Novels by Drakon Flameborn

Boom!Boom, boom, boom!The void itself trembled. Power—raw, molten, unstoppable—surged through the air like lava set loose from the mountains. Behind Kaelen Viremont, the shadows of hundreds of Primordial Dragon-Elephants rose in unison, colossal and awe-inspiring.The battlefield froze. Every living soul felt their hearts skip. Hundreds of ancient overlord beasts, their presence like mountains plucked from a forgotten age, had manifested together. Even the most seasoned martial masters couldn’t hide their shivers.It was terrifying. Unimaginably so. Words fell short.“Not good! Retreat—now!”The two Protectors of the Crimson Veil Sect, normally composed, suddenly looked pale. Without thinking, they leapt backward, sharp, urgent. But Kaelen’s eyes burned. Escape? Not today. Not now. Not for them.Every ounce of Kaelen’s power, every drop of Talan’s energy, converged. He wouldn’t let them survive.“Kill!”Kaelen’s roar sliced through the void, sharper than any blade. He moved with the

"Join forces! Fight together!"Kaelen Viremont’s roar cut through the chaos, sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore.Before him, the two Protectors of the Crimson Veil Sect surged forward, moving with the speed of storms, their auras flaring like twin suns. But between them and Kaelen stood the Shadowfang Sect’s core disciples, shoulder to shoulder, unshakable. Faces grim, hearts steady. Ready to give everything—life itself—for the one person who could decide the fate of their sect.Kaelen’s martial talent had already eclipsed all expectations. Every disciple knew, deep down, exactly where their hope lay. Strongest, most reliable… it was him. Kaelen.Even Kael and the others stepped forward, forming a living shield around him. Silent. Unhesitating. In that split second, everyone understood the unspoken truth: if anyone was going to survive this battlefield, it had to be Kaelen Viremont.Not because they were noble. Or selfless. No, they were pragmatists. They knew what truly mattered

“All right!”Kaelen Viremont’s voice cut sharply through the poisoned air, calm yet commanding. The Shadowfang Sect disciples felt a spark of hope as Kaelen swallowed the tiny poison-devouring worm. Within moments, the toxins that had been sapping his strength vanished. His body seemed untouchable, impervious to the thick, swirling mist. Relief flickered on every face, tiny but precious, in the middle of chaos.“Good!”From a distance, Alaric Lei’s laughter thundered across the battlefield, booming and raw. But there was no jest in his eyes. A savage, brutal intent burned across his rugged features. He looked deadly serious—every fiber of him radiating warning.“Four Great Protectors of the Obsidian Sky Sect,” he roared, lightning crackling along his massive frame, “you will die! One by one, I’ll crush you and leave nothing but ruin!”Alaric Lei was a force of nature. He had faced countless foes, spilled rivers of blood, and survived battles that would have shattered ordinary warriors

The moment the words left the darkness, the core disciples of the Shadowfang Sect saw them.Above the swirling black poison, four enormous figures emerged, each radiating power so immense it seemed to warp the very air.The first—a young man in golden robes—gripped a bronze great seal heavier than any mountain. Sparks of energy danced along its surface. Every step he took sent tremors through the ground.The second figure was cloaked in black, indistinct, and its gender was impossible to guess. In its hands, a demonic blade pulsed with a black, living light. Shadows seemed to cling to it, obeying its master, while the air around it felt cold and heavy.The third was a giant, nearly four meters tall, every step reverberating like the pounding of a drum. Pure, raw strength radiated from it in waves.The fourth—a woman—was almost ethereal, draped in phoenix-feather robes ablaze with living fire. Her gaze was sharp, arrogant, and freezing to anyone daring to meet her eyes. A flick of her

Kaelen Viremont handed Ar Keel three shining spirit herbs. Their faint, otherworldly glow flickered like distant stars. The air around them seemed almost alive, buzzing with the herbs’ hidden power. Ar Keel’s eyes went wide as he took them. Even untouched, he could feel the immense potential trapped inside each one.“These are king-grade spirit medicines,” Kaelen said quietly, but there was weight behind his words. “Treat them carefully. Their value… It’s beyond measure.”Ar Keel’s grin spread wide. Sure, once he refined them into pills, he’d have to split the yield fifty-fifty with Kaelen. But still — this was a massive win. Without Kaelen, he wouldn’t have had even a single shot at one.Kaelen, meanwhile, felt no regret. The usual method — hiring skilled pillmasters — would have cost a fortune. Entrusting the herbs to Ar Keel? Simple. Ar Keel’s status in the Shadowfang Sect made such a task trivial. No headache, no wasted resources.“Let’s move,” Ar Keel ordered. His voice carried q

How did he do it?The question rippled through the minds of nearly every core disciple in the vast underground chamber. Eyes fixed on Kaelen Viremont, searching for answers, trying to decode a mystery that seemed impossible.His treasure-seeking ability was unreal. Every item he touched seemed to glow brighter. Every find, more astonishing than the last. Even the most seasoned disciples couldn’t hide their awe—or their disbelief.“Could he… really be Heaven’s favored son?”Aria murmured, half in jest, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her surprise. Calm, poised, elegant as ever, she still couldn’t mask that flicker of astonishment. She tilted her head, studying Kaelen with curiosity—and maybe a touch of admiration.Kael, ever the quiet observer, remained composed. Yet even he couldn’t fully conceal the spark of shock in his gaze. Maybe one day… he really could stand against Lorian Zethar, he thought silently. Without a word, Kael turned back to his own search, leaving Kaelen to

