Chapter 132

Chapter 132
## Chapter 132

Conventional wisdom is a shackle that binds the mind, yet it simultaneously maintains the structure of the world.

Because of this truth, individuals naturally recoil when someone attempts to demolish that shared understanding. They are loath to see the foundation of the reality they have inhabited their entire lives pulled out from under them.

However, such resistance only manifests when the attempt to upend common sense is made with insufficient power.

When established norms are pulverized by an irresistible and overwhelming force, the resulting emotion is not rejection, but profound veneration.

To the members of the tribes, Felicia was undeniably a manifestation of that overwhelming force.

“Could she be the Great Warrior of the King?”

“Watch your tongue! Lower your gaze immediately!”

As Felicia moved in step with Lucian, the gathered tribespeople dropped to their knees as one.

The reverence that had once been reserved solely for Lucian was now pivoting toward Felicia.

While they were bathed in this collective adoration from all sides, a faint, knowing smile played on Lucian’s lips.

“How does it suit you? Being put on a pedestal as the most formidable warrior?”

“If I am being honest, it is a surreal experience. If they feel the need to offer such devotion, it truly ought to be aimed at Your Highness…”

“I am receiving plenty. Observe.”

Lucian indicated the tribespeople with a slight movement of his head; they were bowing to him in quick succession after acknowledging Felicia.

A warrior of supreme strength was, by definition, a natural candidate for leadership. It was only logical for the onlookers to conclude that a master selected by the world’s finest warrior must be equally magnificent, if not more so.

“Though, I suppose I’m falling a bit short of the acclaim you’re gathering as the legendary champion.”

“My apologies, my lord.”

“There is no need for apologies. Cast aside that sense of debt and simply take it in. This is a reality you forged through nothing but your own raw talent.”

Felicia looked slightly uncomfortable at Lucian’s reassurance, yet a faint crimson glow touched her cheeks despite her reservation.

She was a woman who had been dismissed by her father and whose capabilities had been constantly second-guessed merely because of her sex. Yet, using only her prowess with a blade, she had demolished the preconceptions of those who claimed a woman could never reach the pinnacle of the warrior’s path.

While the sensation was daunting, she could not deny a hidden spark of triumph and emotional release blooming within her.

“…Regardless, it is improper for me to eclipse Your Highness. Beyond my own feelings, one must consider the political repercussions.”

“Do not worry. I intend to trigger a massive revelation of my own before this day is through.”

Lucian had no desire to let the current dynamic persist indefinitely.

While he took pride in Felicia’s hard-earned glory, it was a separate issue if the master appeared to be in the shadow of the servant.

Lucian meant to project a presence just as staggering as Felicia’s during the second challenge today. Only then would the inhabitants of the frozen wastes understand exactly what caliber of man Felicia served.

“You have arrived at last.”

When Lucian reached the home of the Chieftain, Ivar, who had been waiting, spoke in a hushed tone.

He appeared remarkably collected for a man who had failed to even properly conclude the opening trial.

“Now that everyone has assembled, I will reveal the requirements of the second trial.”

Ivar’s eyes swept over Einar, Brunda, and Lucian before he projected his voice so that every member of the tribe could hear.

“The second trial shall be presided over by our noble progenitor in the Holy Land! The Dragon’s Heart itself will determine if you possess the merit to vie for the title of the next Chieftain!”

“…!?”

A wave of shock rippled through the crowd at Ivar’s words.

It was staggering enough that an outsider might enter the Holy Land, but to surrender the judgment to the Heart itself was unheard of.

“Chieftain, what is the meaning of this? Are you claiming the Dragon’s Heart will make a personal choice?”

“That is exactly what I am saying.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Dragon’s Heart remains a living entity. It possesses a consciousness capable of discerning whether the hand that touches it belongs to a true hero or a lowly pretender.”

“…!?”

Stunned by this revelation, the tribespeople exchanged bewildered looks.

Until this moment, they had viewed the Dragon’s Heart as a static holy object meant to honor their forebear. Could it be that the Heart was actually sentient and held the power to judge a warrior’s soul?

Ivar continued his explanation to the stunned masses with an air of practiced calm.

“Limitless energy resides within the Dragon’s Heart. A worthy candidate will be infused with power the instant they make contact. However, those found wanting will suffer a violent end, their bodies detonating on the spot.”

According to Ivar, the right to rule as Chieftain and the Heart’s favor were distinct concepts.

