The Spirit of the White Dragon unfurled its slender body, more than four hundred meters long, across the sky. It was both magnificent and sinister. Membranous bony spines ran down its back from the crown of its head to the tip of its tail, while crystal-like white scales gleamed dazzlingly beneath the sun.
Bony spikes protruded from both sides of its jaws, golden vertical pupils filled its eye sockets, and when its sharp snout opened in a roar, it revealed a mouthful of inward-curving fangs.
With every breath it took, an icy wind that seemed capable of extinguishing the flame of life in every living thing blew toward the three-headed demon dragon facing it from afar. Compared to this, the frost brought by the Wild Hunt was a pitiful imitation.
Roar—
Ladon let out an uneasy growl. Its wings spread wide, fanning up waves of heat wrapped in black smoke to resist the bitter cold.
"This aura."
Lothar sensed something familiar from the white dragon.
Perhaps Kuokochu had long envied Lothar's grand display. Imitating him, Kuokochu stood atop the dragon's head as well, his robes snapping in the frigid wind. Yet he seemed utterly unaffected, carrying himself like an enlightened master detached from the world.
"You are fortunate. When I once sat and debated the Dao with True Lord Chongyang, I never displayed its might."
"After you die, I will take the three heads of the demon dragon beneath you and forge them into a new dragon-bone artifact."
The shamanic sect believed that the head was the spirit of all things. Kuokochu dearly wished to know whether this three-headed demon dragon possessed three independent souls, or one peculiar soul fused together from three parts.
But Lothar ignored his threats. He remembered where he had seen the white dragon's aura before: