Blood of the War Dragon

Chapter 8: Don’t Believe It? Try and See

“Master, use the soul-search technique I taught you. Pull his soul in.”

Eldric’s voice echoed in Kael Draven’s head. He didn’t hesitate. Dropping to his knees beside the Black Ghost’s corpse, he pressed his palm to the man’s crown. A ripple of energy rushed through his fingers as the soul-search began.

According to Eldric, once the soul was drawn out, he could refine it into pure essence, strip it bare, and let Kael Draven absorb it without resistance.

It was his only option.

The Desolate Sacred Body was both a miracle and a curse. Sure, it let him cultivate faster than almost anyone alive—but the amount of energy it demanded was monstrous. Without Eldric’s help, he’d be lucky to break through a single rank in the next decade.

The Desolate Sacred Body. Called the strongest cultivation physique. Called the greatest crippled physique. Both true. Both lies. A blessing wrapped in chains.

The soul search ended.

“Master,” Eldric whispered again, “leave the rest to me. I’ll refine it and turn it into power. Your body will take care of the rest.”

Kael Draven didn’t answer. His focus had shifted. Something bulged beneath the Black Ghost’s robes.

Why had Stormhold City wanted this man so badly? They never explained the reason behind the bounty. There had to be more.

He searched the corpse carefully. Gold cards—several of them, high value. Nothing else. Until his fingers brushed against something small and cold. He pulled it free: a bead, black as night, pulsing with raw power. The size of an eyeball.

A beast core.

Only spirit beasts of the seventh rank or higher could condense such a treasure. Warriors who absorbed them grew stronger—it was no exaggeration to say they were worth more than gold. Could this be why Stormhold City hunted him so fiercely?

Definitely not for a few gold cards.

Before he could dwell on it—

“Strange. I swear I saw the Black Ghost heading this way. Where did he go?”

“Young master, look—over there!”

The sound of boots thundered down the path. Voices shouted, closer with every heartbeat. Kael Draven didn’t flinch. He slipped the core into his robes and straightened, calm as a stone in a river. Not a trace of guilt crossed his face.

Moments later, six figures burst into view. At the front strode a youth with a sharp, rat-like face, bulging eyes glinting. He stopped dead when he saw the body, his expression twisting in surprise.

“Kael Draven… did you kill the Black Ghost?”

Malrik Veyne. Prodigy of the Veyne family. Seventh Layer of Inner Strength, sly as a viper, cruel as a starving dog. And Kael Draven’s enemy for life. Ten years ago, Kael Draven had beaten him bloody—and Malrik Veyne had never forgiven it.

“No,” Kael Draven said flatly.

“No? Then explain—how did he die?”

Kael Draven’s lips curled. “Why should I tell you? The Black Ghost’s death has nothing to do with you.”

“Hah!” Malrik Veyne’s laughter was sharp, ugly. His eyes blazed with contempt. “Still sharp-tongued. Still arrogant. Still a useless waste.”

He sneered. “Tell me, Kael Draven… do you remember ten years ago?”

“And if I do?”

“Good. Then you know what’s coming. Today, I’ll erase that humiliation. But I’ll give you a chance. Kneel. Kowtow three times. Do that, and maybe I’ll let you crawl away. Refuse, and I’ll make you beg for death.”

“Kowtow my ass.” Kael Draven’s fists clenched tight. Rage simmered hot in his chest. For ten years, this bastard had tormented him. If not for Kael Draven’s vigilance, who knew what traps Malrik Veyne might have sprung?

You want revenge? Then let’s see who’s kneeling after today. I’ve already broken through to the Seventh Layer—I don’t fear you anymore.

“Malrik Veyne!”

The voice cracked the air like thunder.

Both men turned. A massive figure strode up beside Kael Draven. Nearly six feet tall, heavyset, her face half-hidden behind a wild mane of hair that made her look more lion than woman.

“Aria Stormveil…” Malrik Veyne’s fury sharpened. “This is between me and Kael Draven. Who gave you the right to interfere?”

Aria Stormveil. Granddaughter of the Stormveil family’s patriarch. The pride of Emberfall Town. At twenty years old, she’d already reached the Ninth Layer’s peak—one step from the Tenth. Fierce. Just. Uncompromising. Her beauty was harsh, almost untamed, but speak her name in town and you’d hear nothing but praise.

“No right?” She scoffed, her eyes gleaming with disdain. Her words cracked like steel. “Malrik Veyne, you pathetic little worm. Listen closely. Kael Draven is my fiancé. If you so much as touch him, I’ll make sure you’re impotent for the rest of your pitiful life. Don’t believe me? Try me.”

“You—!” Malrik Veyne’s face twisted red with fury. He nearly choked on his own rage, but he swallowed it down. Everyone knew her reputation. If she said she’d do it, she would. And if she did… what could he do?

Grinding his teeth, he spat venom. “Fine. Kael Draven, I once thought you were a man. Now I see you’re nothing but a coward hiding behind a woman. Go on hiding forever, because the day you stand alone—I’ll make you regret being born a man.”

His glare lingered, sharp as a blade, then he turned to leave.

But before he could, shadows closed in from every side. In moments, the four great families of Emberfall Town had arrived—the Veynes, the Stormveils, the Dravens, and the Duskbanes.

All eyes dropped to the corpse. Confusion rippled like wind through the gathered crowd.

Lord Veyne, patriarch of the Veynes, stepped forward. His sharp gaze pinned his grandson. “Malrik Veyne. Who killed the Black Ghost?”

“Grandfather, I don’t know. When I arrived, he was already dead. But Kael Draven was the only one here.”

Every head turned.

Kael Draven?

The idea seemed absurd. The Draven family’s disgraced heir—the so-called waste—killed the Black Ghost? Impossible.

“Kael” Ardyn Draven’s voice rumbled, heavy as storm clouds. “Tell us what happened.”

“Grandfather,” Kael Draven said evenly, “I was guarding my post, just as ordered. I must have dozed off. When I woke, I saw this man stumbling down the path. Before I could react, he collapsed. Dead, alive—I couldn’t tell.”

Silence. The crowd exchanged baffled looks. Was his luck really that outrageous?

Skepticism lingered. Several from the other families knelt to inspect the corpse.

Lord Veyne’s voice sliced the air, cold as winter steel. “Kael Draven, answer me this: where are the gold cards… and the beast core the Black Ghost carried?”