The child plummeted alongside the magical armor, only to be gently cradled by the soft, fluffy base of the magic orb just before impact. It felt like sitting on a bouncy slime—the child barely had time to feel the fear of falling before being swept up in the joy of swaying and bouncing.

Just like a trampoline.

No one can resist a trampoline!

The child played happily on the magic sphere for quite some time before realizing there might be a dragon watching him.

Those dragon eyes, famed as the “Golden Pupils,” burned like suns in the pitch-black nest. On the battlefields of Pandemonium South, friend or foe alike, none could fail to fear such a Nidhogg. Each time his gaze—those beastly eyes like golden chasms—fixed upon someone, it felt like a sharp blade piercing straight through them, leaving the victim trembling uncontrollably, unable even to move.

And clearly, the youngling before him was no ordinary creature.

He was neither an enemy demon slain by Nidhogg nor an ally who had fought alongside him in bloody battles. He was simply a caramel pudding.

That was what Nidhogg thought upon seeing the child bouncing around inside the magic orb.

The little one climbed down from the orb and looked up at the mountain-like colossus before him. Even a single canine tooth of the dragon might be larger than he was. To say he wasn’t the least bit uneasy would be a lie, but…

It was fine. He knew a universal phrase for handling situations like this.

He couldn’t recall why he knew it, just as he couldn’t remember who he was or why he was here. But his little brain wasn’t ready to process all that confusion yet. Focusing on the present was impressive enough. Slowly and firmly, he spoke: “Hello. Do you need help?”

The little one tiptoed, straining to see the dragon’s full form—after all, looking someone in the eye when speaking was polite.

Unfortunately, the dragon towered far too high for the child. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tell if his sincerity had reached the other, or if the dragon would accept his offer.

This matter was truly important to him.

Don’t ask why it mattered—the child didn’t know either. It was just what his subconscious told him. Asking this way made it easier to receive the game quest.

Hmm, what was a game quest again?

The thoughtful child froze in place, a flicker of bewilderment in his eyes, his face etched with the confusion of having been stumped by his own question.

This was the first meeting between the dragon Nidhogg and his son, and the entirety of their conversation at that moment.

Nidhogg remained silent, because…

He hadn’t understood a word the youngling had said.

Perhaps it was some ancient language, he guessed, as the syllables bore a resemblance to the arcane magic he knew. But shamefully, Nidhogg, born after the Art Nouveau era, did not speak the language of the ancient dragons. He only knew how to kill with ancient magic.

Others always assumed he was born with innate knowledge, that there must be some mysterious racial heritage within the ancient dragons. Otherwise, how could one explain why Nidhogg, from the moment he was born, could counter-kill so many assassins? But as the dragon himself, Nidhogg could responsibly state: there was nothing. Nothing at all. He was simply born that powerful. If you didn’t believe him, he could report it to the sheriff.

Now, this magically powerful dragon…

…didn’t even dare to breathe.

For the youngling before him was so minuscule—barely the height of a single claw on his foot—so fragile it seemed a mere breath could send it flying.

The dragon held his breath even tighter.

The primordial dragon’s innate, formidable physique allowed him to hold his breath for days. Though this racial trait wasn’t exactly meant for such purposes.

But it didn’t matter. He was the last ancient dragon. His word was law.

Meanwhile, the Cyclops Viper also held its breath, moving silently and slowly along the ground. It hid its movements perfectly among the viper swarm, which dared only to lie flat on the ground under the dragon’s imposing presence. It halted at the precise distance—not too close, not too far—before reaching the dragon’s threshold of tolerance. Tucking its tail, it feigned submission while secretly observing the dragon. Slowly, it curled its three-clawed paws, digging them into the earth.

The moment its compact body tensed to the extreme, taut as a fully drawn bowstring, the one-eyed viper erupted. Amidst the dust and gravel kicked up by its claws, it lunged directly at the dragon.

It sought to reclaim its hoarded food from beneath the dragon’s claws.

It had found it first—therefore, it belonged solely to it!

Nidhogg paid no heed to these creatures of the Chaos Abyss. Yet as the dust settled, what emerged was not the seemingly reckless one-eyed viper, but its concealed, full-force strike unleashed from its maw.

Beneath the jaws of this ancient abomination lay a peculiar orifice. When needed, it bloomed like a carnivorous flower, rapidly drawing in the brutal Chaos energy from the air. Within its maw, this energy coalesced into a ceaselessly whirling vortex of magic. The vortex grew, accumulating until it erupted as a pillar of light.

That pillar of light, its edges still rippling and warping, was as vast and pallid as the serpents themselves, laden with perilous magical particles. This was the One-Eyed Serpent’s mightiest strike—unstoppable, unstoppable as a bamboo spear.

How many years had it been since Nidhogg faced such audacious provocation from a living creature?

Indeed, to the colossal black dragon, this demon’s all-out assault was nothing more than a laughable challenge. He reflected that his past temper had been far too lenient, allowing these creatures to even conceive of defiance.

This howling strike was indeed unstoppable, but…

Why block it?

The dragon’s transformation into human form occurred in the blink of an eye.

The sprawling, mountain-like shadow that had coiled in the depths of the abyss vanished instantly, replaced by a handsome man with black hair and golden eyes. His facial features were flawlessly perfect, his frame tall and solid. He narrowed his eyes slightly, a look of displeasure on his face as he stepped through the air, landing steadily on the ground.

Before casually raising his hand to cast a grand forbidden spell upon the Cyclops, Nidhogg took a moment to pick up the young child, clearly startled by the sudden turn of events, and bestowed upon him a sweet, deep sleep spell.

The Cyclops Viper, which had roamed the Chaos Abyss for untold ages, had finally met its match today. Before it could react, it sensed the ancient black runes looming before it. Their appearance seemed instantaneous, the very air instantly becoming scorching hot.

Fire magic?

No—merely sparks ignited by the blinding speed of instantaneous spells. The one-eyed serpent felt as though an invisible wall of air had struck it, trapping it in a state of paralysis. Ring-shaped shockwaves now surged in from every direction.

As they continuously contracted and expanded, the runes returned the serpent’s own howling attack multiplied a hundredfold, a thousandfold. The scorched earth was plowed into trenches, their bottoms completely molten, billowing wisps of blue smoke. Beyond the shattered rocks and charred soil, nothing remained.

Meanwhile, the black dragon Nidhogg stood holding the child, flipping through its memories as casually as turning the pages of a book. He had seized these recollections from the one-eyed serpent before he could be attacked.

Nidhogg now understood where the youngling before him came from.

It had suddenly appeared in this world.

Put plainly, it had been abandoned.

This was hardly unusual in the Chaos Abyss. Ever since the former Demon King’s grand ambition to destroy the world failed, forming this precious land known as the “Land of Tyranny” and the “End of the World,” people frequently attempted to dump their unmanageable, dangerous items into this place—a realm that could neither be cleansed nor altered.

Nidhogg paused, gazing at the soft young creature in his arms. He thought, well, not everything is dangerous.

This was the scene stone giant Dominic witnessed upon awakening.

A black-haired man with horns on his head cradled a sleeping young creature, looking slightly troubled as he surveyed the charred remains of a viper scattered across the ground. Despite radiating terrifying pressure and violent magic particles dancing uncontrollably around him, he met the man’s gaze and asked politely yet earnestly in the continent’s common tongue: “Hello. Do you know why it keeps ringing?”

He lifted a slender finger and pointed at the cub’s belly.