Chapter 79: Colosseum

Recap

Li Jianchun, sipping her coffee, calmly pointed at the trash can. “There’s no pineapple peel.”

“Then it must have been a thief!” the Black Knight wailed. “They took the whole pineapple! This is revenge!”

“The pineapple was still there when I went to the living room last night,” Yang Zhiming protested.

“You were sneaking around?” Song Qianqian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t steal a pineapple!”

“Maybe you wanted a snack after working on your machines.”

“If I had stolen it, I would have eaten it. Why wouldn’t I peel it?”

“Do pineapples need to be peeled?” Song Qianqian asked, confused.

Everyone turned to Long Shiyu, who had spoken.

“Ying!” he squeaked, shrinking under their gazes.

Shen Chaomu, with a sigh, apprehended the guilty dragon.

“Why didn’t you peel the pineapple before eating it?” Shen Chaomu asked, exasperated. “Haven’t you seen how others eat it?”

“I ate it in a few bites,” Long Shiyu mumbled defensively. “And you often eat apples without peeling them.”

“That’s different!” Shen Chaomu felt a lecture coming on. “Even with your iron teeth, you can’t eat all fruits like that. Bananas, dragon fruit, oranges, kiwi…”

“I know that,” Long Shiyu said.

“And coconuts, grapefruits…” Shen Chaomu paused. “You haven’t eaten those whole, have you?”

“I have. I even ate a durian whole.”

Shen Chaomu stared at him, speechless. He felt a headache coming on.

A clap of thunder shook the aircraft, and lightning flashed outside. They were approaching the new wildfire zone, where storm clouds gathered, bringing torrential rain and lightning. The unique trees of Tabu burned fiercely, their flames almost like dragon breath, difficult to extinguish with ordinary water.

“Don’t be afraid,” Shen Chaomu said, turning to Long Shiyu.

“Okay.”

Whenever there was a thunderstorm, Long Shiyu would cling to Shen Chaomu, though recently, this had become his default state.

Shen Chaomu had always assumed Long Shiyu was simply a skittish, low-ranking dragon, easily frightened. But a realization struck him. He studied Long Shiyu’s calm demeanor.

Long Shiyu, noticing his gaze, gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

“Why aren’t you scared?” Shen Chaomu asked, suspicious.

“Because I’m not.”

“Then why did you always cuddle with me during storms?” Shen Chaomu frowned. “Are there strange beasts in those thunderclouds? I always thought those storms were unusual.”

Long Shiyu’s eyes darted nervously. “Ah, I’m so scared,” he said, his voice trembling unconvincingly.

Shen Chaomu grabbed his horn. “Don’t play dumb. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know anything,” Long Shiyu insisted, his expression earnest. “I just suddenly felt scared. Listen to that thunder!”

He wasn’t ready for a confrontation with Royasno yet. His injury and Shen Di’s presence complicated matters. He had been relying on the princess’s scent to mask his presence from the old Dragon King. Now, he wasn’t so sure it would work. If Shen Chaomu pressed him, the truth might be revealed.

He didn’t want Shen Chaomu anywhere near Royasno.

“If you sense any strange beasts, you must tell me,” Shen Chaomu said, his tone laced with suspicion.

“Okay.”

The aircraft landed by a lake. They disembarked, the wildfire painting the distant clouds in shades of crimson. Rain lashed down, icy cold. They donned transparent raincoats and headed toward the line of hunters and Star Police stationed near the blaze. The Black Knight, still lamenting his lost pineapple, rode Potato behind them.

Dead Leaf Monkeys fled through the trees, their panic palpable.

Shen Chaomu caught a few raindrops in his hand. They were cold, devoid of any spiritual trace. No strange beast could conceal its energy signature from him, and the atmosphere was constantly monitored by the association’s instruments.

Unless…unless there was another strange beast like Long Shiyu, one without a spiritual presence.

He dismissed the thought. Long Shiyu was already an anomaly. There couldn’t be that many coincidences.

“Why don’t you have spiritual power?” he asked, turning to Long Shiyu.

“I don’t know. You don’t have a tail, do you?”

“That’s not the same.” Shen Chaomu examined the raindrops, their clarity offering no answers. Thunder boomed, and his instincts screamed a warning.

The closer they got to the wildfire, the more pronounced the distortion in the air became. Orange and red flames danced against the dark clouds, animals fled, and the forest seemed to weep.

“Here it is again,” the Black Knight muttered. “The wildfire.”

His warhorse pawed the ground nervously.

“Have you witnessed a wildfire before?” Shen Chaomu asked.

“Twice,” the knight replied. “The first was quickly contained. The second started in Laville.”

