I could even teach Fat Little Dragon the Nameless Hero Sword Art that I mastered in my past life.
After all, this body of mine is ruined; there’s no way I can return to the peak of the Sword Saint.
But Fat Little Dragon claims to be a Berserker among Ancient Dragons—a muscular Black Dragon with terrifying physical strength beyond imagination.
You can compare it to the mages among Ancient Dragons—White Dragon’s magical cultivation has already reached the unparalleled Origin Realm.
If Sheffield is willing, with just a raise of her hand, she could destroy the heavens and earth, and with a single thought, create all things—except cooking.
So, barring any accidents, once Fat Little Dragon grows up, it will have the toughest, strongest, most dominant, and most powerful dragon body in the world.
Though there’s no sign of that yet…
“Huff! Huff! Huff! Huff!”
It was still spinning in place, holding two small wooden sticks, looking silly—not at all like an Ancient Dragon Berserker, but more like a fat dragon-shaped spinning top.
“Little Black, come here.” Xiadam called out.
Fat Little Dragon stopped spinning, put down the two small wooden sticks, and walked over to Xiadam.
“Why does Little Black look like it hasn’t grown a bit since birth?” Xiadam lifted it up, looking it over with a puzzled expression.
“Do you think it’s a dog? They don’t grow that fast.” Sheffield retorted.
“Right, it’s an Ancient Dragon hatchling. You all have infinite lifespans. I’m afraid even if I outlive ten lifetimes, I won’t see it mature into a full-grown dragon,” Xiadam suddenly became sad.
Because she was reminded of the classic Theory of Lifespan.
When two races with drastically different lifespans intersect, one side inevitably dies first, and the other must come to terms with the loss early.
Whether it’s friendship or love, it will ultimately be filled with regret.
She might grow old and die before she sees Fat Little Dragon mature into a true dragon.
“Gah?” Fat Little Dragon sensed Xiadam’s emotional discomfort, dropped the small bamboo sticks, and wrapped its arms around her leg, trying to comfort her.
“You’re not human,” Sheffield also tried to console her.
“Why are you suddenly insulting me?” Xiadam snapped angrily.
“…Didn’t I explain? Your Sea Abyss Witch Stance only awakens in half-dragon hybrids. Theoretically, your body is no longer that of a normal human.” Sheffield explained.
“Oh right! I’m no longer human, so how much longer will my lifespan be?” Xiadam asked.
“No idea. It could even be shortened. Hybrids usually don’t live long.” Sheffield smiled.
“Me?” Xiadam felt like someone had poured a bucket of cold water on her.
Ouch, suddenly my head hurts.
Even if I want to teach Fat Little Dragon swordplay, I’ll wait until I’m healthy again.
Xiadam slipped back under her bear-skin cloak and went back to sleep.
“Don’t worry, only those inferior hybrids have short lifespans. You’re the awe-inspiring Sea Abyss Half-Dragon Witch—you’ll definitely live for thousands of years.”
Sheffield grinned mischievously, slipped quietly under the cloak to hug her, warming her with body heat—taking advantage of being sick to get some affection.
The next day, the sandstorm finally ceased.
Xiadam recovered her health and continued on.
But they had been wandering and camping in the Western Wasteland for seven days and still couldn’t find the legendary Human Empire.
Xiadam was staring at an old Western Map, though she was already lost here.
But she didn’t want to admit it—that would only make Sheffield laugh at her.
What kind of country is the Human Empire, anyway?
All we know is that it’s a realm where Humans and the Blood Clan coexist peacefully—or at least, that’s what they advertise.
But how large is this empire? How many cities? How many soldiers? Even where it’s located? We have no clue.
Yet Xiadam was sure the Human Empire existed and didn’t think it was just a bluff.
“No refugees at all—where did all the people go?”
The reason was simple. They had been wandering here for seven days but hadn’t seen a single living person.
The Western Wasteland wasn’t lacking in population—there were numerous illegal pioneers, exiled criminals, homeless refugees, and countless bandits.
So where had all the people gone?
The worst guess was that everyone had been captured by vampires.
…
During daytime travel, Xiadam would use a wooden stick to teach Fat Little Dragon some basic Knight Sword Art.
Fat Little Dragon was an energetic little baby who never sat still, always holding a small bamboo stick and mimicking Xiadam’s swordplay.
“Are you sure teaching it swordplay is useful?” Sheffield remained skeptical.
“It’s learning well. Why wouldn’t it be useful?” Xiadam smiled brightly, wearing a motherly expression, clearly enjoying teaching swordsmanship.
“Its fists are harder than most weapons made by humans, so I think using a sword might actually weaken its combat power.” Sheffield explained.
“I’m teaching it swordplay and Knight Spirit—how to be a good dragon.” Xiadam retorted.
“A dragon’s nature isn’t so easily changed.” Sheffield said.
“We’ll see.” Xiadam snorted coldly.
At night, the temperature in the West plummeted.
Long-term travel here required two sets of clothes. This was also why frail magic user Xiadam often caught colds.
Darkness engulfed the land. Their camp was the only place with a flicker of firelight, standing out clearly.
“Sheffield, didn’t you say you can sense everything within a hundred meters? Haven’t you found any clues?” Xiadam was cooking and chatting at the same time.
“…” Sheffield didn’t reply, standing atop a large rock peak nearby.
“Sheffield?” Xiadam poked Fat Little Dragon with a stick and looked up, puzzled.
“There’s a fight nearby.” Sheffield jumped down and said.
“Where?” Xiadam rarely saw White Dragon this serious.
She stood and looked around several times. Thanks to the moonlight, visibility was a bit better, but she couldn’t see anything suspicious.
“About a kilometer away.” Sheffield said.
“Didn’t you say your sensing range is only a hundred meters? How did it expand tenfold? You’re a compulsive liar!” Xiadam was shocked.
“I smell blood. Smell and sensing are two different things. I can do both.” Sheffield squinted, clearly annoyed.
Fat Little Dragon sniffed too, locking onto the same direction Sheffield was facing.
“Uh, sorry, I misunderstood you.” Xiadam apologized quickly.
“Shall we go take a look?” Sheffield asked.
Xiadam had just put out the campfire with sand, grabbed her White Tree Branch Staff, and prepared to depart.
Their situation now was like finding water in a desert—a blessing after a long drought.
After seven days in the West without seeing a single soul, not even a scrap of hair, finally encountering an emergency was definitely worth investigating.
Following the scent of blood drifting in the distance, the two women and one dragon moved stealthily under the moonlight.
“Wilting black blood—it’s ghouls.”
As they closed the distance, Sheffield had pinpointed the source of the blood.
Xiadam didn’t find the answer strange and asked, “Quick, who’s fighting the ghouls?”
“Vampires.” Sheffield replied.
“…Ah?” Xiadam was taken aback.