TBR CH72

Tal had once briefly used this secret dwelling as a temporary refuge, though the incantations on the door weren’t left by the young demon. Those intricate, winding arrays were, in fact, the work of Tarksius himself.

The power of a god is unbreakable. If one were to ask which place in the royal city was the safest and most hidden, it would undoubtedly be here.

Yet, the door bore recent signs of being opened.

Even without probing with magic, this fact was as clear as day to Tal.

During his long years of fleeing, the demon had mastered a hundred tricks of tracking and counter-tracking. Whoever was hiding inside hadn’t bothered with much disguise—the dust around the hinges and handle was noticeably thinner than elsewhere.

With a slight push from Tarksius, the door slid open silently, dust swirling in the air and sunlight under the faint vibrations.

The Dark God no longer resembled the obedient, endearing little demon he played in front of Edwin.

His crow-feather lashes cast shadows over those scarlet eyes. A ruby ribbon tied back his hair, the countless strands of jet-black locks now still as unmoving blades, exuding a dangerous and malicious aura. With overwhelming pressure, his dark red gaze fell upon the long-abandoned residence.

Under his scrutiny, the “uninvited guest” inside seemed desperate to flee—visibly awkward yet straining to muster a confident facade, trying to appear less guilty.

Still, his faintly nervous eyes couldn’t help drifting toward the back room.

“…Adelaide,” the god called out his name with precision.

The Dark God took a step forward, and the black-haired, black-eyed young man—transformed from an abyssal dragon—instinctively stepped back. Adelaide knew well what Tarksius looked like when displeased, especially with him. Tarksius even deigned to let a trace of mocking amusement flicker across his face, his voice low and dangerous as he pronounced the name.

“Now you can start explaining why you’re here—and what you plan to do to make up for damaging my sanctuary.”

*

Adelaide was the only being who could barely be qualify as a friend in the Dark God’s presence—though it was mostly the black dragon who saw it that way.

Tarksius had once saved the life of this most precious scion of the dragon race, though for him, it was a casual act. That deed earned him the unconditional loyalty of the entire dragon clan—and the “visits” Adelaide insisted on calling friendly.

The dragon race’s history stretched nearly as far back as the continent itself. Though their power couldn’t rival a god’s, even deities couldn’t help but wary of their ability to manipulate time and space. Rumors held that the death of the temporal dragon Fia stemmed from the God of Light’s fear and jealousy of her potential—why else would the Church trek hundreds of thousands of miles to slay a creature “rumored to have caused harm”?

Adelaide, meanwhile, was the kind of young dragon raised in a honey jar.

Having lost its mother early, the clan showered their last royal bloodline with unconditional pity and indulgence. It had never known hardship.

That was precisely why, before reaching maturity, it was foolish enough to sneak out of the Dragon Mountains alone, journeying far to the human royal city and barging into the Church of Light to avenge its mother.

Back then, the Church was at the height of its power. The priests, beseeching the God of Light’s blessings, subdued Fia’s child a hundred times more easily than they’d captured her. Adelaide had never faced such malice. Unpracticed in its powers and too naive to counter traps, it quickly lost the ability to resist.

For the Church, this was an unexpected boon. Its dragon bones could be used for alchemy, its blood for potions, its hide for the toughest armor. Killing it carried no risk to their reputation—it had, after all, foolishly walked right into their hands.

Its soul was dangerous but useless. Per tradition, the Church would cast Adelaide into the silver holy flask passed down through generations. Soon, the dragon would vanish without a trace.

That is, if it hadn’t—by sheer luck—stumbled into the moment the silver flask shattered.

As always, a priest carefully retrieved the flask from the Church’s heavily guarded vault. He uncorked the yellow wax seal as usual. Adelaide recoiled desperately, battered and near death, its body covered in wounds. Yet instinctively, it sensed this seemingly ordinary flask was something utterly terrifying—capable of snuffing out its life with ease.

What frightened it most was the faint, familiar aura emanating from the flask.

It was its mother’s bones—crafted into a tool by the Church, denied rest for millennia.

All struggle was futile.

Bound by holy light, Adelaide was pinned in place, tears streaming as it watched the priest’s movements. The flask’s blindingly bright opening loomed closer, an unstoppable force dragging it toward the mouth. It was so near it could feel the holy light within, molten like lava, scalding its skin.

Until, in the next second, the flask split apart at its waist.

The crystalline material exploded into silvery-white dust midair. In that instant, no one grasped what had happened. The blast roared like thunder, piercing the heart of every living thing present like a sharp thorn.