The Laville wildfire was infamous in Tabu’s history. It had consumed nearly twenty percent of the forest and triggered a massive strange beast riot that spread across both hemispheres. Though technologically advanced, the orcs and dwarves had been divided. The orcs revered nature and spiritual power, believing in the ancient trees and their gods, while the dwarves worshipped machinery and energy. The Laville wildfire had united them against a common enemy.

This event was also mentioned in the Black Knight legend, where he protected the two white deer children. The legend, of course, omitted his own strange beast nature.

“You saw that monster riot?” Shen Chaomu asked.

“Yes.” The knight gripped his greatsword. “It was terrifying, worse than any windmill or one-eyed giant I had faced. We held the city walls for ten days. Ammunition and food ran out, and morale plummeted.”

“You haven’t seen strong orc warriors collapse from exhaustion, cowering in fear,” he continued, his voice taking on a dramatic tone. “People wept and prayed. But thankfully, I was there. How does the legend describe my bravery?”

“You saved two children,” Yang Zhiming interjected. “But then you got drunk, rode off on your horse, spouting nonsense, and after slaying a few strange beasts, you were barely rescued.”

The Black Knight’s voice rose indignantly. “That’s not true! I smashed the spine of the beast attacking the children with my greatsword! Then I rode Potato around the ancient tree, fighting bravely! That’s why the battle turned in our favor! I saved General Rod of the Snow Wolf Clan!”

“General Rod did mention that,” Yang Zhiming said, “but I believe he was the one who rescued you. You were drunk; perhaps you misremember.”

“They’re lying!” the Black Knight insisted. “Isn’t that right, Potato?”

The warhorse whinnied in agreement.

The Black Knight’s legend wasn’t entirely heroic. It was a tale told to children, after all. It spoke of him collecting colorful leaves for Doris and Cosimo, celebrating their friendship, and their childish adventures together. But the Black Knight himself was often portrayed as somewhat inept.

Like in a children’s cartoon, there were exaggerated plots for entertainment. He would drunkenly charge at windmills, only to be stopped by the sensible children. Or he would blunder on the battlefield, saved by the valiant General Rod.

Such stories were comforting to children, and parents enjoyed sharing them.

“It was me who saved them!” The Black Knight continued to grumble as they neared the defense line.

“Brother Shen,” Yang Zhiming whispered, “do you think he’s telling the truth? I’m suspicious.”

“I don’t know,” Shen Chaomu replied.

“He did mention challenging a windmill,” Yang Zhiming mused. “He probably just doesn’t remember things correctly due to his drunken state.”

They reached the defense line, a bustle of activity as orc hunters and Star Police worked to contain the blaze. Even from a distance, the heat was palpable. The ominous thunderstorm still raged overhead, the heavy rain turning the ground to mud.

A commander briefed them, his voice tense. “We need you to investigate the Colosseum,” he said. “There are unusual spiritual fluctuations, but the drones haven’t detected anything concrete. Time is of the essence. You need to be back by three o’clock.”

Shen Chaomu agreed.

They boarded an association aircraft. As they flew over the forest, they saw the flames raging in the distance. An ancient ruin soon came into view – a massive, crumbling amphitheater, its gray walls scarred by rain and time, a section collapsed.

Many tourists visited the Colosseum, drawn to its history and the orcs’ inherent love for spectacle. A thousand years ago, when the arena was new, they would pit ferocious monsters against orc warriors in bloody battles to the death. It wasn’t a fair fight; if the monster died, it died, but if the warrior was in danger, they were rescued, much to the crowd’s displeasure. As civilization progressed, these barbaric displays waned.

An inscription, carved in the rough script of the orcs, adorned the wall between the main and side entrances:

With blood, I sacrifice to your glory,

The leaves of the ancient tree bless the warriors on their journey.

Beneath these ancient words, a more recent addition, in a neater script, declared:

Do not glorify killing.

No littering.

To avoid alerting potential enemies, the aircraft landed far from the Colosseum. Long Shiyu, his trench coat sleeves flapping, followed Shen Chaomu into the all-terrain vehicle.

The vehicle rumbled through the mud, the imposing Colosseum looming before them. The wildfire, despite protective barriers, had caused damage. Who knew what would remain after the flames subsided?

The Black Knight, astride Potato, gazed at the Colosseum, lost in thought.

They entered through a side entrance. Shen Chaomu’s spiritual power immediately detected movement – figures darting through the upper levels of the spectator stands. Golden light flakes surged, a torrent of energy converging on the figures. Shen Chaomu gave chase, his spiritual power forming a wall, blocking their escape.

