The journey to the Northern Territories took four days of grueling travel through the "Veins"—the ancient, forgotten tunnels that honeycombed the empire's crust. Livius traveled alone, preferring the rhythmic silence of the subterranean world. Without the dampening wards of the Imperial Palace, his magic felt like a surging tide. The solar-mana within him, a gift of the Dragon God, felt more potent than ever, straining against his skin like a second heart. He practiced "Compression," forcing his vast mana pool into a single, tiny point within his core, making him feel as heavy as a star.
When he finally emerged from the tunnels near the Ironspire border, the devastation was staggering. The once-mighty pine forests were skeletal, their needles turned to gray ash. The air was thin and metallic, stripped of the vital essence that magic usually provided. He saw a village where the people were boiling leather boots just to have something to chew on. Duke Valerius was literally drinking the life out of the province to fuel his "Iron Guard," an elite unit of mages equipped with mana-infused armor.
"He is a thief of the future," Livius whispered, standing on a jagged cliff overlooking the Duke's fortress—a monolith of dark iron and jagged stone that seemed to grow out of the mountain like a tumor.
That night, Valerius was hosting a "Victory Gala" to celebrate his new autonomy. The fortress was a beacon of artificial light in a starving land. Inside, the halls were filled with the sound of laughter and the clinking of crystal, a grotesque symphony played over the silence of the dying province. The Duke, a man with a beard as sharp as his ambition, raised a goblet of enchanted nectar.
"To the New North!" Valerius bellowed. "Let the capital rot! Here, we have the iron, and we have the power!"
As he spoke, the massive iron chandeliers above the banquet table began to hum. A low, rhythmic vibration started in the floor—a heartbeat that shook the wine in the glasses. It wasn't a human heartbeat. It was the "Dragon's Pulse," finally finding its voice.
Livius stepped through the iron gates, which groaned and twisted as if made of wax. He wasn't wearing a mask. He walked with a slow, deliberate pace, his boots clicking against the stone. His black hair was whipped by a sudden, unnatural wind, and his golden eyes were no longer just eyes—they were two burning apertures into a realm of pure, divine energy.
"The North is not yours to sell, Valerius," Livius said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a resonance that shattered the glass windows of the ballroom.
The Duke's Iron Guard stepped forward, their armor glowing with the siphoned blue mana of the land. They leveled their spears, but Livius simply exhaled. A wave of golden heat rippled outward, and the enchanted armor of the guards didn't just fail—it turned against them. The siphoned mana, recognizing its true master, surged back into the earth, dragging the guards down with it. They were pinned to the floor by the sheer weight of their own greed.
"You... you're the freak from the archives," Valerius gasped, his face paling as he backed toward his throne. "The nameless prince!"
"I am the heir you tried to forget," Livius replied, his voice cold and absolute. "You stole the life of the land to build this cage. Now, the land wants its breath back."
Livius didn't draw a sword. He reached out and grasped the air. With a roar of golden light, he performed a "Mana-Reversion." He didn't kill the Duke; he stripped him. He burned away the man's ability to ever hold magic again, effectively turning the "Great Duke" into a hollow shell. Furthermore, he branded the Duke's soul with the mark of Nexus—a mark that would alert every merchant and noble in the world that this man was a pariah.
By morning, the iron siphons had been destroyed. The mana began to flow back into the soil, and the skeletal trees seemed to shiver with the first hint of returning life. In the town square, the Duke was found huddled in a corner, his mind broken by the sight of a true dragon. Atop the fortress, a new flag flew—a simple black cloth with a golden eye.