CHAPTER 161: 161. RANKED UP!!!

As if the universe had been listening in on our very worst thoughts and decided to answer with a middle finger, the dragon stirred.

Its eyes flickered—beamed, even—with a sudden pulse of unnatural light.

That was all it took.

Instantly, everyone snapped to attention like broken springs. Instincts sharpened. Our gazes all locked on the slowly awakening monstrosity before us. The temperature didn’t change, but the air somehow felt suffocating—thick with something raw and wrong.

Amelia still has her hands on its head, mid-ritual, but the look on her face made it clear: something had gone sideways.

Very sideways.

Leon’s brows drew together tightly, and Amelia... her jaw trembled ever so slightly, sweat starting to drip down the side of her face. Her focus was cracking.

Yeah. Not a good sign.

I couldn’t help the bitter smirk that curved my lips. I glanced at Isolde and muttered, "Why do I get the feeling this dragon’s gonna wake up and punch us square in the face?"

She didn’t even blink. Just rolled her eyes like I was the problem here. "That’s not going to happen."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she replied, deadpan. "Because dragons can’t curl their claws into fists."

I groaned. "Can you not get technical right now? That’s not the point and you know it. It’s not about anatomical accuracy—it’s about the punch-to-the-soul vibe I’m getting from this thing."

Before Isolde could deliver another of her snarky comebacks, Freya tapped me on the shoulder. I glanced sideways at her, mildly annoyed, only for her to say something that made me actually blink in disbelief.

"Cassius," she started, her voice slightly scolding, "I’ve been listening for a while now... and honestly, the way you keep referring to Miss Liana as ’thing,’ ’it,’ or ’dragon’—it’s kind of disrespectful. You do know she’s still a person, right?"

What?

I stared at her, genuinely confused. "Freya. Be serious. What do you think any sane person would call her when she looks like that?"

I gestured at the massive, monstrous form just meters ahead of us—wings twitching, scales shimmering under the filtered light, each breath heavy enough to shake the earth. A literal dragon, waking up after centuries like it just had a power nap and was ready to ruin someone’s life.

Freya’s mouth tightened. "But you know who she is. Even then, you’re treating her like an enemy or object."

I was about to retort with something appropriately scathing, but Zyon stepped in, holding up a hand.

"Guys, please. This is not the time for one of your back-and-forths. We need to focus. Amelia and Leon are still out there, and if this goes bad, we’re not going to have the luxury to argue about manners."

I huffed, but I didn’t argue. Not because I agreed—Freya was still being unreasonable—but because the tension was too thick now to cut through with just sarcasm.

Even she backed down, muttering something under her breath and casting her eyes warily at the massive creature still in front of us. Her spine was straight, but I saw the beads of sweat. She was nervous too.

Sanity hadn’t completely left the building.

And then, of course, the dragon moved again.

Its long neck lifted with a creaking groan like stone grinding against stone. The eyes—those piercing, sentient eyes—snapped toward us.

My instincts were screaming like alarms in a burning building.

Then came the sound I dreaded most—the slow, metallic screech of steel grinding under pressure.

One by one, the massive chains binding the dragon’s limbs and neck snapped apart like wet paper, shattering into fragments that embedded into trees, stone, and anything else in their path.

Amelia’s hands slipped off its head immediately, her mana snapping like a severed lifeline.

She gasped, then collapsed to her knees, her strength finally giving out after all the reckless mana expenditure. Her breathing was ragged, shallow. She was out of it.

Leon, the ever-reliable protagonist, moved like he’d been waiting for this very moment. He caught her just before she hit the ground, arms wrapping around her as gently as you’d expect. His own face was pale, clearly drained, but he held her close like a scene straight out of a romance novel.

Meanwhile, the rest of us were facing the music—the literal ticking time bomb that now had no chains, no restraints, and no illusion keeping it docile.

The dragon’s chest expanded, its breath deepening. Those once-dull eyes were vibrant now—glowing with a furious shade of deep blue, shimmering with layered mana I couldn’t even comprehend.

And then, like the universe just had to sprinkle in more anxiety, the system window appeared in front of my eyes.

