The morning mist in Mist Canyon had churned for five full months.
Throughout those five months, dragon roars and the whistle of a sword had never ceased in the canyon's depths, becoming this forbidden land's own morning bells and evening drums. Each morning, when the first ray of sunlight pierced the murky mist and scattered like gold dust over the blue heart grass on the cliffs, illuminating the dew rolling over its leaves, Hillman would appear punctually outside the Spined Iron-Armored Dragon's lair. He never concealed his presence. He circulated battle qi throughout his body, making an earthen-yellow halo blaze like a torch in the mist. Wherever its light reached, the mist dispersed, revealing a clear space. A piercing cry rang from his mouth, setting the surrounding mist churning without end. The sound pierced layer after layer of fog and reached deep into the lair. "Old friend, in today's fight, I'll break through your scales!"
Not long after his cry faded, a deafening dragon roar, though less vicious than before, would come from the depths of the lair. It was no longer the savage bellow of their first encounter; instead, its powerful resonance carried a hint of anticipation. An enormous dark-gold figure broke through the mist, its four limbs striking the ground with dull booms, before landing a hundred meters in front of Hillman amid a rush of wind. The Spined Iron-Armored Dragon's scales gleamed coldly in the faint light. The spines along its back had withdrawn much of their sharpness, and its blood-red eyes studied Hillman with less murderous intent and more appraisal.
In their early sparring matches, Hillman still lost more often than he won. Often, within three to five exchanges, the Iron-Armored Dragon's long tail would sweep him away, or its sharp claws would force him into desperate evasions. Yet each time he fell, he refused to concede immediately. Enduring the searing pain, he staggered to his feet with new insights. His armor tore, his flesh split, and wounds deep enough to expose bone seeped blood, staining his clothes and the ground beneath him red. But those wounds all became medals marking his growing strength. He began to grasp the force and trajectory of every sweep of the Iron-Armored Dragon's tail, knowing that what appeared to be a simple sweep concealed a follow-up change of attack. He could predict the angle of each sudden claw strike, catching the threat in changes in the sound of the wind. He could even discern the great dragon's mood from the pitch of its roars-whether the ringing cry of high fighting spirit or a low rumble carrying a hint of teasing instruction.
The Spined Iron-Armored Dragon was quietly changing as well. It no longer attacked with overwhelming strength. Instead, it deliberately restrained its dragon's might and suppressed its power to match Hillman's half-step Saint-level peak, relying only on technique to contend with him. Sometimes, it deliberately exposed the vulnerable area of its belly, where its scales were relatively soft, luring Hillman into attacking. The instant his longsword thrust forward wreathed in battle qi, it would abruptly twist, its long tail sweeping toward his legs like a steel whip and forcing him to dodge clumsily. Then it would give a low roar, as though mocking him. Sometimes, it precisely dispersed a battle qi slash into which Hillman had poured all his strength with the spines on its back. Yet when he staggered unsteadily, it would gently bump his shoulder with its enormous head, controlling its force just enough to avoid hurting him while reminding him that he was "still not strong enough." Sometimes, when Hillman collapsed from exhaustion, his battle qi depleted and without even the strength to raise a hand, it would not press its advantage. It merely stood where it was, watching him quietly with its blood-red eyes, and only attacked again once he had climbed back up and recovered his readiness.
The sparring between man and dragon gradually shed its initial murderous intent, gaining instead a tacit understanding between rivals and friends. The interweaving whistle of the sword and roar of the dragon was no longer a prelude to mortal combat, but had become the most beautiful music in the canyon's depths.
Hillman's progress was astonishing. Five months of tempering had made his tactics increasingly polished. He no longer relied on relentless, forceful attacks, but had learned to turn an opponent's strength against them and avoid their strong points to strike their weaknesses. His battle qi grew increasingly condensed. His earth element battle qi, once somewhat impure, had become as pure as refined iron and flowed ever more smoothly. His body, too, had been tempered like fine steel through repeated battles; ordinary impacts and glancing claw strikes could no longer easily breach his defenses. At first, he could not withstand even a single swipe from the Iron-Armored Dragon and could only flee in disarray. Later, however, he could face this great dragon at the half-step Saint-level peak head-on for a hundred exchanges without falling behind. His mastery of the Mountain-Shaking Art grew ever more consummate. With a single sword strike, his earth element battle qi condensed into something almost tangible, no longer a diffuse halo but a sharp blade of light capable of leaving clear sword marks on the Iron-Armored Dragon's dark-gold scales. With his Earth Roar, he could precisely control the range and duration of the stunning effect. It no longer intimidated indiscriminately; instead, he could target the Iron-Armored Dragon and create an excellent opening to attack. His Earth Cage, which had initially failed to restrain the Iron-Armored Dragon at all, its earth spikes shattered the instant they rose, could now briefly restrict its movements. Even three short breaths were enough for Hillman to find an opening for a counterattack. More importantly, as his strength continued to grow, the half-step Saint-level bottleneck within him had begun to show faint signs of loosening. The battle qi in his dantian grew ever more abundant. All he lacked was an opportunity to break through that restraint and enter the Saint-level realm he had dreamed of.