This was why previous leaders had refrained from touching the relic. While the promise of power was alluring, the risk of being rejected by the Heart was a constant shadow.

“Nevertheless, I embraced that peril and submitted myself to the Dragon’s Heart. And the Heart found me worthy, gifting me with power. The very strength you have all witnessed!”

Whoosh.

Accompanying a sharp gust of wind, a shimmering, fire-like aura ignited around Ivar’s form.

As the blistering heat, carried by the wind, swept over the tribespeople, they recoiled in sheer amazement.

“The Blue Dragon’s Flame…!”

“That strength was a gift from the Heart?”

“I thought it was a divine favor granted only to the Chieftain!”

Lucian observed the buzzing crowd.

From their shock, it was clear they knew of the power but were ignorant of its true source.

‘Fascinating. So that is the energy radiating from the Dragon’s Heart.’

The mana being leaked was remarkably unrefined.

If Felicia’s mana was comparable to a masterfully carved monument, Ivar’s was like a pile of timber crudely split by an unskilled hand.

Still, the distinct quality of the released mana and the suffocating heat were enough to convince the onlookers of its divine nature.

‘It’s a magnificent gift, but it is wasted on him. With a practitioner like that, I won’t truly understand its potential until I wield it myself.’

Great power is hollow if the wielder lacks the sophistication to direct it.

Because Ivar was merely venting the energy, Lucian could glean little about it other than its inherent thermal properties.

He wondered what might happen if that energy were channeled through a refined system of circulation and martial technique.

As Lucian lost himself in thought, Ivar’s booming voice snapped him back to the present.

“I have kept this truth concealed until today. Had this been known, the unworthy and the rapacious would have descended upon the Holy Land. We could not permit the sanctuary where the Dragon’s Heart sleeps to be stained by the blood of the greedy, could we?”

“Then—then why disclose it at this moment?”

“Because a foreigner has laid claim to the seat of Chieftain.”

At the mention of an outsider, every eye in the clearing fixed on Lucian.

Ivar narrowed his eyes at Lucian and continued.

“I allowed him the right to compete according to our ancient ways. But is it truly just for a man from across the borders to command us? Does he possess the internal merit? Should he have ever been granted this opportunity?”

“…”

Silence met Ivar’s query.

Lucian was the first outsider to ever challenge for the leadership. Before any judgment could be passed on its fairness, there was simply no historical precedent to reference.

“I do not claim to have the answer. Thus, I shall defer to the Heart of our great ancestor! Today, you will witness the Dragon’s choice with your own eyes! You shall see who is truly destined for the throne: this foreigner, or my own flesh and blood!”

At Ivar’s roaring proclamation, the tribespeople nodded in agreement.

If the Dragon’s Heart truly held a will, no judgment could be more objective.

To Lucian, however, the entire performance was farcical.

‘Dragon’s choice? What a joke. It’s simply a power available to anyone who meets the criteria.’

It was transparent what Ivar was trying to achieve.

He wanted to use this moment to rewrite his own history of touching the Heart while elevating himself and his sons to a semi-divine status. Simultaneously, he hoped to shatter the tribe’s budding curiosity by showing them Lucian’s grizzly demise.

If the plan worked, it would be a masterstroke.

However, Ivar was failing to account for one significant variable.

The chance that Lucian, despite his foreign blood, might actually receive the Dragon’s blessing.

Lucian was genuinely eager to see the look on the tyrant’s face when he outshone the Chieftain’s own sons, who were born and bred in the snow.

—

With his oratory finished, Ivar guided his two heirs and Lucian toward the tribe’s sacred grounds.

The rest of the tribespeople trailed behind them like a flock of birds.

Given that they departed immediately without packing, it was evident the Holy Land was in close proximity.

Indeed, after traversing several snowy ridges under Ivar’s guidance, they arrived at the destination.

“We have reached the site.”

“…A shed?”

Lucian was momentarily speechless at Ivar’s announcement.

The only structure at the place they deemed the Holy Land was a dilapidated shack.

It was ridiculous enough that the building was less impressive than a common hut, but its physical state was even worse. It appeared so fragile that Lucian suspected a stiff breeze might knock it over.

Strangely, no one else in the group seemed to find the sight odd; their faces were masks of deep religious awe.

“Halt. Only those who have been granted passage may cross this threshold.”

With a heavy, serious tone, Ivar raised a hand to stop the crowd. He then signaled for his sons and Lucian to move forward.