Rank: ★★★★★★★★★

I blinked. "Wait—what?"

I stared harder. No, it wasn’t a glitch.

The bitch ranked up.

I gawked. "SHE RANKED UP?! IN FRONT OF US?!"

"...Yeah," Art mumbled, staring at the screen, voice nearly inaudible. "That’s definitely new..."

My hands dropped to my sides. "We’re so fucking dead."

"★★★★★★★★★," I muttered under my breath like a death sentence. "That’s not a rank, that’s a warning label."

Zyon leaned in toward me, voice dry. "You think if we pretend to be dead it’ll ignore us?"

"No," Art replied, still smiling like a lunatic. "She’s a grieving mother, not an animal. We will be eaten alive... maybe she is a vegetarian who knows? Maybe we should try it out."

Everyone ignored his blabbering.

Freya stared, eyes wide and disbelief creeping into her voice. "How...? She was weakening, wasn’t she? That’s what the system said. Healing, sure—but not evolving!"

"Apparently grief is one hell of a performance enhancer, she is a fucking top tier actor. Give her a fucking academy award!!" I muttered, eyes locked on the dragon as its head craned upward. Its massive jaw stretched open, letting out a breath so cold the ground froze where it landed.

Isolde finally moved. She stepped between all of us and the dragon, her arms loose by her sides, the faintest glimmer of aura starting to hum around her like a storm cloud.

But she didn’t look confident.

"Mother," I said, quietly but clearly. "Oh my sweet angelic and devilish mother, can you take this vile beast down for us?"

She didn’t turn around.

She just... shook her head. "No."

That single word hit like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Zyon paled. "W-What do you mean no?"

"She Ranked up," Isolde said grimly. "I couldn’t have defeated it even before the Rank up, now? Fuck No! We better start praying she leaves us alone."

Her eyes narrowed. "All I can do is delay her. Hold her back, slow her down—but not defeat her. Not alone."

"And my dear, brave, the most courageous father?" I asked. "Where the hell is he?!"

"He’ll come," she replied. "I contacted him the moment this dragon moved. But it will take time for him to come."

That wasn’t exactly comforting.

Especially because in front of us, the grief dragon took a step forward. Just one.

The earth shook.

Its breath steamed from its nostrils, hot and cold at the same time—a contradiction that screamed fuck my life.

We were ants.

No—less than ants.

A sense of pressure washed over us, so heavy that it nearly made my knees buckle.

Amelia whimpered softly in Leon’s arms. "...Mom?"

I stared at the two of them. The sheer unfairness of it all.

She had done all of this—for what? To bring her mother back? To have one sliver of her family returned to her?

And now that sliver was about to crush her into dust.

"She doesn’t recognize anyone," Isolde said softly, "not even Amelia. She’s not in control."

"Then why hasn’t she attacked?" I asked.

That was the scary part. It wasn’t attacking. It was observing.

"Who do you think I am?," Isolde muttered. "I don’t have any speciality in dealing with monsters. Call someone who speaks dragon tongue. Ask Amelia wasn’t it her bloodline who fucked the damn dragon?"

"That’s not a very nice thing to say?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"Fuck You!"

The dragon’s gaze swept the clearing. It looked over Freya. Over Zyon. Over Art.

Then—right at me.

I froze.

Its eyes—blue like glacial seas, yet warmer than fire—were locked on me with something I didn’t expect.

Recognition.

No.

Intention.

I swallowed hard. "Is it just me or is it looking at me like I did something really personal to it?"

"Maybe she just doesn’t like your face," Art offered.

"Or your mouth," Freya muttered.

"Or your soul," Zyon added, completely serious.

"Okay, okay, we get it," I snapped, never breaking eye contact with the dragon. "Everyone hates me. Wonderful. But does anyone have an actual plan?"

No one answered.

Because there was nothing to say.

That’s when the dragon moved again.

Not fast—but deliberate. Each step shattered earth and echoed through the clearing like death bells. The ground cracked beneath her weight, and her head lowered, exhaling breath that shimmered with mana so thick I could taste it.

Amelia opened her eyes again, weakly lifting her head. "Please... please stop..."

But the dragon didn’t.