As Sam focused—
[DING]
[Target: Drayra Drogans]
Scan Report: Drayra Drogans
Race: Half-Human / Half-Drogans (Bloodline passed down through ancient war-generals)
Age: 15
Mana: Not Awakened
Mana Core: Not Created
Body Type: Drogans-Human Hybrid Form (Physically enhanced,scales manifest )
__________________________________________
Bloodline Skills (Locked — Unlocks upon Mana Core Creation)
• Dragon's Wrath Physique — Temporarily amplifies physical strength, speed, and durability. Increases with emotional or battle-driven rage.
• Draconic Flame Vein — (unlocked when mana core created)
• Roar of the Sovereign Beast —( unlocked when mana core created)
• Infernal Scale Armor — (unlocked when mana core created)
• Primordial Instinct — Heightened combat awareness. Automatically reacts to fatal blows and enhances reflexes.
• Call of the Wild Frontier — Allows summoning of wild hybrid beasts that respond to Drogan's bloodline. Summons are bound by pact, not magic.
• Dragon's Core Awakening (Sealed) --(unlocked when mana core created)
More...
__________________________________________
Lineage:
Daughter of Duke Hadrian Drogans
Domain: South Borderlands — A brutal frontier known for beast raids, monster taming, and warrior clans. House Drogans is known for breeding hybrid combatants infused with ancient dragonkin blood.
__________________________________________
Weakness:
Highly susceptible to ancient sealing magic, divine suppression fields, and pure ice-elemental curses.
__________________________________________
As Sam finished scanning, the heat radiating from Drayra seemed to grow more intense—
as if her body instinctively responded to being watched.
But her eyes didn't turn.
Not yet.
Sam exhaled slowly.
'That's no ordinary heir…'
'That's a weapon in human form.'
Sam thought to himself quietly.
He was just about to scan Kaidan Drogans
but suddenly, he paused.
A strange feeling crept into his senses.
Not danger exactly…
But something subtle.
Then he slowly deactivated his scan skill.
"Let's play it safe."
"I don't want to trigger attention ....
I'm not ready for it."
__________________________________________
He took a slow breath, looking at the four heirs now standing in the waiting circle.
Each of them is powerful. Unique. Dominating.
Jake Duskgrave with his calm, death-bound aura.
Elira Lysfey, serene and spirit-touched.
Drayra Drogans and his brother are a force of raw, untamed fire.
Sam's thoughts turned inward.
'Why am I even looking at them like this?'
'It feels like… the ten years I spent training were nothing compared to what I'm seeing now.'
'And these are just four…'
'Three from the major Duke families…'
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
'What about the others?'
'What kind of monsters are still waiting to appear?'
His jaw tightened, not from fear—
but from determination.
**********************
As the silence stretched between the heirs,
a voice—deep, firm, and quietly commanding—broke through the air like a blade slicing mist.
"Jake."
Heads turned.
Even Sam's eyes shifted slightly.
Kaidan Drogans stood tall, arms folded, his golden slit eyes fixed on the boy with ash-gray irises.
The calm in his voice didn't disguise the weight behind it—
it was the kind of tone used by someone used to giving orders on the battlefield… and being obeyed.
Jake Duskgrave didn't flinch.
He simply turned his head
Their eyes met—
and for a moment, everything else faded.
A living flame met an ancient death.
Then Kaidan spoke again, his tone still level, but it's colder now:
"I've heard your house speaks to the dead."
"Good."
He took a slow step forward, the greatsword on his back shifting slightly with his movement.
"Then you can be the first to bury those who fall this year."
The crowd tensed.
Jake didn't react—not with surprise, nor with offense.
Instead, he blinked once… slowly.
And then he replied in a soft, emotionless tone:
"Only if your sister's corpse is the first then bring me."
Gasps echoed from the lesser nobles in the background.
The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.
But Kaidan just chuckled once under his breath.
Not amused—more like a beast acknowledging another predator.
"Good," he said again.
"Then let's both hope your eyes can see your own death coming."
________________________________________
While the words between Kaidan and Jake cut the air like blades,
Drayra and Elira stood completely still.
They didn't step forward.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
One radiated the heat of forged steel and burning instincts.
The other carried the stillness of the forest and the calm weight of ancient spirits.
Their gazes met—
no words exchanged,
but something between them shifted subtly.
Eyes locked.
One gaze like glowing embers behind narrowed lids.
The other calms as moonlight, but no less fierce.
To an ordinary onlooker, it would seem as if they were simply observing the scene.
But anyone with instinct or experience—
anyone who had ever seen predators circle
could tell:
They were already fighting.
Not with swords.
Not with spells.
Not yet.
