Rather than devouring life energy, it was more like absorbing and assimilating it.
In any case, seeing that the faint blue crystals within the Geothermal Corridors had not faded or diminished, but instead showed signs of a subtle growth, Asterion felt a significant weight lift from his shoulders. This meant he could focus on his own growth without worry.
Asterion's train of thought began to expand. He even started considering whether he should leave his own Nergigante-elemental energy crystals throughout the various corridors of the New World. Doing so would further increase the efficiency of his energy infusion.
Hmm... I should probably focus on making up for the current loss first. Condensing formless Nergigante energy into physical crystals consumed a massive amount of stamina, and Asterion was loath to overtax his internal heat organs.
The Kulve Taroth stepped onto the surface.
Her appearance made the verdant forest seem as though it had been dipped in a layer of liquid gold. Grimalkynes clung to the edges of tree branches, peeking out from behind green leaves to catch a glimpse of this strange and gargantuan dragon. Nearby, hunters emerged as well, marvelling at the dragon's sheer beauty.
To be fair, the Kulve Taroth had won the hearts of the hunters—both men and women alike—from the very first second she appeared.
Hunters, who possessed their own society and a complete economic system, were more aware than anyone of the value of gold—especially gold that looked like a work of art. And this dragon was essentially a walking masterpiece of golden artistry.
We absolutely cannot let a certain princess find out this dragon exists!
This thought flashed through the minds of many hunters simultaneously. However, they soon shook their heads with bitter smiles. Keeping such a secret from "that" princess seemed like an impossible task.
"Is it her?" Standing by the wooden railing, the Admiral looked at the Great Gold Dragon as she seemed to engage in a friendly conversation with the Glavenus leader. He quickly found a corresponding memory in his mind.
"Do you recognize her, meow?" Sparky asked curiously.
"She's an Elder Dragon discovered only in the New World. We caught a glimpse of her once, over forty years ago. But back then, we had only just landed and couldn't track or investigate her properly. We haven't seen her since," Hara explained.
"Then that means you'll have to come up with a new name for her, meow," Sparky said, shaking his head. "And remember, she's the Boss's friend, meow. You better not try anything funny, meow."
"No one is foolish enough to provoke an Elder Dragon on a whim," Hara remarked dryly. "Instead of worrying about what we might do to her, you should worry about what she might do to us—look, she's looking this way."
She was indeed looking their way.
The Kulve Taroth had already seen the "cats" Asterion had described to her. Not only could they perform backflips, but they could also speak and sing. She found them quite interesting. Then, she recalled the "Ape-Wyverns" Asterion had mentioned—creatures said to have built a kingdom of their own in the lands across the sea, a kingdom so powerful that ordinary monsters stood no chance against it.
That was impressive, because the Kulve Taroth could sense that these "Ape-Wyverns" were individually very weak—neither tall nor particularly strong.
"Roar!"
"Wh-what did she say, meow?" Seeing the massive, spiraling golden horns of the Kulve Taroth draw closer, Sparky couldn't help but get nervous, stammering his question to the Shaman standing beside him.
"I can't quite hear her clearly, meow. But she isn't talking to you, meow. She's asking about the Ape-Wyverns, meow."
"Asking about us?" The Admiral's eyes widened.
Over the years, the Glavenus tribe inhabiting the Ancient Forest had shown increasing signs of civilization. One didn't even need to step onto the Great Tree to see it; simply standing on the ground and looking up revealed the houses built by the Grimalkynes.
Perhaps influenced by the Forest Bugtrappers, the ever-growing Grimalkyne population hadn't extended their dwellings into the canopy or the dangerous forest floor. Instead, they built horizontally from the middle sections of the Great Tree.
The houses hung like lanterns between the sprawling trunks and branches. Some were built at upward angles, while others were stacked together, forming a seamless series of aerial pavilions.
Though chaotic and irregular, the structures possessed an indescribable, delicate beauty when viewed as a whole—perhaps because the Grimalkynes took such care in decorating them.
Wildflowers gathered from the forest, glowing vines, insect cages filled with flashflies, and wooden carvings... these items adorned every Grimalkyne household. Even though the colors had faded during the long frost, the craftsmanship remained exquisite.
