Chapter Sixty-Five: Dragonbone

“Sigh!”

Even though the ancient chariot forged from black magic iron had grown somewhat decayed, the scars of blade and axe upon its body were like rings of time, each telling a tale of battles past.

Standing atop the chariot, Luo Hao's expression was solemn, his eyes bleak and desolate. He pressed his parched lips together, his brow furrowed with confusion, but more so with sorrow.

With a swish, he leapt forward like a great roc spreading its wings, vaulting from the black, ancient chariot toward the land ahead. As his feet touched the ground, Luo Hao felt as if the scene before him was unreal—a field littered with shattered weapons. Unlike the bronze swords and halberds he had seen before, not a single weapon here remained whole. Clearly, this place had witnessed an even more brutal conflict.

“Bones, are they?”

There was more buried beneath the soil. Luo Hao could not even be certain if they were truly bones; the fragments were so mangled, not a single piece intact.

He bent to pick up a shard of bone, its origin and species indeterminable. The fissures that marred its surface were shocking to behold. As the wind swept by, the bone in his hand quickly crumbled to ash.

Watching the gray dust scatter from his palm, Luo Hao was suddenly struck by a deep, aching grief. Countless years had buried too much beneath their weight. No matter how dazzling your glory, how unmatched your power, how solitary your dominion over all, none could withstand the erosion of time. In the end, all must fade into twilight.

“What’s come over me? I never used to think about such things.” Unsettled, Luo Hao pressed his hand to his chest, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Born in the towering cityscape of twenty-first century China, he had never considered such matters before. Perhaps, ever since he came to this ancient continent teeming with myriad races, his mind had begun to shift in subtle ways.

He brushed the ashes from his hands, exhaled a long breath, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a new resolve in them. The future was distant and unknowable; all he could do was seize the present. With his thoughts cleared, his steps grew lighter.

Ahead, the mist thickened, a swirling, chaotic fog that seemed poised to transport him back to an age of clashing armor and roaring battle.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!”

“Fight to the death!”

As Luo Hao stepped into the churning mists, his ears were filled with the clamor of slaughter and the din of battle. Even the battle mark’s power could not wholly shut out the thunderous sounds of carnage.

Luo Hao shuddered. What manner of being could leave behind such indelible echoes of war? What kind of battle could drive such figures to unleash such unforgettable war cries?

As he pressed on, each soul-shaking cry seemed to reveal a glimpse of the ancient carnage. And yet, for what had these ancient beings fought on this battlefield so long ago?

Suddenly, a tremendous, domineering pressure rolled forth from ahead, as weighty as a primordial mountain. Caught off-guard, Luo Hao’s breath seized in his chest, every pore constricting, his body feeling as if burdened by a mountain weighing millions of tons. His bones creaked, on the verge of shattering.

So small. So insignificant.

Overwhelmed by the abrupt oppression, Luo Hao could only endure, feeling as if a primordial colossus loomed before him, making him feel utterly insignificant.

Within his core, the ancient mirror hummed softly, and a layer of azure radiance enveloped his body. Only with the ancient mirror’s protection did the agony in his flesh begin to ebb, his breath gradually returning to normal.

“Damn it, what kind of monstrous place is this?”

Cursing under his breath, Luo Hao pressed onward, shielded by the mirror’s glow. Yet with each step, the pressure from ahead grew, until, deep within the churning mists, he felt the blue radiance on his body dim to the faintest glimmer. He feared it might vanish at any moment, and he himself be crushed to a pulp.

These overlords play too rough!

Uneasy, Luo Hao left deep footprints with every step. The short distance of a few hundred yards was for him no less than a grueling battle—a tempering of both body and spirit.

Soon, a massive pit appeared not far ahead, spanning more than a hundred yards across and plunging hundreds of meters deep. In its center, a gigantic humanoid skeleton towered upright.

A fierce will to battle surged forth, a tyrannical power that seemed to destroy all, whipping Luo Hao’s hair into a frenzy.

“The remains of a Giant Spirit!”

“So this is the legendary Giant Spirit Clan from the ancient texts—what a size!” Luo Hao could not help but marvel aloud. Compared to this, dinosaurs were but feeble creatures.

Steadying himself, Luo Hao moved closer, awed to his core. The giant skeleton’s every joint was lustrous as jade, as if crystalline marrow still flowed within.

That enormous skull, its hollow eye sockets as large as millstones, the broad palm with finger bones several meters long—beneath that hand, a black colossal war spear, hundreds of meters in length, lay across the pit. The countless cracks webbing the spear’s surface made Luo Hao’s eyelid twitch uncontrollably. Just how heavy must this thing be?

Staring in wonder at the Giant Spirit’s remains, Luo Hao noticed a wound that pierced straight through the skeleton’s brow—a hole, as though gouged by some peerless weapon. It was hard to fathom what manner of weapon could pierce the flesh of a clan renowned for its physical might.

Wrenching his gaze away, Luo Hao pressed onward. The call in his heart grew ever stronger; the dragon force within him churned and surged. He could almost sense an elated excitement, like a child about to be reunited with its mother.

Moved by this inexplicable joy, Luo Hao quickened his pace. As he parted the final layer of chaotic mist, his heart thudded violently, nearly leaping from his chest. Eyes wide and unblinking, he stood transfixed by what lay before him.

It was a skeleton, crystalline and bright as steel, stretched across the earth like a great wall. Twin horns sprouted from its head, the skull shaped like a qilin’s, four claws at its belly, though the tail had been severed. Though bereft of life, the boundless, domineering air exuding from the serpentine bones had not faded at all with the passage of years.

A dragon’s skeleton.

These were the remains of a dragon.

Standing before this wall of bone, Luo Hao was seized by an emotion beyond words. Since time immemorial, the dragon had been intricately tied to the Chinese people.

In ancient China, the dragon was not only a totem of tribes, but a spiritual symbol. Of all the myriad totems of ancient China, only the dragon persisted through the ages. The Chinese even called themselves the descendants of the dragon. Now, standing before its true form, Luo Hao was inevitably dazed.

Yet his daze lasted only a moment before he regained his composure and began to examine the dragon skeleton closely. It sprawled across an immense pit, which had clearly been formed by some unimaginable force. The pit’s depth—thousands of meters—left Luo Hao speechless. What kind of power must it take to drive a dragon so deep beneath the earth?

As he drew within tens of meters, Luo Hao’s gaze sharpened. The dragon’s tail had a clean cut, as if sliced straight through.

To be able to sever a dragon’s tail—what level of power was required? Who was this being, and why did they battle the dragon? What was the purpose of such a war? Countless questions swirled in Luo Hao’s mind.

He reached out and gently touched the flawless, jade-like bone. Though it was merely skeletal remains, Luo Hao could still feel a gentle warmth, utterly devoid of any chilling cold.

“You have come.”

As his hand touched the bone, a frail, ancient voice sounded by Luo Hao’s ear. His hair stood on end, a chill racing down his spine, his blood nearly freezing.

It was an aged voice, vast and desolate, saturated with boundless sorrow.

“Who’s there?” Luo Hao shouted, but at once realized that the crystalline dragon bones before him were glowing with golden light, swiftly enveloping him. That golden radiance was ancient and blazing, as if condensed from countless ages. Compared to it, his own dragon force was but the feeblest spark.

After a brief moment, Luo Hao saw the world around him change. He was now in a realm filled with ancient gold, where dragon shadows wove through infinity and the sound of dragon chants—like sacred mantras—echoed all around.

A dry cough, followed by the aged voice, sounded again in this golden world, “Cough, cough... The Twin Dragon Sovereign Art. So, you are his successor. Very good. Very good indeed.”