At first, the air shimmered with the remnants of holy light. Then, the bright, sacred glow was gradually devoured by a deep black mist. Everyone was engulfed, their blood freezing, their hearts gripped by an unseen hand. Only by straining to keep their eyes open could they glimpse the new god within the fog.

Yes, one glance was enough to know only a god could wield such power.

The god lowered his gaze, surveying his surroundings—the freedom he’d regained, the power stretching unchecked. His raven-black hair fell like a spider at the center of its web, sharp threads slicing through the air. His dark red eyes sent a chill through all who saw them—a hue that could only come from layers of dried blood.

Too long.

The demon Tal had finally shattered the flask that bound him for countless ages.

Adelaide huddled in a corner of the black mist. Its tough dragon hide spared it from the full brunt of the terrifying pressure that knocked every other creature unconscious. Yet it felt worse—pain amplifying across its body, the situation still a foggy haze. It could only whimper pitifully.

Endless waiting had turned Tal cold and dark, brimming with malice toward the world, loathing his past. He looked at his hands—paler than before—yet a mere flick of his fingers could summon the power to destroy everything.

He stepped forward slowly. The only conscious being left was Adelaide.

The god sighed, his pupils shifting indifferently. He asked Adelaide what era it was now.

The dragon sniffled and stammered a reply.

So many dreadfully long years had passed.

Time flowed differently in the flask than in reality. Sometimes, a single day passed outside while Tal scratched marks into his skin within, counting the days until the numbers lost meaning. Even now, free from his prison, the memories once vital to him had faded.

Dates meant nothing.

Those he’d known were long dead—his mother, the demon king beheaded by a saintess, those who’d judged, tormented, and killed him. No matter how glorious they’d been, they were now just names in history books, a sigh in the endless ages.

Meaningless. The god veiled the crimson malice in his eyes—deep scorn for others, for his past self. Yet he craved some recompense. The endless, terrible years had hardened his blood into something sweet and bitter. The Church’s buildings bent impossibly in his hands, like a child’s toys. He killed those around him—those who’d profited from the bottled demon in their brief lives—then quickly grew bored.

Destruction lay beneath his fingers, between lips laced with poison.

The flask that trapped him, the people who bound him, the Church that confined him, the world that caged him—all were crushed under Tarksius’s feet. Yet, like shards of broken glass, they also cut into his soul. Revenge didn’t bring joy; he seemed to have lost the ability to feel positive emotions. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he realized he wasn’t even disappointed by that.

He nearly lifted a finger to erase Adelaide from existence too.

But the black dragon, in its foolish daze, turned its head and asked if he knew its mother—if that’s why he’d come to save it.

The flask that had imprisoned Tarksius was crafted from the bones of the temporal dragon Fia. The Church had bound the young demon and exploited the once-mighty dragon race to her dying breath. That thought made the god’s hand pause mid-motion. Looking at the bedraggled black dragon, he saw a faint echo of his younger self.

A fleeting whim spared its life.

That moment of pity brought Tarksius no small amount of trouble—mostly because Adelaide’s naivety and stupidity were uniquely remarkable. By saving the dragon race’s future sole heir, the clan elders pledged undying gratitude to the rising god, vowing unconditional allegiance. They hoped Adelaide would build a bond with him. Somehow, this simple, proper suggestion morphed in Adelaide’s mind into “become friends with the Dark God.”

It even skipped the “becoming” part, unilaterally declaring itself Tarksius’s friend.

Tarksius had once stashed the battered, Church-tortured black dragon in this old royal city hideout to evade pursuit. Now, it swaggered in uninvited, seemingly having turned the place into a small base. Crucially, it was indeed convenient—perfect, say, for hiding a human with nowhere left to turn in the royal city.

Tarksius let out another barely audible sigh, a fleeting thought crossing his mind: Would it have been better to kill it back then?

He stepped forward. Adelaide nervously shuffled back. Even if not the brightest, it knew it was in a precarious spot. Backed against the inner room’s door, with nowhere left to retreat, it clasped its hands behind its back, forcing a friendly smile:

“Tarksius…” it said, as a soft click of a lock sounded from behind. “I didn’t expect you’d come back. It’s my fault for borrowing your place—I just couldn’t find anywhere else to stay in the royal city, you know?”

Tarksius nearly laughed in exasperation. Locking the door right in front of him—was it afraid he wouldn’t notice its guilt or the something hidden inside? Lowering his voice, he asked with pointed implication:

“What are you doing in the royal city?”

“Well, obviously to find the one I like…”

Adelaide faltered, sensing something amiss. Its mouth opened comically, then snapped shut, swallowing the rest of its words—likely recalling the clan elders’ earnest hopes for its discretion.

“Step aside.”

