CHAPTER 146: EX 146. PRIMORDIAL DRAGON ART

Leon sat cross-legged on the floor, still as stone, eyes half-lidded. The moment he chose Yes, the system responded like thunder in his mind. A current of information roared into him, blazing through his thoughts like wildfire, images, sensations, battle forms, instincts that didn’t belong to any human. His breath hitched as the weight of the Black Draconic Art settled into his skull.

Tier VII.

The words echoed in his head. Among the seven tiers that governed power across the world, from weapons to skills to arts, Tier VII stood at the top. The Black Draconic Art wasn’t just rare. It was racial. An inheritance of the ancient Draconic race, designed to elevate their own lineage, to awaken deeper powers buried in their blood.

But Leon was no dragon.

That reality struck almost immediately.

[System Notification]

Error: Art cannot be learned due to Racial Incompatibility.

His eyes twitched, but he didn’t panic.

"Doesn’t matter," he muttered.

Because Leon hadn’t intended to learn the art.

He intended to remake it.

The core of the Black Draconic Art, its concepts, its rhythm, and its essence, had already embedded itself in his mind. All that was left was to run it through his trump card. The one thing that made him more dangerous than any other trial taker alive:

Extreme Art.

It responded the moment he activated it, churning through the foreign knowledge like a forge reshaping crude metal. The art, meant for dragons, twisted and writhed as Extreme Art tore it apart and rebuilt it from scratch. What didn’t belong to him, the wings, the horns, the scales, was discarded. What remained was essence. Purified.

All races come from the same source, the Primordials.

Leon reached for that truth, pulled it down like a divine thread. He didn’t need scales to be a dragon. He just needed to remember why dragons were feared.

His blood screamed.

Something ancient in his body stirred, an echo from a time before races were divided. The art began mutating him from within, not with physical traits, but with presence. His aura swelled. A tidal wave of might surged from his core.

The room darkened.

Wind spun out of nothing.

Elizabeth flinched slightly, her eyes widening.

"That... that’s a dragon’s might," she whispered. "He actually mastered it."

Nikko’s gaze sharpened, lips parting, but no words came. Her expression stayed stoic, but her mind was reeling.

’What kind of art produces that kind of change?’ she thought, fingers curling subtly on her lap.

Then, it stopped.

The pressure vanished as quickly as it had come. In its place, a calm radiated from Leon like the silence after a storm. His body didn’t look different. But the air around him... it felt older, weightier, and territorial.

[System Notification]

Extreme Art: Primordial Dragon Art acquired.

Leon exhaled slowly.

A grin crept across his lips.

"Now that’s what I’m talking about."

The Primordial Dragon Art wasn’t about scales or wings or blood. It was about connection. A link to what all races once were. A memory buried deep in existence itself. With it, Leon could shift, mutate, not just his body, but his potential. This was the first step. A foothold into the absurd.

He hadn’t just modified a racial art.

He had rewritten his lineage with raw will.

Most would be satisfied with the results, but Leon was already thinking ahead.

’This is only the beginning.’

The path to becoming the strongest being in the universe had just opened.

But that...

was a story for another day.

****

The rest of the evening after Leon had mastered the art passed without incident. They talked a bit, light things, mostly. Just three powerful people, letting the silence linger comfortably between sentences. Eventually, Nikko stood, brushed down her coat, and announced it was time for her to leave.

Leon and Elizabeth walked her to the door.

Then, just as Nikko stepped through, she paused, turned, and without warning leaned in to press a light peck on Leon’s cheek. A feather of warmth brushed his skin, and before he could react, she was already pulling back.

"See you around, Leon," she said, that half-smile returning to her face, playful, but fleeting.

Leon smirked.

"Sure. See you, Nikki."

She held his gaze for half a second longer before turning sharply on her heel. Her face hardened again, as duty settled back in. She had work to do. A mountain of it.

Beside him, Elizabeth folded her arms, eyes tracing Nikko’s disappearing figure before landing back on Leon.

"She’s cute."

Leon grinned.

"You have no idea."

With that, the door clicked shut behind them, and the night settled.

The next day came like a march.

The ceremony hall buzzed with soldiers, some chatting, others standing still in stiff, practiced silence. Bright banners hung from the tall ceilings, and polished marble floors echoed every step. Near the front stood a row of trial cadets and combatants, all dressed in ceremonial uniforms. Today wasn’t just about Leon. Several soldiers were receiving honors for feats in the field, recognition for bravery, strength, and sacrifice.

But Leon wasn’t on the stage.

Vanguard Rebecca stood at the side, her sharp gaze sweeping the gathered formation. Her voice sliced through the air.

"Where the hell is he?"

Nikko, calm but clearly stretching patience, replied,

"He must’ve been caught up with something. Give him a few more minutes."

Rebecca’s brow twitched.

"We.already gave him Thirty minutes."

Nikko didn’t flinch. "Just a bit longer. I’m sure he’ll be here."

"He better," Rebecca said, her voice low and cold, "before the Golden Arbiter arrives."

Nikko said nothing to that. She just stared ahead, her thoughts were elsewhere.

’Leon, what are you doing?’

Her gaze shifted slightly to Elizabeth, who stood on the stage beside her, posture straight and eyes forward in her crisp ceremonial uniform. ’Why didn’t he come with her?’

***

Back in Unit 1’s quarters, Leon scrambled, nearly tripping over a boot as he tried to button his jacket and fix his cuffs at the same time.

"Why does she always do this?" he muttered under his breath.

He was talking about Elizabeth, of course, the traitor who let him sleep in despite knowing today was important.

He finally got the jacket on and stood in front of the mirror. He took a second. Maybe two.

A tall young man stared back at him, face lean and sharp with a stubborn kind of charm. Blue eyes, bright and cutting. Hair tied back neatly, white-silver strands glinting under the room’s soft lights.

The navy-blue jacket he wore was sharp and heavy, double-breasted with silver trims along the lapels and cuffs. The high mandarin collar bore the Federation’s coat of arms, stitched in gleaming thread. Silver cords looped from his shoulder epaulets, a small crescent pin topping each one. His trousers matched, deep blue with silver stripes down the sides. Black leather boots completed the look, polished to a mirror shine.

Leon stared at himself for a beat, then gave a small nod of approval.

"Damn, I look good," he said, before grabbing his badge and stepping out the door.