facing Agnus’s arrogance, he simply shook his head slightly, his heart turbulent but no longer willing to engage.

  In the end, the fight reached a stalemate, both sides stopping as their breaths filled with tension and resentment.

  Lathus looked at the swirling dust and flowing blood, knowing full well—though the fight had no clear winner, the advantage lay with Agnus. After all, this was the unyielding bloodline of a true red dragon!

  This fiercely combative nature, honed through countless battles with Catilia, had given Agnus rich experience in combat. For Lathus, however, this was his first real fight.

  The surging flames gathered in Lathus’s mouth, the heat threatening to ignite his very soul.

  Just as Agnus swung a powerful claw at him, Lathus drew in the fire within him and unleashed a furious blast of dragon breath. The flames erupted, striking Agnus directly on the wounds Catilia had inflicted.

  In that instant, the flames struck like an arrow, burning the wounds and making the already bloodied injuries even more pronounced. Fresh dragon blood dripped down.

  But there is no eternal victor in battle.

  Agnus, still fiercely combative, refused to back down, his stubborn and ferocious nature inherited from the red dragons driving him to endure Lathus’s attacks.

  Both dragons’ injuries worsened as the fight dragged on: Lathus’s scales were shattered in multiple places, bright red blood gushing from the wounds, while Agnus’s injuries from his earlier fight with Catilia had not healed, his sharp claws inflicting painful wounds on Lathus.