Tarksius spoke in a low voice, his patience always thin and even more so now—he had no desire to waste words with a childish black dragon. Most crucially, though he’d suspected as much, seeing Adelaide here at this particular moment still filled him with distaste. He and Edwin had come after Sunday morning prayers—a time that could easily be considered a date—and in such circumstances, he wanted to resolve anything quickly.

The bishop stepped inside silently. In the presence of outsiders, the soft traits he reserved for Tal quietly receded.

The black dragon clearly noticed Edwin but couldn’t spare much thought for it. Instead, it spread its arms wide, guarding the door behind it as fiercely as it might spread its wings to protect gems in the dragon clan’s treasury. The gesture carried a tragic, moth-to-flame bravado—at least in the Dark God’s eyes—its expression taut with a self-sacrificial resolve, as if failure meant martyrdom.

“There’s nothing inside—”

Adelaide’s words lacked conviction even to itself. The Dark God didn’t hesitate, launching his first attack. Mindful of its unique status, Tarksius merely let a terrifying blade of condensed darkness graze Adelaide’s neck, embedding itself in the door.

Edwin rested his hand on the ruby embedded in his staff, its agate glow bathing his palm in a pigeon-blood hue. His pale gray pupils reflected the black-clad, black-eyed young man without a flicker of emotion. Though he didn’t know the stranger’s identity, he’d unhesitatingly do anything Tarksius required.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” the Dark God said, tilting his head slightly. His hair fell before his eyes, splitting the dragon’s form in two. Even with the dragon clan’s vast, mysterious power—and despite Adelaide’s brief spurt of determination and growth after that incident—it stood no chance against a god. At best, it might survive, but only at the risk of near-fatal injury.

“I…” The black dragon trembled under the god’s oppressive aura, its outstretched arms drooping involuntarily like a bird with rain-soaked feathers. The concession quickly turned to indignation.

Behind that door, without a doubt, was Noah. Adelaide thought of the young man—how much he’d suffered, how much he’d sacrificed for his god, only for the God of Light to punish him over baseless suspicions. The black dragon already harbored no fondness for the God of Light, so it easily swallowed the Holy Son’s tale.

Noah was clever.

Fleeing through the secret passage from the Church, he didn’t let his guard down for a moment. Instead, he began calculating: who could maximize his benefits and offer him the fullest protection now? The abyssal dragon was practically tailor-made for the task.

Adelaide was simple-minded—or rather, foolish—making it easy to believe anything he said.

Noah knew the dragon clan’s territory lay far from the continent’s center, beyond the God of Light’s heavy influence.

Dragons bonded with one mate for life. He tried not to assume the worst, but if it came to that, Adelaide would at least be duty-bound to take responsibility for him.

Moreover, from their time together in the royal city, only Adelaide’s hideout was truly discreet. The dragon always caused a ruckus, frequenting places like the “Cobalt Enigma,” seeming like a naive fool with deep pockets—perfect for extortion. Yet no one had ever successfully tracked it to its lair. Even Noah couldn’t; Adelaide insisted his home’s location couldn’t be revealed, so they always met at arranged spots.

But if he were on the brink of collapse, desperately needing aid, things would be different.

Noah pulled his cloak tight, hiding his face beneath it. He called out to the system—no response. His face paled for a moment; it was like a nightmare come true. But he quickly reassured himself that things were still fine.

Before the system could react, while his “everyone’s darling” aura still clung to him, he grabbed a random male passerby and asked to borrow his cloak, claiming an ex was hunting him nearby and he needed to conceal his face. Flashing a sweet smile, Noah charmed the man, who looked ready to buy him a whole new wardrobe—how could he refuse?

Under the cloak’s hood, Noah kept his head low and pressed forward.

Perhaps it wasn’t as dire as he feared. He struggled, negotiating with the system one last time. He argued it had only him to rely on now—better to keep the mountain green than lack firewood later. No matter how unsettling current events were, look at his past progress—abandoning such an exceptional host, was it worth it?

“You think you can still fool me?” the mechanical voice replied.

A chill gripped Noah’s heart. That tone unnerved him—the system didn’t seem surprised by his actions. His heart sank heavily. Could it have seen through his tricks earlier?

Impossible, he thought, biting his lip. Impossible. He was so close to tipping the scales—the world’s villain’s luck was the system’s fuel to escape to the next realm. He refused to believe it could abandon him; at the very least, they’d go down together.

That was the kind of person he was. If he could drag the system down with him now, all the better. If its charm aura lasted longer, he could hide, amass wealth, and find reliable shelter. His steps faltered for a moment.

