Westminster Bank

「On the morning of the third day.」

When Baron finished his meditation, the sky was once again turning from black to white. He could feel that the Spiritual Power within him had grown considerably, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how much more useful the Dragon Scale was than he’d imagined.

His cultivation speed last night had more than doubled from the night before. At this rate, he optimistically estimated that his total Spiritual Power might reach the cusp of the Silver Tier in just a year or two.

’Still too slow. Ideally, I’d reach Silver in two months and Gold in a year. Then I could just grab a blade, go after my enemies one by one like Wu Song, and settle the score... I wouldn’t have to keep hiding like this. It’s suffocating.’

If any of the bloodline purists knew what Baron was thinking right now, they would be dumbfounded. Some might even fly into a rage, cursing him for his wild fantasies.

Silver in two months and Gold in a year? Did he think this was a game? Had he not heard of the so-called once-in-a-century genius of Britain, Silver Lion Wilder? It took him ten years just to get from Black Iron to Silver, and the Gold Tier was still a distant dream.

And that was with Destiny itself having chosen "Gold" for him during his Spiritual Sense awakening.

Who did Baron Constantin think he was? A mere Bloodless, a worthless cripple who couldn’t even undergo a Spiritual Sense awakening. Even if he got lucky and became a Black Iron Contract Knight, if he was going to advance at the pace he imagined, why hadn’t he hit the Bronze Tier in a month? Except—he actually had.

Including the time he’d spent in Prole, it had probably taken him less than a month to go from Black Iron to Bronze.

It was precisely this speed that, for a moment, gave Baron the feeling that this was all easier than it looked.

Of course, these were just Baron’s own estimates and idle fantasies. After all, Promotion wasn’t based solely on the total amount of one’s Spiritual Power.

Different classes and factions all had their own methods for Promotion, and these methods were often monopolized by the Old Blood Clans and the Law Enforcement Organization.

Even if someone learned a method, it was extremely common to be unable to meet the requirements—or to finally gather everything needed, only to fail the Promotion itself.

Otherwise, Ferdinand wouldn’t have had to scrape and claw, working himself to death with the Immortal Church and engaging in year-round human trafficking just to achieve the rank of Pseudo-Silver.

Still, a man had to have a dream. And Baron, after an unknown number of days and experiences since crossing over into this world, had already set a goal for himself—one that wasn’t particularly grand:

"To scatter the ashes of every person who ever made him a scapegoat."

...

Isabella had finished her meditation before he did. She was now standing silently at the edge of the cliff, leaning on her spear and gazing at the gray horizon.

"It’s going to rain," she said faintly, having noticed Baron’s gaze.

Baron followed her gaze. The sky was a brilliant white, like a fresh sheet of rice paper. To the southeast, a blot of ink that had been brewing for a long time was finally starting to bleed across it. In a few hours, a downpour would likely fall upon this place.

As Baron approached, he tilted his head and noticed faint, cyan, snake-like veins appearing on her cheeks. They were packed densely together, resembling cyan scales.

Isabella touched her cheek. "A side effect of the Blood Curse," she said calmly.

"Is the Beowulf Family’s Dragon Slayer breathing method working for you?" Isabella asked without turning her head. "You seem to have a special way of using the Dragon Scale to accelerate your Spiritual Power cultivation. Since I’ve taught you the Dragon Slayer’s breathing method, you should offer me some compensation in return, don’t you think?"

’So that special breathing rhythm that speeds up Spiritual Power is called a ’breathing method.’ And Isabella has already figured out I can use the Dragon Scale to cultivate.’

Baron thought for a moment, then pulled a Gold Coin Chocolate from his breast pocket.

Isabella seemed a little surprised. "You carry chocolate with you?"

She took the chocolate but didn’t eat it, instead tucking it into a pocket. "If we make good progress, I might be able to activate the Dragon Spear’s guidance today. With just a few more Dragon Scales from a Fourth Generation Species, a seat at the Baptism will be guaranteed."

"According to our deal, once I get the best seat, I’ll give you your freedom."

’The best seat? I thought we just had to activate the Dragon Spear ritual?’ Baron was thoroughly confused.

"Let’s go," she said, her gaze suddenly shifting. "We still have a long way to go to reach the inner ring."

By the third day, the outskirts of the Dracul Mountain Range were mostly deserted.

Aside from a few weaker Trial Takers who were only here for the experience and were still lingering about, most participants had already reached the middle ring. There, under the leadership of their respective Dragon Guides, they had begun hunting fifth, sixth, and seventh-generation Dragon Descendants.

Some fought alone; others cooperated in teams.

There were also those who resorted to banditry.

And then there were those who merely imitated bandits.

Take Denero, the fourth son of the Beowulf Family, for example.

Like his sister Lucy, Denero was too young and his Tier was too low, meaning he was essentially out of the running for the position of Patriarch of the Beowulf Family.

For him, this Trial was simply a chance to enter the mountains for some Dragon Hunting, obtain some Dragon Blood and Dragon Scales to concoct a Magic Potion for his eventual Promotion to the Bronze Tier. As for the twelve seats of the Dragon Spear Baptism, those were little more than a fantasy.

Since his family had originally planned for him to become a Wizard, he hadn’t learned many of the Beowulf Family’s signature Dragon Hunting and combat techniques. Dragon Hunting was hardly his forte.

He had only resorted to this after accidentally learning from his second brother, Tune, that their eldest sister, Isabella, had dropped her act and started robbing people. After receiving some pointers from his third brother, Tune, he immediately offered a handsome reward to recruit a few friendly Trial Takers from other families—who were likewise here just to make a name for themselves and gain experience—and began to replicate his eldest sister’s new strategy.

He wanted to see if he could finagle his way into a Dragon Spear Baptism—even one without a formal seat would be fine.