Darian Kaelthorn held the two scrolls with trembling fingers, each pulse of his heart echoing through his chest. One contained the Riven Gaesirion Technique, the other the Moon-Lacking Treasure Mirror. He let the words of Aric Sunspire Legacy roll through his mind, each syllable a guiding thread, as he prepared for what would come next.Moon-Lacking Treasure Mirror.A Yellow-Grade Lower Mastery technique. The final gift Aric had left him before departing. One that had turned the tide of his battles against Harvik. During that fight, the techniques Full Moon with a Gap and Shadow Moon with Clear Skies had flowed directly from this mirror, moving through him as naturally as his own breath.Without it… Darian knew he would never have claimed a flawless victory. Even with the Warborn Covenant Method activated, facing Harvik directly would have been a gamble bordering on suicide. The odds were stacked far against him. Yet the Moon-Lacking Treasure Mirror had bridged the chasm. It had turne

Darius stood motionless in the void, hands clasped behind his back, his face a mask of absolute calm. The sharp angles of his jaw, the square planes of his cheeks, betrayed nothing. Only his eyes cut through the silence—cold, piercing, twin needles of judgment—locked on Cyran.The world seemed to hold its breath. Every sound was swallowed by the stillness, and even the faintest exhalation felt intrusive.“Silently… without a sound… he resolved two such immense forces…” The thought whispered in Darian Kaelthorn’s mind, sending a shiver down his spine. “Such cultivation… such mastery… truly formidable.”Cyran bent slightly forward, fists clenched in a respectful salute. His face was a map of age and tension. Wrinkles furrowed as sweat beaded on his brow, glinting like tiny crystals in the distant light. Fear smoldered in his eyes, raw and unrestrained.The weight of Darius’ gaze pressed down on him like a mountain. Cyran felt as if he teetered on the edge of a bottomless abyss, standing

Everyone froze. The sound of Darian Wyric’s slap tore through the tense air like thunder.Jaren Shanley’s aged face bore five vivid finger marks, red and swollen across half of it. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. For a moment, it looked as though his teeth might have loosened from the sheer force. His body trembled, numb from shock—a living testament to the power behind Darian’s strike.This was no ordinary slap. Twice as forceful as the one Jaren had delivered to Little Baiya. For a long heartbeat, the old city lord could do nothing but register the burning, searing pain, the disbelief gnawing at him. A junior—a far younger, far less established junior—had dared to strike him.Rage came next. Veins bulged across his wrinkled face, eyes narrowing into glints of venomous fury. He scoured the void, searching for the audacious junior.But Darian was already safely behind Valtor Grimspire, calm, almost innocent, eyes meeting Jaren’s with icy clarity.“Am I seeing this correct

“Gah! My heavens! What happened here?”“Who… who did this? Such cruelty!”“Hmph! Didn’t the Crimson Fire City Lord say it? Darian Wyric of Dragonlight Main City!”Shock rippled through the crowd of cultivators who had survived the first stage. Faces went pale as their eyes fell on nearly twenty unconscious young talents—many their own disciples—carefully cultivated over years, now lying helpless on the ground.“Whoosh!”Two figures descended from the sky in a blur. A man and a woman. The man—broad-shouldered, towering, eyebrows black as ink—radiated the calm authority of middle age. Beside him, the woman moved with grace, her hair pinned in a lotus-style knot. Every step oozed poise. He was the Lord of Cloudveil Main City, master of medicine. She, the Lord of Pure Lotus Main City, a renowned alchemist. Experts, both, were summoned in urgent haste.The Cloudveil Lord’s gaze locked instantly on his beloved disciple, Thalric. He quickened his pace, checking Thalric, then moved methodical

The Sunspire Legacy Hall stretched across the earth like a silver giant, towering eight hundred paces high. Its brilliance cut through the haze, shimmering and shifting as if alive. Slowly, figures began to emerge—one, then another—until eleven stood together, leaning on each other, steady but exhausted.At the front was Darian Wyric, calm and unshaken. Behind him, Selira Aelara steadied Crimsonlotus and Baiya. Selene’s hand rested lightly on Seraphina Vale’s shoulder. Seraphina limped slightly, yet there was a faint curve to her lips and a spark in her eyes—the thrill of survival.Caelyra moved forward alone, hand pressed to her chest, her face unreadable, tense. Two others from Stormspire City followed her: one bright-eyed, lively, the other stoic, seemingly unshakable. Both bore expressions of quiet relief. Surviving this trial was no small thing. At the very end, a pair from Cloudveil trailed behind, pale, somber, haunted by what they had endured.They paused at the entrance of th

What does it feel like to have your fingers snapped one by one?Cyran knew that sensation now. He tasted it firsthand. Each snap sent blinding waves of pain coursing through him. Every nerve, every sinew screamed in agony. He had never known anything like it.All his life, he had been the one inflicting pain, sowing despair. Now… now it was his turn.“This one’s for Selene… next, Seraphina.”Darian Kaelthorn’s voice was calm, almost clinical, detached as he twisted and broke three of Cyran’s left-hand fingers. The agony was immediate, searing. Cyran’s heart went cold. Then—a hand pressed lightly against his left forearm.Crack!“Ahhh!”Bone shattered. The scream tore through the air. Darian had crushed Cyran’s forearm with sheer force. Observers could only shiver in grim satisfaction.Cyran was notorious—a vicious, deranged cultivator who had crippled countless disciples in the Hall of Origin Sun. A disaster waiting to happen. But now? Bound in Darian’s grip, he was nothing.His blood