"Roar, roar-roar." (They really are different from those Gajalakas you mentioned. Those little ones just scream and try to tie my gold to themselves when they see me.)
"Roar-roar, roar-roar-roar." (I wouldn't lie to you. See? Aren't they interesting? If you're bored, just watching them is enough to kill time. You don't even have to take care of them; just check in whenever you remember.)
"Roar-roar." (Too fragile. I'm afraid I'd crush them just by rolling over.)
Thinking of the little creatures back in the Caverns of El Dorado, the Kulve Taroth gave her assessment.
It was much like a human keeping ants as pets; you might crush one just by taking a step. Given the number of Grimalkynes she was seeing, the Kulve Taroth couldn't help but wonder if Asterion accidentally stepped on his own cats every time he returned to the nest.
"Roar-roar, roar-roar-roar." (It's not that dramatic. There's no need to worry about the life or death of a single cat, as long as the group remains. They can cook for you, entertain you, or create interesting things.)
"Roar-roar-roar." (Even if the whole group vanishes, it doesn't matter. You just find new cats to raise. Our lifespans are long enough to watch them develop... it's actually quite satisfying to see them grow to this scale bit by bit.)
Asterion wasn't some cold-blooded monster. If the Grimalkynes wanted to pursue freedom, they were perfectly welcome to leave the tribe. He wouldn't restrain the cats, so long as they didn't turn around and stab him in the back.
So far, there was no sign of that. They were truly honest Lynians—far more reliable than humans. Even after more than ten years, they hadn't developed a rebellious bone in their bodies. The meat they served was perfectly suited to a dragon's palate, with even more variety than before he had left.
The two dragons, including the Kulve Taroth, ate quite happily.
However, food was starting to run low. Asterion's territory was currently supporting too many large monsters. Even though the Kulve Taroth primarily consumed minerals, monsters like Bazelgeuse, Mirrorblade, and the Acidic Glavenus were the types that would die without meat.
Normally, such large carnivorous monsters would never huddle together. To ensure they didn't starve, a Glavenus would typically kick its own offspring out after only a year to prevent competition for food.
In this stage, where the effects of the frost had not yet faded and life had not yet fully recovered, Asterion's territory was dangerously close to being eaten clean.
This forced Asterion to kick Mirrorblade out of the territory immediately after the celebration. It wasn't just because an adult dragon should find his own food instead of mooching off his old man—it was also because of a single sentence from the Kulve Taroth.
"Roar." (I am going to lay an egg.)
A simple sentence, yet it made Asterion feel as if his head had been sat on by the Kulve Taroth's massive backside. He felt dizzy.
Wait, is this right?
Is this logical?
Is this even biologically possible?!
No, wait—I'm a Glavenus! Er, mostly a Glavenus?
At the very least, Asterion was willing to admit that a part of his physical body still belonged to the Glavenus species. His head, neck, and horns still maintained that silhouette, even if he had added the best traits of various dragons and swapped out his entire bloodline.
But that just made it weirder!
Was there no reproductive isolation between a Glavenus and a Kulve Taroth?! Are we even in the same Egg Group?!
Actually, taking a step back, even if a Glavenus could, how could a synthetic chimera-like dragon like himself have no reproductive isolation from a Kulve Taroth?!
"Roar-roar??" (Are you sure? My egg? Or was it while I was sleeping all those years—)
WHACK!!
A swipe from the Kulve Taroth's tail shut Asterion up, though it did little to clear his confusion. He was a mess—he was even starting to wonder if he was genuinely about to become a father.
"Roar? Roar-roar!" (Are you looking for a fight? This is my first egg! According to my mother, our eggs have to be incubated together.)
Asterion was speechless.
The whole situation was bizarre. If the Acidic Glavenus laid an egg, he could understand it. After all, she was a Glavenus too. Even if she was a subspecies or a deviant, they were the same kind. Laying an egg would be normal.
But the Kulve Taroth... Why?
WHY?!
Was his "uniqueness" not limited to his stomach?
Under the influence of his past-life memories, Asterion even wondered how the Acidic Glavenus would react to this. But he dismissed that thought after only a second.