The Spined Iron-Armored Dragon, too, seemed to have found an opportunity for a breakthrough through their repeated sparring. Its dark-gold scales were more brilliant than they had been five months earlier. When sunlight fell on them, they actually refracted a faint golden glow, and their defensive power had grown even stronger. The energy fluctuations in the spines along its back had also become increasingly condensed. Its dual powers of darkness and earth were no longer acting separately, but showed faint signs of merging. Each movement made the air ripple with a slight distortion.
That day, the sunset was particularly magnificent. Golden-red light blanketed the entire canyon, dyeing the churning mist a warm orange-red. In the lingering sunlight, the blue glow on the leaves of the blue heart grass along the cliffs grew even more lustrous, as though they were studded with countless tiny sapphires.
Hillman and the Iron-Armored Dragon had just finished sparring. Man and dragon lay side by side on an open stretch of grass, panting heavily. Hillman's clothes were covered in dust and blood, and several fresh wounds were still seeping blood, yet his face bore a hearty smile. A few shallow sword marks had also appeared on the Iron-Armored Dragon's scales, marks Hillman had left with every ounce of his strength. It extended its tongue and licked the wound on its claw, appearing utterly unconcerned. Hillman took the last piece of dried Level Eight Demon Wolf meat from his storage space. He had specially hunted a demon wolf and cured its meat; firm and rich in energy, it was the Iron-Armored Dragon's favorite food. Throughout those five months, they had shared this food after every sparring match. One man and one dragon, one sitting and one lying down, had become a sight unique to the canyon's depths. He held the meat to the Iron-Armored Dragon's mouth and said with a smile, "Old friend, this is the last piece. Once you've eaten it, I'll be leaving."
The Iron-Armored Dragon lowered its enormous head and carefully took the meat in its mouth, afraid of hurting Hillman's hand. It chewed with loud crunches, its sharp fangs easily tearing apart the tough dried meat. Its blood-red eyes held less of their usual ferocity and more languor and contentment. After finishing the meat, it turned its enormous head toward Hillman and brought it close to him. A low dragon rumble rose from its throat, soft enough to seem like a question, or perhaps an attempt to make him stay.
"My goal is to break through to Saint-level, and I want even more to see the world deep within the Magical Beast Forest." Hillman reached out and gently stroked the Iron-Armored Dragon's cold scales. His fingertips felt their hardness, along with faint fluctuations of energy, and a trace of reluctance entered his voice. "When I truly reach Saint-level, I'll definitely come back and fight you again. When that day comes, I'll beat you fair and square."
The Iron-Armored Dragon seemed to understand him. Its enormous head gently rubbed against his cheek, its rough scales brushing his skin with a slight tickle. The spines along its back had now completely withdrawn their sharpness and become soft, for fear of scratching this human. It raised its head and released a long, powerful roar that echoed above the canyon. There was no anger or murderous intent in it, only a faint sense of farewell. The roar shook the mist and traveled throughout the canyon. Even the Winged Bird Dragons roosting on the cliffs folded their wings, not daring to cry out. The Green-Striped Giant Pythons lurking in the grass also lay still, not even daring to flick their tongues lightly.
Hillman stood and took one last look at the Iron-Armored Dragon. Those blood-red eyes seemed to hold a trace of reluctance. He looked again at the blue heart grass on the cliffs. Those few plants were flourishing more than ever, their leaves full and their blue light glowing lustrously. He did not pick them. That blue heart grass belonged to this canyon and to the memories he shared with the Iron-Armored Dragon. He could not bear to destroy it.
He tightened his grip on the Fine Iron Longsword in his hand. Its blade reflected the lingering sunset, flashing with a cold gleam. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked toward the canyon's exit. His steps were steady, yet held an almost imperceptible stagger, the fatigue left by their recent sparring.
He did not look back, yet he could clearly feel the burning gaze behind him following his retreating figure without ever turning away. That gaze held reluctance, anticipation, and the concern of a friend.
The moment he stepped out of Mist Canyon, Hillman finally could not help turning back to look at the churning mist and the enormous dark-gold figure deep within the canyon. It still stood there, its blood-red eyes fixed on the direction in which he had left. A warm smile curved Hillman's lips, and he waved toward the canyon.
Five months of tempering had not only sent his strength soaring, bringing the half-step Saint-level bottleneck within immediate reach, but had also given him a special friend in this perilous forbidden land. A friend of another race, yet one with whom, through repeated sparring, he had developed the mutual respect of heroes.
He restrained his aura, suppressed the reluctance in his heart, and shot like an arrow loosed from a bow toward the depths of the Magical Beast Forest. There, stronger magical beasts, denser natural energy, a wider world, and countless opportunities and challenges awaited him to explore and conquer.
Back in Mist Canyon, the Spined Iron-Armored Dragon remained where it stood, gazing in the direction Hillman had left, unmoving for a long time. The sun gradually sank, and the mist churned once more, shrouding its figure. Deep within the canyon, a long dragon roar echoed, carrying a faint longing as it drifted into the distance.
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