But in their eyes…
was the silent promise of a future clash.
A storm waiting behind composure.
******************
As they locked eyes, the tension between them flared like a silent battle.
Then came the sound — a deep, thunderous rhythm of armored boots.
Two forces marched onto the scene — not ordinary soldiers, but warriors who looked as if they had stepped out of legend.
From the west came the Iron Hawk Legion.
Their armor gleamed like forged fire — titan steel plates etched with glowing runes of hawks and chained sigils, pulsing faintly with contained power.
Each soldier wore a deep crimson cloak, lined with -scale leather, swaying as if moved by an unseen wind.
Their hawk-winged helmets, crowned with silver crests, watched like silent sentinels. Their weapons, long chain forced halberds, crackled with latent energy, ready to strike.
From the north approached the Frost borne Guard, advancing like an avalanche.
Their presence chilled the air itself. Their frost steel armor, veined with glowing blue runes, exhaled cold mist with every step.
They wore snow-white cloaks woven from Storm bear fur, shimmering like fresh snowfall under sunlight — blinding and beautiful.
Their helmets, carved in the shape of Frost Bear faces, concealed all emotion, while their glacier halberds hissed with frost, leaving icy trails on the ground.
_________________________________________
Behind the two elite forces, two carriages approached — each a reflection of the power behind them.
From the path behind the Iron Hawk Legion came a sleek, modern carriage, its body forged from black steel and etched with glowing red enchantment lines.
It ran on steam magic, its gears hissing softly as smoke curled gently from hidden vents.
Hovering slightly above the ground on enchanted wheels, it moved with mechanical grace — a symbol of innovation and arcane mastery.
From the direction of the Frost borne Guard came a carriage no less majestic, yet far more primal in nature.
It was a frostwood chariot, pulled by two towering rare snow bears, their thick white fur sparkling with frost.
Their breaths misted in the air, and their glowing sapphire eyes scanned the surroundings with calm strength.
The carriage was carved with ancient runes, frost patterns creeping along its surface like living ice, protected by enchanted frost glass.
**********************
From the front lines of the Iron Hawk Legion, a soldier stepped forward, his armor gleaming beneath the morning light. He raised one hand high and shouted with firm authority:
"Make way! The Young Master of House Valtoras is arriving!"
The sound of that name struck the air like a bell, clear and commanding. A hush fell over the crowd gathered near the ancient temple, followed by a wave of excited murmurs.
People turned to one another in astonishment, voices low but filled with awe.
"Did you hear? The Young Master of House Valtoras!"
"I heard he comes from the Land of Knowledge!"
"Yes, that land is known for creating magical artifacts and groundbreaking innovations!"
The crowd shifted, eyes searching, hearts quickening. Children were lifted onto shoulders, old scholars clutched their staff, and even the priests at the temple steps paused their chants.
"They say no one rivals their mastery in enchantment and invention…"
"A single scroll from House Valtoras is worth more than a noble's gold vault…"
As the murmurs spread like wind over water, the soldier's voice rang out again — louder, sharpe
With that, the crowd moved, parting like a tide, creating a wide, respectful path from the temple gate to the road.
And all waited.
For the one who came not only with power — but with knowledge the world itself could not ignore.
As the carriage door opened, a young man stepped out, and in that instant, the atmosphere shifted.
He looked like someone who already knew all the answers to the questions this world could ever ask.
He was handsome, with soft brown hair, slightly curled at the ends, falling gently around his face.
His eyes were a deep, polished black — like fine marble. If someone looked into them even once, they would find it hard to look away.
His face was calm, his skin fair and clear, untouched by hardship or time.
He wore a scholar's robe, elegant yet simple, the kind of clothing meant for minds sharper than blades.
It looked so natural on him — as if, in all the world, that robe had been made only for him.
He did not need a crown or an army behind him.
His presence alone said everything
And in that moment, everyone knew:
The Young Master of House Valtoras had arrived.
He walked calmly and stood with quiet patience, as if time itself moved at his pace
******************
Similarly, one soldier stepped out from the northern army, his presence cold and commanding. He raised his voice above the murmurs of the crowd:
"Make way for the Young Mistress of House Friz!"
Upon hearing the name, the entire crowd fell silent.
Vendors paused mid-sale, priests halted their chants, and even the wind seemed to still.
Everyone turned to look at the frost-covered carriage, as if drawn by an invisible force.
A hush of awe swept through the people, anticipation shining in their eyes.
They had all heard the tales — passed in whispers from one mouth to another — of her beauty, her presence, her chilling grace.
Now, that legend was no longer just a rumor.
The Young Mistress of House Friz had arrived.
And no one dared to look away.