Disbelieving, he raised a hand to his face, then his vision darkened—nearly screaming. He forced himself calm, but the blackness wasn’t emotional—it was real. His sight faded bit by bit. He opened his mouth, his vocal cords straining uselessly, mute.

Faster.

The “Cobalt Enigma” was roughly that way. Gritting his teeth, Noah tore a strip from his undergarment to use as a veil, covering his reddening, wrinkling face.

He even forgot to call the system again. Naturally, he didn’t know that while he was unconscious, the system had sensed something amiss.

To the system, Noah was hardly a worthy host. Given a choice, it would take a foolish, frivolous soul over one that lorded over it. Its mechanical mind raced, tense. It needed Noah—the God of Light’s攻略 progress was stuck at the final sliver, and it lacked the energy to escape with what it had.

Then, gazing down at the unconscious young man from another dimension, another answer dawned on it.

Yes, the world’s luck.

That was all it needed—so simple. The host before it slept foolishly, oblivious to the fate about to descend.

The Holy Son’s title, the adoration and support he commanded, the substantial luck tied to this small world’s saintly role—by rights, luck couldn’t be stripped without completing the攻略. But Noah was an exception. His soul existed here solely under the system’s protection, making it easy to take what was his.

Before the God of Light changed His mind—

Each world allowed only one energy infusion. The system seized the moment, pouring its amassed luck into its program while stripping Noah of his status as the Church of Light’s Holy Son. This would undoubtedly worsen his plight, but the system didn’t care. Had it not acted swiftly, even the luck tied to the God of Light might have slipped away—it had already sensed the anomaly.

And when its host awoke, his first words were lies. Noah was clever, but at this moment, that cleverness only doomed himself.

The system lingered briefly, just long enough to siphon the luck from the young man.

After that, it cared nothing for his fate.

*

Adelaide, meanwhile, was deeply conflicted.

The dragon race was steadfastly loyal in love, each dragon bound to a single mate for life. When Noah found Adelaide, he frantically gestured to the bewildered dragon, preventing it from seeing his face and covering it tightly with fabric. The black dragon nearly failed to recognize the person before it as its beloved.

But soon, the God of Light’s curse spread throughout the royal city.

Only then did Adelaide begin to piece together the situation. The black dragon fretted over the young man before it, ultimately deciding to carry him back to its secluded hideout. After all, this was the partner it had sworn its life to. The moment that thought surfaced, a shiver ran through Adelaide—it had never considered itself a heartless dragon, but—

But, for some reason, watching its suffering beloved, its first instinct wasn’t pity. Instead, an inexplicable revulsion surged within it. The attraction it once felt seemed to vanish entirely. This person, who had once been so vital to it, now felt insignificant, as if that importance had been an illusion all along.

How could it harbor such an irresponsible thought?

So, it took the young man in anyway, using the dragon clan’s most precious artifacts to aid him. With those relics, Noah could at least speak and faintly see. But the damage to his appearance was irreversible, a fact he was painfully sensitive about, wrapping his face in gauze daily. Meanwhile, Adelaide couldn’t suppress its inner grievances.

It had been drawn to Noah precisely because he was so beautiful.

…But now, he wasn’t beautiful anymore.

Standing before the door, Adelaide inwardly berated itself for its fickleness, yet couldn’t help shrinking under the Dark God’s terrifying pressure, half-lowering its arm.

Maybe, just maybe, compared to its own life…

Perhaps love wasn’t that important?

With its already limited brainpower, the black dragon began overthinking at the worst possible moment—a habit of pondering when it shouldn’t. Right now, it wanted to protect the young man and fulfill its duty as a dragon mate, but it also didn’t want to die at the Dark God’s hands—a classic case of cowardice. Just then, it caught sight of the bishop behind Tarksius.

The bishop was human.

Though it had once been brutally betrayed by humans, Adelaide had since trained extensively. Occasionally, bold humans with dreams of “dragon-slaying” ventured into the Dragon Mountains, only to be effortlessly dispatched by the black dragon. Thus, in its mind, humans had reverted to fragile, harmless creatures it needn’t fear.

Edwin looked a bit intimidating. That thought flickered through Adelaide’s mind, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sudden stroke of inspiration—so brilliant it convinced itself it was a genius.

Swiftly, the dragon unfurled its tail, covered in hard, sharp scales. With a movement both light and quick, it bypassed the Dark God, looping its needle-like barb around the back of the bishop’s neck from an unguarded angle.

“You—you—” it stammered, its face flushing. It clearly knew its actions were underhanded, but it pressed on with forced bravado.

“Tarksius, you brought this human here. If you care about him, don’t come any closer—or I’ll hurt him!”