Several days had passed since I arrived at Willow’s End. I had spent most of my time getting accustomed to my newly acquired spells, studying in the library, or gathering materials for potions. Fortunately, Willow’s End was abundant with alchemical ingredients, making it an ideal pce for potion-making. However, some rare materials—like Mandragora Root—were notoriously difficult to find, as they only grew in secluded and hard-to-reach locations.

  To obtain Mandragora Root, I first had to go to a secluded waterfall, tucked deep within the heart of Willow’s End. From there, I had to scale the steep hills surrounding the cascade and make my way to Aeloria’s Keep—a radiant grove where the trees shimmered under the light of the full moon. The grove was steeped in ancient magic, serving as a sacred pce where druids communed with primordial spirits and safeguarded their most treasured artifacts.

  I was carefully searching the western part of Aeloria’s Keep, sifting through tangled roots and enchanted flora, when I sensed a presence nearby.

  A figure stepped into view.

  A dragonian.

  The sight of him made my muscles tense instinctively. Dragonians were a powerful race, known for their draconic lineage and natural combat prowess. They were widely considered one of the strongest starting races in Dreadspire—and also one of the rarest. Their popution was as scarce as the druids’, and most of them resided in Oros Summit, a mountain range far south of the city.

  The dragonian before me was tall and imposing, his muscur frame covered in battle-worn armor. A spear rested against his shoulder, its shaft engraved with intricate dragonian glyphs. But what caught my attention was his right arm—or rather, what was wrong with it. A dark, jagged curse mark coiled around his forearm, an unmistakable sign of Dragon’s Curse. He had tried to conceal it under his cloak, but I could still see the ominous markings pulsing faintly with cursed energy.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked coldly, my gaze locked onto him.

  The dragonian exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly unamused by my tone. “None of your business, little one,” he replied, gripping his spear as he pointed it in my direction. His voice was deep, tinged with a hint of amusement.

  I narrowed my eyes. “This is sacred ground. You’re trespassing. Leave now.”

  He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “And if I refuse?” His footsteps were slow but deliberate as he began walking toward me. “You should step aside while I’m still feeling generous.”

  Without hesitation, I activated Windstride—my body surged with speed, a blur of movement as I leaped backward. In the same motion, I sshed my scepter through the air—Wind Cutter! A crescent bde of compressed wind tore toward his head.

  Without breaking a sweat, he tilted his body slightly, avoiding my attack with almost casual ease.

  The moment my feet touched the ground, I reached into my pouch. This wasn’t a fight I could afford to hold back in.

  [Fleeting Potion used]

  Without wasting a second, I unleashed a relentless volley of Wind Cutter attacks, striking from multiple angles. Each ssh of wind cut through the air with deadly precision, tearing through leaves and stone alike.

  Yet—he evaded every single one.

  His movements were efficient, almost elegant, as if this was nothing more than a simple exercise for him. He wasn’t just dodging—he was reading my attacks before they nded. His expression remained calm, even amused, like a hunter toying with its prey.

  With a simple tilt of his body, he let the spell pass harmlessly by, as if it were nothing more than a stray breeze. A barrage of Wind Cutters struck the ancient trees behind him, sending leaves scattering into the air before smming repeatedly into a huge bell atop Aeloria’s Keep. A deafening gong rang out across the grove.

  The dragonian’s lips curled into a smirk. “Interesting,” he murmured. “But I don’t have time to py.”

  I saw his wings twitch slightly—he was about to take off. I had to act fast.

  “I know where you can find Celestial Draught,” I blurted out.

  That got his attention.

  His body stiffened mid-step. He turned his head toward me, his gaze sharp and suspicious. “What did you just say?”

  I took a slow step forward. “I know where the Celestial Draught is.”

  His expression darkened, suspicion cing his every movement. He studied me carefully, as if trying to read my intentions. “How do you know about Celestial Draught?” he finally asked, his voice dangerously quiet. His golden eyes gleamed under the moonlight, scrutinizing me with a mix of wariness and intrigue. “More importantly, how do you know that I need it?”

  I smirked slightly, tilting my head. I gnced briefly at his cursed arm before continuing, my tone ced with amusement. “Let me guess… someone from Jahad family did this to you?”

  His entire body stiffened. The shock in his expression was fleeting, but I caught it.

  “How,” he growled, “does a fledgling druid like you know things even most dragonians don’t?”

  His tone had shifted. No longer amused, no longer dismissive. Now, he was wary. And curious.

  The air around us grew colder.

  [Willpower exceeds 100. Dragon’s Fear effects have been partially neutralized]

  A suffocating pressure pressed down on me as he changed his tone. My instincts screamed at me to step back, but I held my ground, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence.

  I took another step forward. “I can help you get what you need,” I said smoothly, my voice calm despite the tension crackling in the air.

  He scoffed. “I’m not na?ve enough to trust a stranger. Especially a little one like you.”

