The Continent's Foremost Kingdom

"Godfather, are you all right?"

Roland's worried, urgent voice rang out across the military camp's parade ground, with none of his usual disdain left in it.

When Zarick saw Roland hurrying over with concern written across his face, he finally let out a deep breath. Even his pale complexion looked much better.

Ever since his defeat, the pressure he had endured these past few days had been immense.

With fewer than three hundred Dragons remaining, they had practically lost their status as one of Saint Nor Continent's top races. They might not even have been comparable to the former Beastkin Empire.

Moreover, having lost the Mysterious Sea, their only place to live and thrive, they had been reduced to the miserable state of having nowhere to call home.

Without exaggeration, given the current situation, if no top-tier power was willing to offer them shelter, the Dragons had only two paths left: surrender to the Twilight Church or face extinction.

Clearly, Zarick neither wished to submit to the Twilight Church nor wanted his race to perish. Thus, he could only choose one among Saint Nor Continent's many powers to join, buying them a little time to catch their breath.

However, after he expressed this intention to the various powers, neither the Elf Empire nor the Dwarf Kingdom, nor the three great human empires—the Arcane Empire, Holy Alliance, and Black Norse Cyrus United—were willing to accept them.

They were not fools. Everyone understood that whoever accepted the Dragons led by Zarick would inevitably become a target of the Kalimdor Continent Dragons.

They were only willing to join forces and provide the Dragons with another place to settle on the continent, allowing them to recover on their own.

Zarick could undoubtedly accept that condition, but what he could not accept was the condition