The figures, their bodies showing signs of advanced beastization from repeated blood injections, turned to fight, their eyes filled with a feral gleam, light blades humming.

The first attacker’s blade shattered against Shen Chaomu’s golden light flakes. A well-aimed punch, amplified by spiritual power, broke the mercenary’s nose, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

The next attacker wasn’t so fortunate. His bullet ricocheted harmlessly off Shen Chaomu’s barrier. A powerful kick to the chest sent him flying backward, his exoskeleton shattering, ribs cracking. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Panic spread through the group, but it was too late.

Before they could react, Shen Chaomu had them on the ground, bruised and groaning. His overwhelming spiritual power, like a fiery blizzard, swept over them, suppressing their own abilities. They lay helpless, their bodies succumbing to dizziness and nausea.

The battle was over before it began.

Shen Chaomu straightened his clothes and walked past the defeated mercenaries, reaching the edge of the arena. They hadn’t expected hunters to arrive so quickly, especially with the wildfire demanding attention. They had been transporting something, a rope stretching from the top of the stands to the ground below, where someone had likely escaped with more than half their cargo.

Boxes lay scattered, some half-open. Shen Chaomu peered inside. Syringes. Hundreds of them, along with neatly packaged needles. Another box, heavier and insulated, held chilled blood bags. The blood was a chaotic mix of colors, unnatural hues writhing within like tiny snakes.

Strange beast blood.

Shen Chaomu deployed two small drones to scan the area. As he reached for his terminal to contact the association, his gaze fell on a sealed container beneath the blood bags. It was a high-security model, expensive and single-use, reserved for valuable materials.

Golden spiritual power lifted it. It wasn’t blood.

Inside, nestled within a test tube-like vial, was a small amount of shimmering liquid, no more than five milliliters. It swirled with color – rosy red, flower blue, gray-blue, spruce green, pale yellow melting into snow white and amber. It was a mesmerizing sight, more beautiful than any jewel, its ever-changing hues reminiscent of Bei En’s undercurrents or the scales of a silver dragon. It was a miniature world contained within a tiny vial.

Like liquid light.

Like…a drop of light rain.

……

The water boiled, and the pot gurgled. A pair of calloused hands lifted it, pouring the water into the teapot. The aroma of roses soon filled the air. In the distance, the Colosseum loomed.

“Boss,” a mercenary remarked, “why are you making tea again? I’ve never seen you drink it before Bei En.”

“What do you know?” Augusta grumbled. “This is called appreciating life. You still have such low-class tastes.”

“Oh,” the mercenary said, misunderstanding. “I thought it was because that siren liked—”

“Shut up and go play with your toys,” Augusta snapped.

But a moment later, he grabbed his arc knives, his attention drawn to a figure approaching. The young man, with his bright eyes and easy smile, folded his wings, his loose windbreaker swirling around him.

Augusta’s eyes widened. “You’re here,” he breathed, unsure if he felt more nervous or excited. The encounter in Bei En had been a stark reminder of the power gap between them, but the dragon-hunting blood in his veins urged him to challenge this powerful being once more.

“You’re so annoying,” Long Shiyu said. “Whenever you appear, Shen Di causes trouble.”

“I have to follow the boss’s orders,” Augusta replied with a grin. “Or will you pay me instead?”

“Absolutely not,” Long Shiyu said, aghast. No one touched the evil dragon’s hoard except the princess.

Augusta’s grip tightened on his knives, their blades crackling with dark blue lightning. “Are you here to declare war?”

“No,” Long Shiyu yawned. “I’m here to warn you to stay away from my princess.”

“Princess?” Augusta scoffed.

Then, it hit him. The realization of who Long Shiyu’s “princess” was struck him like a bolt of lightning. The image of Akasa Mo and Shen Chaomu together, the strange “Ying” sounds, the blatant affection…

“What are you talking about?” he sputtered, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Who is your princess?”

“The princess is the princess,” Long Shiyu replied, annoyed by his dismissive tone.

Worried that Shen Chaomu would be upset if he lingered, he turned to leave.

“Have you been sitting on the throne so long that your brain has rotted?” Augusta scoffed. “Shen Chaomu, a princess? If he’s a princess, I’m a fairy! And you’re shorter than him!”

Augusta’s mind raced, trying to comprehend this absurdity. “A dragon shorter than a princess?” he cackled. “A short-legged dragon! Hahahaha, you’re a short-legged dragon!”

He watched in stunned silence as flames erupted from Long Shiyu’s mouth.

The evil dragon was enraged.

___

T/N: XD Our baby dragon is so cute

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