  “Fair enough,” I replied with a shrug. “Then let’s make a trade.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “A trade?”

  I nodded. “I’ll give you the Celestial Draught. Right here. Right now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And what do you want in return?”

  I replied sternly. “Return what you stole from us.”

  ***

  Ryzenethar Baaik was no ordinary dragonian. He was an elite warrior, a scion of a prestigious noble bloodline, trained in the art of battle and subterfuge since birth. A man of reputation, feared and respected in equal measure. Yet circumstances had forced him to abandon the safety of his domain and venture into the sacred nds of the druids—a pce he had no business being in.

  But he had no choice.

  He had come here for something of value, something vital. With his expertise in infiltration, he was confident he could slip in and complete his task unnoticed. In and out, without a trace.

  Until he met this druid.

  A mere child—or so Ryzenethar had thought at first. Yet the longer he engaged with the young druid, the more he realized that the boy was anything but ordinary. His combat skills were far too refined for someone his age. His reaction time, his spellcasting, his decision making—it was unnatural.

  And worse still… he knew things.

  Things no outsider should ever know.

  "Could it be?" Ryzenethar thought, his golden eyes narrowing. "Does he truly possess Celestial Draught?"

  If that were the case, then he had no further need for the druid artifacts he sought. The Celestial Draught should be enough to repce it.

  But could he trust him?

  The druid spoke with unwavering confidence, even under the crushing weight of Dragon’s Fear. Any ordinary person, even seasoned warriors, would have been paralyzed in terror, their minds overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his draconic presence.

  Yet this boy stood firm.

  Ryzenethar’s eyes narrowed. He could not tell whether the druid was bluffing or truly holding all the cards. “Show me—”

  WHOOSH!

  A razor-sharp gust of wind sshed toward his face. Ryzenethar barely tilted his head in time, dodging the sudden attack by a hair’s breadth.

  "Damn you!" he growled under his breath.

  But before he could retaliate, the druid had already closed the distance.

  Moving faster than his eyes could track.

  Ryzenethar’s instincts fred. This was no ordinary druid.

  "Enough games," he muttered coldly.

  [Fury of the Wyrm cast]

  A brilliant white light ignited at the tip of his spear. In an instant, he unched a flurry of attacks—each strike executed with blinding speed, his spear moving like a silver blur. The sheer force of his blows split the air with an ear-piercing hiss, dust swirling from the impact of each near-miss.

  Yet—he was missing.

  Impossible.

  No matter how many times he struck, not a single attack connected. All of his strikes seemed to be deflected away from the druid’s body.

  Ryzenethar’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  "How is he avoiding all of this?"

  Even though he was only using his left hand, even though he was purposefully avoiding vital points—this should have been impossible. No druid, no matter how skilled, should have been able to dodge a dragonian warrior’s assault at this range.

  And then—

  BAAAM!

  A powerful impact struck Ryzenethar’s side.

  A blow so forceful it sent a shockwave rippling through his body.

  He staggered back, stunned.

  The boy had swung his staff at his right side—the side where his cursed arm was weak and unusable. And it wasn’t just a lucky strike. The attack had been calcuted, precise. As if the druid had known.

  And worse still—

  "That impact..."

  It wasn’t the feeble strike of a young druid. It was strong. Stronger than even the warriors of his kin.

  Ryzenethar instinctively leaped backward, putting distance between them. But before he could reassess the situation, he felt it.

  A surge of magical energy.

  A storm of high-level spells—fire, lightning, nature’s wrath—all converging upon him from multiple directions.

  His golden eyes flicked upward.

  A group of elder druids had arrived. Their staves were already mid-incantation, their spells aimed directly at him.

  "Shit."

  This was getting out of hand. He had no intention of causing an all-out conflict with the druids, but now he was backed into a corner.

  "I didn’t want to use this," he muttered under his breath.

  [Dragon’s Roar cast]

  He opened his mouth—and the sky trembled.

  A deafening roar erupted from his lungs, an earth-shaking bst of power that resonated through the entire grove. A massive wave of blue energy burst forth, nullifying every spell in its path. Fire dissipated into harmless embers. Lightning crackled and faded into the void. The wind lost its bite, and even the roots that sought to bind him withered away.

  The elder druids staggered back, shielding themselves as the force of the roar sent them reeling.

  In the silence that followed, Ryzenethar’s piercing gaze returned to the boy before him.

  He took a step forward.

  Then stopped.

  His eyes softened—not with pity, but with something more akin to grudging acknowledgment.

  “…I hope we never meet again, little one,” he said, his voice calm yet ced with warning.

  “I won’t be so merciful next time.”

  With that, he unfurled his wings—massive, majestic, their scales glinting in the moonlight.

  And in the next heartbeat—

  He was gone.

  Soaring high into the night sky, vanishing into the endless horizon.