Chapter 1113: The Primordial Dragon
’Senior Minos!’
The name echoed in Vicente’s mind like a thunderclap. He stood frozen in time and space, paralyzed by his thoughts as pieces of the puzzle he’d been trying to assemble fell into place.
The winged figure from Kong’s memories loomed in his mind’s eye. It was an image that felt both distant and unnervingly familiar—a being of power so great it seemed inexorable, yet unmistakably tied to the man who had shaped Vicente’s fate.
The Celestial King depicted in Kong’s memories had a striking and unmistakable form: a tall, muscular figure with six radiant wings unfurling from his back, like the embodiment of divine authority. His long, flowing white hair glimmered like starlight as it contrasted with golden eyes that burned with intensity, eyes that seemed to hold the weight of eternity itself.
Though he couldn’t observe many more details, these specific features combined left no room for doubt in Vicente’s mind.
Even more compelling was the way Kong’s memories framed this being—not as a simple leader, but as the leader, a savior and a revolutionary force destined to change everything for the dragons and, perhaps, the very nature of reality. The way the remnants of the dragon’s shattered psyche clung to this figure as the destined one only solidified Vicente’s theory.
’Senior Minos is a monster related to Hell…,’ Vicente thought, his expression turning grim as he reflected deeply on what he had glimpsed.
His face scrunched up in thought as his mind raced, piecing together fragments of what he knew about Minos, Hell, and the legends passed down across countless dimensions.
’There’s something bigger at play here. Minos’s plans—whatever they are—must be tied to this Celestial King. And if Minos is his reincarnation…’
He paused, nearly breathless at the enormity of that thought. ’But what exactly is this Celestial King?’
For a long moment, Vicente just stared at the weakened dragon before him, his thoughts a storm of questions. Then, forcing himself to temper his emotions, he retracted his powers and stepped back.
“Curious…” Vicente murmured under his breath, his tone soft yet heavy, as his hand lightly brushed the dark aura lingering in the air. He extended his mana outward, using his energy to gently restore Kong’s fractured consciousness, easing the turmoil that lingered from the mental invasion.
Kong, having been overwhelmed by the rawness of re-experiencing that long-buried trauma, was visibly calmer now. His body trembled faintly, his breathing uneven, but the violent instability in his aura had lessened.
Slowly, as if emerging from a nightmare, Kong’s eyes opened. They looked neither defiant nor defeated but held some vague shadow of despair that refused to fully dissipate.
For the dragon, Vicente’s intrusion had thrust him back into the worst moment he had ever endured. The memories had replayed like an unrelenting storm: the shattered limbs of his kin, the despairing cries of the dying, the futility of resistance, and the crushing weight of the True Celestials’ power as they tore through the very legacy of the dragons.
But this time, Vicente had taken the reins of control, soaking up the darkness and allowing Kong’s psyche to process the experience more clearly.
By living through it a second time, under guidance rather than sheer chaos, Kong had dealt with his trauma—enough that he no longer felt crippled by it.
Even so, Kong’s gaze turned distant, his body still heavy with grief. Exhaling deeply, his voice trembled slightly as he muttered, “There’s no hope for me.” His words were drenched in sorrow. “Even if I achieved everything necessary to re-establish the Nine Paths one day… What good would it do? What is a path without those who walk it? I could never bring my family back.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Vicente replied softly, his voice resonating with quiet conviction. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled the glimpses of possibility he had seen through Devil Abby’s powers. Though he wasn’t yet near the level required to act on this knowledge, he knew one crucial truth: it was possible to bring the dead back, so long as certain requirements were met.
He continued, shifting his focus back to the massive, sorrowful dragon before him. “Didn’t that one in your memory tell you to wait for the destined one? You seemed willing to follow his command back then. I could feel it in your emotions.” Vicente tilted his head slightly. “Your feelings were clear—they hadn’t given up yet, even if you have now.”
“Yes,” Kong admitted reluctantly. “But it’s not that simple.” He let out a long, deep sigh, his body tensing slightly as if pushing against the invisible chains of hopelessness he’d worn for eons. “We’ve always clung to ancient legends, especially in the early days when we were learning to unify our people. But the chances of this ’destined one’ emerging are laughably small. Vanishingly slim.”
