As it turned out, Alina the Thunder Dragon wasn’t just bold in breaking romantic conventions—she also relished challenging powerful foes in battle. After returning triumphant with her raptor-like claws hooked around her capture—a remarkably spirited Thunder-Patterned Porcupine—she heard about her boyfriend’s tragic ordeal. Without a second thought, this decisive female dragon unleashed a thunderous breath attack at the ancient dragon nearby.

Deep purple lightning surged through searing flames. Sparks still crackling, the smaller yet agile Thunder Dragon charged headlong at Nidhogg. She felt no fear of an opponent twice her size—only the exhilaration and eagerness of a challenge.

Nidhogg showed no mercy either. As Alina closed in, he struck—or rather, lashed out with his tail. The thick, serpentine dragon tail whipped like a short whip, using the momentum of its swing and the sudden barbs on its raised sword plate to deliver a crushing blow to the Thunder Dragon’s belly. It carved a deep, concave gash that would likely haunt the dragon for the rest of its life—just looking at it was agonizing.

Alina’s body lost its balance, sending her crashing sideways. Despite desperately trying to adjust with her flapping wings, she couldn’t avert being flung away.

In Nidhogg’s eyes, there was no distinction between male and female—only enemies and those less detestable. Of course, now there was a third category: his one and only child.

To give one’s all was the greatest respect one could show an opponent.

The Thunder Dragon refused to be outdone. Surrounding itself with crackling electricity, it roared and charged forward again, gritting its teeth against the excruciating pain in its abdomen.

Alina, undefeated among her dragon peers, hadn’t felt such agony in years. Her eyes, like purple magic ore, blazed crimson with fury, vowing to deliver a devastating blow to Nidhogg.

And she succeeded.

The Thunder Dragon, growing fiercer with each clash, scorched away a large patch of Nidhogg’s scales. The exposed skin sizzled and smoked—admittedly, it smelled quite delicious. Yet the black dragon didn’t even flinch. With lightning speed, it launched its counterattack. The moment its claws struck, a black curse of destruction suddenly enveloped them, tearing a gaping, blood-soaked hole in Alina’s arm. Few things in this world could wound a dragon’s formidable flesh—except the attack of another dragon.

Both dragons simultaneously kicked each other away, flapping their enormous wings in midair to deliver dual magical and physical assaults. After soaring a hundred meters high, they locked jaws once more.

Every punch landed with bone-crushing force, every kick kicked up dust, neither sparing the other.

Yet they instinctively avoided large-scale spells that might harm innocents. Beyond physical attacks, there were no extravagant forbidden spells—no cleaving half a mountain or stirring up half the sea.

After all, even fighting required basic decency. Their young were still below.

The green dragon was beside himself with worry. The childhood terror of Nidhogg’s dominance surged back. Clutching the dragon egg tighter in his arms, he paced frantically: “What do I do? What do I do? Alina just loves me too much, loves this home too much.”

Byron: …Could it be that Alina just plainly likes to fight?

The fiery nature of dragons, who prefer settling matters with their fists, still earns them a reputation among some on the continent as one of the most dangerous and untouchable races.

These apex predators at the top of the food chain retained a core of savage, beastly ferocity. They relished combat, craved conflict, and when idle, couldn’t resist stirring trouble—a constant headache for every generation of dragon elders. Even without the precipitous drop in birth rates, the annual toll of dragons killed in brawls was a staggering number.

Here’s a grim joke: less dragons perished in the Third Expeditionary War than in their daily deaths from provoking others—a truly foolish way to die.

“You’re the Grand Elder! Think of a solution!” the green dragon pleaded desperately.

Byron: …Bro, please look at the situation. Do you really think I stand a chance against either of these two? An ancient dragon or a mother dragon who automatically gains a powerful buff after bearing offspring? 

“Why don’t you try it yourself? At least one of them is the mother of your dragon egg.”

The green dragon—well, the green dragon dared not interfere. Winning was one thing, but the real issue was the mother dragon’s fierce nature. Many dragons were ruthless, abandoning their offspring for the sake of their own bloodline. Purle had fought hard to earn the right to hatch eggs alongside Alina. How could he possibly do something to upset his girlfriend? He wasn’t crazy.

So, Byron shrugged. No one could stop this unless they fought it out themselves.

Just as he thought this aloud, he noticed the youngling he’d been watching—who’d been contentedly nibbling sand from a small boot nearby—had somehow slipped over to the thunder-patterned porcupine Alina had casually tossed aside.

Seriously, was this even something a human cub could manage?

For the first time, Elder Byron began to doubt the child’s species. The first time the cub ran toward the green dragon, he could blame Nidhogg, the inexperienced father. But this time, Byron could swear to the Dragon God that he had been watching his friend’s cub with utmost care, dreading even the slightest danger befalling it under his watch.

As a mutated ice dragon, Elder Byron’s magical perception might not be the strongest among dragons, but it was certainly among the top tier. He couldn’t believe a cub could slip beyond his senses.

Yet the bizarre event unfolded.

Though the Thunderflame Porcupine had its belly torn by the dragon’s claws and had plummeted from great heights, it still managed to struggle back to its feet, relying on its astonishing regenerative abilities. The excruciating pain coursing through its body fueled an intense desire for vengeance. Yet, the two dragons in the sky and the two on the ground were all formidable foes—none of them could be defeated.

With escape as its sole focus, the Thunderflame Porcupine collided head-on with the charging young dragon.

The little one held only a toy sword, its origin unknown.

Byron wished he were dead.

The green dragon Purle charged forward without hesitation, carefully shielding his egg in his arms.

