For dragons, creatures with lifespans nearing infinity, it is difficult to determine whether they are old, young, or middle-aged, even though they indeed experienced youth.

But for Toragotos, sprawled in the very center of the palace, at least by appearance, he was a dragon that had grown old.

Over his long life, wrinkles gradually crept up his cheeks, converging below the raised brow bones or above the corners of the eyes and the slightly curved lips, resembling flowing streams that wound towards the deep caverns of his eye sockets.

In that dark shadow, there were a pair of golden eyes, as if about to extinguish. And similarly to a human, the giant dragon had grown a long silver beard beneath his jowls that trembled with each thunderous breath.

One claw lay over the other, motionless, as he sprawled atop a mountain of Gold Coins, almost as if asleep, occasionally lifting an eyelid to cast a golden gaze at the people in the hall.

Directly before him stood an Old Dwarf, his eyebrows frost-grey, wearing a gleaming Crown and, raising an eyebrow, he said to the dragon, "My old friend, I've heard you are not well. I've traveled from Eldron to see you, hoping to catch a last glimpse."

Toragotos recognized this Dwarf, the youngest grandchild of Valit's seventeenth son, for the Steelbrows seemed to always favor the youngest heir to assume their respected position, as was their tradition.

He sighed heavily.

In his long life, he had maintained extensive friendship with the Steelbrows, witnessing their four generations of Kings, not as fickle as humans, nor as aloof as Elves. The old dragon still clenched the mountain mist gemstone the Dwarves had given him—a testament of their unchanging friendship, excavated from the heart of the mountains by the Steelbrows.

Old Valit's round face and his comically large nose flashed before his eyes, followed by his arrogant eldest son—who had died in battle somewhere? The traits of this family seemed to have culminated in the Old Dwarf before him.

To his right, an Old Lizardman with a body covered in Crimson, one hand resting on his knee, squatted on the palace column, his head adorned with striking feathers, his face marked with white Combat scars, and his eyes unyieldingly observing his kin in the palace.

"Respected giant dragon, the Giant Serpent Tail has reenacted the sky. After Isolin's disappearance, we've seldom observed such clear star signs. We do not know what they allude to, but every result of Hydromancy brings an ill omen, suggesting that a great change is near," said a somewhat corpulent Lizardman, resembling a big-bellied toad, his webbed claws gripping a gently curved staff, thick layers of keratin covering the fat that nearly squished his eyes into slits, scanning the hall from the corner of his vision.

When he spoke, his voice was heavy and somewhat unpleasant.

Beside him stood a tall Lizard Person with grey-white skin, who snorted disdainfully. He was almost as tall and robust as Tainaric, young and strong, with a muscular chest adorned with three fangs on a necklace, baring his upper body, his vicious maw filled with teeth, more resembling a creature from the Jurassic than anything else.

He replied, "The grand era marked by the Sun Era has come, signaling that the age of Elves and Mortals has passed. Xinsas will return to the world. I already feel the power of the Star Realm converging, that voice has awakened, and this is truly our time."

"And I," the young Lizardman's voice hissed, "am the Chosen One foretold by Andasok's prophecies, the inheritor of the will of the Shining Sea, the New King of Guda Suoke. Elders, please grace me with your ancient rituals."

He stepped forward to Toragotos, arrogantly saying, "Ancient Guardian, grant me your blessing, for I am the one you have long awaited, and I will fulfill your long-standing wishes."

The Dwarf turned around irritably, stepping in front of the youth, "Old Toragotos will naturally choose that person. For now, you would do well to step aside, for he needs rest. He is already twelve hundred years old; you should learn to respect your elders."

"This is a matter within our own tribe; the one who should step aside is you, old Dwarf," the tall Lizardman said contemptuously.

The Old Dwarf huffed heavily and drew a war hammer from behind, clutching it in his hand, "It seems I need to teach you what manners are."

"Combat?" The tall Lizardman also drew his long knife, "By the saints above, I'll entertain you."

But it was at that moment that a cold snort came from the other side of the hall:

"Truly boring to the extreme."

The speaker was a stooped Old Lizardman, almost skin and bones, as if a gray-black hide had been draped over a barren skeleton, his irises and pupils a stark pale color, like bulging dead fish eyes.

Behind the Old Lizardman stood a group of humans, their red robes particularly conspicuous. If Fang Hong were here, he would certainly recognize the Gunslinger among them, the one who had encountered him once at the Elf Ruins.

Latter, when the ruins collapsed, he had seen that man struck by flying rocks and falling into the valley.

Following closely behind the Old Lizardman was the Commander of the Jiefulite Red Cloak Team—Guzhou of the Shining Sea.

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