After the dungeon expedition, the news spread like wildfire—faster than any army could march, faster even than the wind could carry the scent of blood.
The first whisper came from the inner walls of the royal court.
Then it slithered through taverns, noble halls, and merchant caravans until it reached even the most remote corners of the nation: the Golden Anchor Stone had been claimed.
But it wasn't by the great powers who had entered the dungeon. Not by the noble families, nor by the royal army, nor even by the legendary WarEmbrace herself.
It was taken by an unknown masked figure—a man the common folk now called the Black Lightning Dragon.
At first, the name was spoken in awe, a whisper among drunks and gamblers. Then came the poets, spinning their verses, painting him as a shadow that split mountains and drank lightning. The bards sang of him in every town square—each telling more absurd tales than the last.