But help was too far away to be of immediate use. Unable to take flight for fear the turbulence from their wings would harm the young, they could only run on their legs—clearly unable to outpace the porcupine’s attack.

At this critical moment, Nidhogg—who, once engaged in battle, became a raging, uncontrollable force of magic, or perhaps simply refused to be controlled—shouted a halt amidst the stunned gazes of all the dragons. He released the Thunder Dragon, whom he had gripped firmly by the shoulder with his forepaw, flinging her directly toward the porcupine preparing to strike.

In a rare moment of understanding with Nidhogg, Alina harnessed the momentum of the violent fling. Mid-air, she transformed back into human form, plunging downward at breakneck speed. With a resounding thud, she crashed into the porcupine, crushing it. A single thrust to its chest instantly transformed the porcupine from a smashed watermelon into mincemeat on a platter.

The porcupine, unable to react, met its end in the northwest.

Ai Ai, clutching the sword he’d stored in his game inventory since arriving in this world, stood blankly before a pile of images inexplicably blurred out. He stared for a long while before finally pouting.

He tried very, very hard to control his emotions, refusing to cry out over having his kill stolen.

Yes, in the eyes of a child, this was just another ordinary monster hunt in the wilderness. He had finally managed to get close to that unknown-level monster, only to have it snatched away effortlessly by someone else.

A great sense of injustice overwhelmed the little child.

Alina, however, only thought the youngling before her was frightened. She felt utterly helpless, dreading the thought of it breaking into tears.

Truthfully, Alina had never given a second glance to younglings of other races before. Even precious baby dragons were only entertaining when quiet; when they cried, they were nothing but noisy and irritating. But whether it was becoming a mother herself, or the sight of this cub on the verge of tears yet desperately holding back, her heart suddenly overflowed with tenderness.

This newly minted Valkyrie of the dragon clan, famed as the Wrath of the Heavens, forced a stiff, awkward smile she wasn’t good at and spoke in the gentlest voice possible: “Don’t be afraid. It’s dead.”

To avoid frightening the child, she hastily rinsed her arm, still covered in porcupine blood, with nearby seawater.

Whether it rinsed clean was debatable—the seawater was thoroughly stained red. 

The Thunder-Patterned Porcupine met a tragic and unjust end, while the two newly minted dragon parents—now bonded through conflict—quickly reached an agreement. Alina conceded defeat, relinquishing the highest peak of Helheim’s Tooth to Nidhogg. She moved her boyfriend and the dragon egg to the mid-slope instead. 

Truthfully, Alina had initially intended to have her boyfriend pack up and surrender the entire peak outright. 

Ironically, it was Nidhogg—who’d never learned to share with dragons since childhood—who, for reasons unknown, voluntarily conceded ground. This made the two families new neighbors sharing the same mountain. 

Elder Byron, urgently summoned to mediate, proved utterly useless and was unceremoniously kicked out of the discussion. 

By the time he was unilaterally informed of this family-friendly outcome, weeks had passed. With Nidhogg’s new nest completed, they came calling to register the hatchling’s citizenship. The silver-haired elder, glaring at the squishy little one, fumed, “Your dad’s a jerk, you know that?” Ai Ai, the little one, couldn’t quite understand the dragon’s words yet, but he could sense the other’s emotions. He tiptoed over, reaching up with his chubby little hands to stroke the silver dragon’s beautiful hair. Mimicking how Mr. Dragon used to ruffle his own head, he tried his best to comfort the other. 

The little one actually didn’t much care for having his head touched. Yet for some reason, when Mr. Dragon did it with such careful, cherishing tenderness, he always found it hard to refuse. 

This move truly was a foolproof way to charm anyone. At least Elder Byron was completely smitten, instantly wanting to scoop up the youngling—whose every strand of hair seemed bouncy and adorable—for a cuddle. But the young dragon’s domineering father pushed him away, pressing his hand firmly against Elder Byron’s forehead to maintain distance.“My son. Thank you.” Ancient dragons never share.

Ai Ai was never able to see the poor Silver Dragon Uncle, for the devious dragon father had effortlessly diverted his son’s attention with a set of knight toys. 

It was truly an exquisite toy set, even the intricate patterns on the knight figurines’ armor were clearly visible.

“I’ve decided on a name for my son,” Nidhogg stated bluntly, crossing his legs opposite his friend and unfurling a rolled parchment. When fully extended, its length was astonishing—stretching from the dark-haired man’s slender fingers all the way to the soft green carpet, rolling over several times with excess still remaining. 

It was covered in names Nidhogg had agonized over for days. 

Fortunately, dragon clans didn’t bother with surnames—their species name usually served as their family name, like Silver Dragon Byron, Thunder Dragon Alina, Ancient Dragon Nidhogg—otherwise, who knew how much longer that parchment would have been. Elder Byron chirped softly to himself, but aloud he said, “Well, congratulations. What have you decided to name him?”

He produced the dragon registry ledger, along with a multifunctional dip pen—one end for writing, the other for sealing with a wax stamp. The proud dragon father cleared his throat, like a royal ceremonial officer proclaiming to the world: “I shall name him: Born of Chaos Power, Walker of the Primordial Star Sea, Sole Heir of the Ancient Dragons, Devourer of Giants, King of the Demons of Time and Space—Fan, Leopold XV!”

Silence.Dead silence. Apart from the cheerful background noise of a child directing two teams of knights in a mock battle, the newly decorated nest chamber was utterly empty. After a long moment, the handsome Grand Elder finally found his voice: “Are you serious?”

The dragon raised an eyebrow. What else? He wanted to bestow the world’s finest blessings upon his child, and this name carried immense symbolic weight.

Byron: “…Your intentions are noble, but I’d still advise against setting out just yet.”