Finding the situation increasingly surreal as they practiced such reverence before a rotting shed, Lucian stepped ahead.

Whoosh.

“…!”

In that instant, a subtle weight, comparable to the pressure of being deep underwater, pressed against Lucian’s frame.

He was momentarily taken aback, but he quickly pinpointed the cause.

‘Is this… stagnant mana?’

These were the echoes left behind when a massive amount of energy is discharged during a conflict. It was akin to the warmth that lingers in the air after a great fire has been extinguished.

Usually, such echoes dissipated rapidly, leaving only a faint sense of unease.

However, the traces here showed no signs of fading and were so concentrated that they manifested as a physical weight.

‘It isn’t even a whole dragon, just a fragment of its remains—and only the heart—and yet it projects such a staggering aura?’

Lucian was impressed in spite of himself.

At the same time, he realized why they treated this shack as a sanctuary. No matter how ruined it appeared, the moment one drew near, the sheer gravity of the power forced a sense of humility upon the soul.

“Stop.”

When the trio had covered half the distance, Ivar, standing at the door of the shack, spoke in a low rumble.

It was a command for them to approach individually. He didn’t ask for a volunteer, acting as if the sequence was already established.

“Einar.”

“I am ready.”

At Ivar’s command, Einar resumed his walk. He vanished into the shack through the door Ivar held open.

Lucian crossed his arms, waiting patiently for the trial to unfold.

Whirrr.

‘What is happening?’

After roughly ten minutes, a soft warmth began to prickle across Lucian’s skin. At the same time, the surrounding atmospheric pressure shifted, rippling like the surface of a pond.

Just as he noted the change, the door swung open.

“The—the Blue Flame! The power of the Dragon!”

“Einar has been chosen by the Dragon!”

The tribespeople at the rear erupted in cheers.

Just as they claimed, Einar was shrouded in a blue, flickering haze, identical to what Ivar had displayed.

Seeing Einar step out with a weary but triumphant expression, Ivar offered a small, satisfied smile.

“Excellently done.”

Accepting his father’s praise, Einar gave a short nod and stepped away from the Holy Land.

Despite receiving the Heart’s power, Einar did not look joyful. In fact, he avoided meeting Lucian’s eyes, behaving like someone burdened by a secret shame.

‘Why the guilty conscience?’

Lucian grew wary, but the moment was too tense for interrogation.

As soon as Einar moved aside, Ivar summoned the next candidate.

“Brunda.”

“Yes.”

Brunda, being second, marched forward with a look of grim resolve. He seemed to feel the weight of the moment, likely concerned about being second-best to his brother.

It wasn’t long, however, before Brunda also emerged from the shed, his face radiating newfound arrogance. He, too, was bathed in the signature blue flame.

“Brunda has also been gifted the Dragon’s strength!”

“Both heirs have been accepted!”

The eyes of the jubilant tribespeople now turned toward Lucian, the final participant.

Two sons of the snow had been validated. Now, what fate awaited the man from across the sea?

“…Foreigner.”

Ivar called Lucian’s name with a voice dripping with contempt.

Met with such obvious hostility, Lucian merely snorted and walked forward.

As Lucian reached the entrance, Ivar leaned in and hissed a warning.

“Even now, you should abandon this folly and crawl back to your home. A scavenger who tries to seize a crown that does not belong to him is fated for a gruesome end.”

“We will see. The truth of who is the scavenger and who is the true heir will be revealed shortly.”

With a cryptic grin, Lucian brushed past Ivar and stepped into the darkness of the shack.

However, unlike the two brothers before him, Lucian did not reappear as the minutes ticked by.

Just as the silence became unbearable, a thunderous explosion rocked the Holy Land. The ground groaned under a massive tremor, and the old shack rattled so violently it seemed on the verge of splintering into toothpicks.

Seeing this, Ivar’s face twisted into a sadistic smile as he turned to the crowd.

“Look upon this! The Dragon’s fury has claimed the outsider who dared to overstep—!”

BOOM!

Before his sentence could land, a second, even more violent eruption tore through the center of the Holy Land.

The shack, which had stood as a testament to their history for generations, was blown apart. From the wreckage, Lucian stepped out.

He was not merely glowing; he was engulfed in massive, roaring pillars of blue fire that seemed to pierce the clouds above.

As the entire tribe stared in stunned silence, Lucian cocked his head and looked at Ivar.

“What was that you were saying about the Dragon’s fury?”