The Acidic Glavenus wouldn't have any reaction at all. Things like jealousy or complex emotions found in humans and Lynians simply didn't exist in that female dragon. Even after all these years, she remained driven by her Glavenus instincts—she was just more skilled in combat and smarter at hunting.
As for anything else... if Mirrorblade even tried to get close to the Acidic Glavenus to show some mother-son affection, he'd likely get swiped at by her blade-tail.
Asterion's assessment was that she was a lost cause. After all, even he occasionally fulfilled his "fatherly" duties, like teaching Mirrorblade the Glavenus sword arts or allowing him to gorge on the territory's meat.
That was why Asterion chose this moment to kick Mirrorblade out.
Compared to the Acidic Glavenus, Mirrorblade was much smarter. Many times, Asterion felt that Mirrorblade was more like a human than he was—a human wearing a dragon's skin. Perhaps it was because he had spent so much time with the Grimalkynes and the humans of Astera as a hatchling?
Or maybe it was because he was fed too much by the cats and hunters? Or perhaps his curiosity was too great, and he had listened to too many stories?
This wasn't right.
A dragon should be a dragon. Mirrorblade was using the values of humans and Lynians to guide his behavior. Yet, humans and Lynians weren't the rulers of this world, nor were they at the top of the food chain. They couldn't define the ecological order. And yet, Mirrorblade wasn't quite a dragon either; he was supported by his own raw, terrifying power. If this continued, Mirrorblade would end up dead.
Asterion was certain of this. So, he sternly exiled Mirrorblade from his territory, forcing him away from humans and Grimalkynes to experience what nature was truly like.
Er, of course, another important reason was that Asterion wasn't sure how the "highly personified" Mirrorblade would view this egg the Kulve Taroth had produced.
The Kulve Taroth's statement hadn't been a warning—it was a statement of fact. Not long after she spoke, she laid an egg in Asterion's new nest.
The egg was as tall as two Admirals. It would take at least three Admirals holding hands to encircle it. The shell was a brilliant gold, covered in irregular, rock-like ridges.
This was the first time Asterion had seen an egg of his own offspring. He had met Mirrorblade only after his evolution was complete. The Acidic Glavenus laid and hatched her eggs on her own, and Mirrorblade had eaten the shell clean as soon as he was born.
Thus, Asterion had no real frame of reference. At the time, he had simply found it strange and miraculous.
But now it was different. A giant egg sat right there in his nest. Asterion even had to be careful when rolling over to avoid crushing it into golden omelet.
The Kulve Taroth had expanded the nest, using her heat breath repeatedly until the space was wide and comfortable enough for two dragons to lie inside, with the egg resting safely between them.
Asterion checked the egg with his foreclaws. It was nothing like the eggs he remembered stealing in the past. Those eggs were like the ones from his memories—calcium carbonate shells. This egg, however, felt like a giant block of iron. When he tapped it gently with his claw, he could hear a metallic ring.
He didn't dare pick it up and shake it. Asterion knew nothing about reproduction, so he could only watch curiously as the Kulve Taroth periodically unleashed a blast of heat to envelope the egg.
To be honest, the first time he saw it, Asterion thought she wanted a hard-boiled egg. The golden egg was heated until it was glowing gold-red.
That kind of temperature was enough to melt solid rock into lava within seconds, but the egg didn't melt. Even when the ground beneath it turned to magma, the egg maintained its shape. Once she stopped her breath, the heat would gradually dissipate, and it would return to its original form.
"Roar-roar-roar." (This is how we hatch eggs. You have to give the egg enough heat.)
"Roar?" (Are you sure it won't burn to death?)
Asterion was starting to get worried.
A normal egg from a Kulve Taroth might need that kind of extreme heat, but he knew his own genes. He didn't remember needing temperatures that could melt stone just to keep warm when he was in his shell.
"Roar-roar, roar-roar-roar." (Don't worry. I haven't hatched one before, but I know what to do.)
When it came to instinct, the Kulve Taroth seemed very confident. Seeing this, Asterion didn't press the issue. Instead, he began to wonder: if this egg really did hatch, what would the young dragon inside look like?
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