In this dreamscape, the story unfolded exactly like his own childhood. The old black dragon fell into day-after-day cultivation, almost completely identical to what he remembered: cultivating every morning, playing with his little companions in the afternoon. Those companions had long become blurry in his memories, yet in this world they were crystal clear—so clear that every single dragon scale felt real.
It was too real.
The old black dragon possessed more than eight hundred years of memories and was absolutely certain this was not the real world. Yet this dreamscape was simply too realistic, realistic beyond anything he could imagine. If he were trapped here for hundreds or even a thousand years, he might come to doubt that this place was real and the outside world false.
At that thought, terror filled the old black dragon's heart.
He did not want to die. He truly did not want to die. But being trapped here—what difference was there from death?
Another month quickly passed. The old black dragon tried countless methods, yet he could never get out. He tried to flee, only to be dragged back by the elders. He tried to use his own power, but could not sense even a trace of it. He tried to use his bloodline, but here, his bloodline had not yet grown to its current level. Slowly, despair began to consume him, and day after day, he continued onward according to his memories.
This was Black Dragon Valley, the black dragons' main stronghold, a secret place that should never have been known to outsiders. The forbidden lands around it, the black dragons' secrets—none of them should have been imaginable. But now, he had no time to care whether this place remained secret. The world around him was becoming clearer and clearer, more and