He shifted his gaze to Vicente, locking his massive reptilian eyes on the calm figure seated before him. There was no malice in his stare, yet its intensity demanded an answer. “Even if such a chosen one did appear, what guarantee would we have that he wouldn’t die in infancy? Or fall long before he matured into his purpose? Tell me, how many so-called chosen ones have begun their journeys, only to perish before achieving anything of significance?”
Vicente absorbed the dragon’s words without flinching. The skepticism was understandable, and Kong’s frustration was justified after everything he had lived through.
Vicente nodded thoughtfully before responding. “Your thought makes sense… but maybe we’re luckier than that?”
There was a subtle hum in his voice as he spoke, a tone not too firm but enough to let the dragon know he hadn’t wholly dismissed the possibility.
Yet he kept his cards close to his chest for now—there was no need to mention Minos outright at this moment. Not to Kong, not until the time was right.
Instead, Vicente leaned back slightly, his tone taking on a more matter-of-fact edge. “If you’ve given up, no problem. Just tell me about this ’chosen one’ and his connection to your people. I’ll go after the rest myself. Whatever’s required to recover the Nine Paths, I’ll handle it. You can remain here, in this desolate corner of the universe, and live however you please after that.”
Vicente’s calm yet unyielding presence had tamed enough of the storm within the dragon’s mind to compel him to speak.
“Very well,” Kong admitted, his voice quieter now but no less powerful. “I’ll tell you what I know. It isn’t much, but these stories have been passed down through our people like sacred chants ever since the dawn of our kind.”
The dragon’s eyes glistened faintly as he began recounting the legends. “The Celestial King, as we know him, was said to be one of the primordial forces behind the creation of the dragon race itself. Some believe he was the spark that ignited our intelligence, our power, and our unity. Others believe he was the first among us, the progenitor who transcended mortal existence and ascended beyond the confines of any one dimension.
“It’s a story that has been passed down orally within the tribes since our earliest days, when we were still learning to organize ourselves, to move beyond mere survival. At first, the tale of the Celestial King was hardly more than a myth meant to unify our kind, a story of hope and purpose to stop us from warring among ourselves. Something to inspire stubborn resilience.
“But as the dragons grew in number and strength, some of us began to believe the Celestial King wasn’t just a symbol—he was real. A true entity, out there, waiting to be found.
“So, as we matured as a race, many dragons devoted themselves to discovering him. They searched for him not merely for answers or guidance, but with the belief that to reach him was to reach the pinnacle of our kind’s existence. That was the destiny of the dragons who arrived in Anicane—those of us who left behind the Polaris Realm. The journey here was a continuation of that dream. A longer, harder step on the ladder to the Celestial King.”
Kong’s voice grew heavier as he spoke, his words laced with bitterness drawn from his personal connection to this tale. “And so, we strived. For generations upon generations, we pushed ourselves to grow stronger, to draw closer to the figure who represented our ultimate unity. That was our purpose, our source of pride—until a million years ago.”
Kong’s gleaming eyes dulled, and his head drooped lower as his voice trembled faintly with the weight of his next words. “When the Nine Paths ended, everything changed. The connections that united us were severed, and the Celestial King became more than a legend to aspire to. He became a necessity. Our only hope of rejoining the rest of our race across existence.”
Minos listened in silence, piecing together Kong’s words into a tapestry of ancient struggles and shattered dreams. He could see the shape of their long path—a people who had lived not merely to grow, but to carve a way through the multiverse toward their ultimate ideal. But with the collapse of the Nine Paths, that dream had become an impossible climb. And now, the once-proud dragons had no goal but survival.
“So,” Kong spoke again, his voice raw with pain that lingered despite the years. “Can you imagine the disappointment? When we heard the Celestial King was dead?”
The dragon’s booming voice cracked faintly on the last word, the vulnerability in his tone filling the air.
“Anyway, after the Great Sage’s words that day, I was shaken to my core. A part of me outright denied the claim that the Celestial King had truly died. How could a being of his magnitude, of his unparalleled stature, simply… fall? I held onto that denial for a long time. It was the only thing that kept me going in those first few centuries.”
Kong paused, his voice growing quieter, more reflective. “But… time is cruel. The more I studied, the more I came to know the grim reality we all live within. And yet, through that search, I stumbled upon one tale—one legend—that I believe holds the key to understanding our destinies and, perhaps, the truth behind the destined one.”
Vicente, ever keen and silent, leaned slightly forward at these words, his eyes narrowing as Kong’s tone shifted, a faint yet undeniable ember reigniting within his voice.
“Supposedly,” Kong continued, “a man—one who had crossed the threshold of life and death before his awakening—would one day gather the pieces of the Celestial King’s lost legacy. He would not only trace the fragments of the very assassins who struck down the King but also ascend to the Gate of Dawn, a place even we dragons dared not imagine.
“This man… this successor to the Celestial King was said to transcend his mortal limits, bring the Nine Paths back to life by first mastering them, and ultimately challenge and defeat the leaders who hold dominion over them. In the culmination of his trials, he would achieve immortality—not the mundane immortality of stagnant existence, but the true, transformative immortality of overcoming his former self.”
Kong’s voice rose slightly as he recounted the final strokes of the legend, his wings twitching faintly with a fire that had not been seen in him for countless years. “It is said that this man would carry on the legacy of the dragon bloodline, restoring the glory of our race, and surpassing the limits placed upon us by those who severed the Nine Paths. He would bring back unity, meaning, and power, leading our once-glorious kind to heights beyond what we ever knew!”
At the end of Kong’s declaration, his massive form seemed to radiate a faint but undeniable sense of pride. Even with the layers of skepticism and pessimism loosely clinging to him, this legend had awakened something deep and primal within his very soul.
Vicente, standing nearby, felt a frigid chill ripple through his body, a sensation that pierced even deeper than the oppressive weight of this dragon’s mana.
The more Kong spoke, the harder it became for Vicente to convince himself that this wasn’t about Minos.
The winged figure in Kong’s fragmented memory. The man who had carried Vincent to Hell in the first place. The countless lessons and trials Vicente had endured under Minos’s guidance. And that presence—legendary, intimidating, yet somehow tied to Hell. Piece by piece, everything seemed to line up. Vicente couldn’t even consider others for the position this legend described; the figure from Kong’s myth practically screamed Minos.
Pushing his thoughts aside for now, Vicente asked in a measured tone, probing deeper into the tale, “The Great Sage said that the Celestial King had died. Did you ever uncover how it happened? And more importantly,” Vicente’s golden eyes gleamed with quiet curiosity, “why did your people believe his successor could surpass him, rather than simply follow in his shadow?”
Kong closed his ancient eyelids, letting out a slow exhale. His tone grew heavier, almost solemn. “There are many things you’ll only understand if you delve deeper into the Transcendent level. Among them is one of the most fundamental universal truths: the soul.”
Vicente listened intently as Kong elaborated, his booming voice filling the air. “The same soul cannot reappear in the universe. Each soul is unique, tied to its own identity, its own existence. That’s why the Great Sage said the Celestial King would never return. His death was final… inescapable.”
“But,” Kong continued, his tone growing more resolute, “while the original soul cannot return, it can leave behind fragments of its essence—slivers of its will, destiny, or power. These fragments can influence creation, finding their way into future successors. The Celestial King’s successors, while carrying his legacy, are necessarily different from him. They inherit not his exact nature but an echo of his existence, filtered through their own identities.”
Kong opened his eyes, leveling his gaze on Vicente. “And this is why succession is not merely a repetition. Every successor has the potential to surpass the original. Different circumstances, unique characteristics can lead to results far beyond the limitations of the first soul.
“That successor may not resemble the King entirely, but they carry the seeds to recreate and perhaps even surpass his greatness!”
As Kong spoke, his mana stirred, now fully restored. His aura manifested in the air around him like flickering shapes, forming faintly glowing three-dimensional projections. These figures depicted two places.
“As to how the Celestial King perished,” Kong said grimly, “I cannot say with certainty. But from all the shattered fragments of knowledge I’ve uncovered, it is linked to a singular, catastrophic event…
“A division. The division of one absolute dimension into two others.”
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