Whitestone City. A tavern.

This city was, after all, the place where the Third Young Master of the Yue Clan had first made his name. The Warriors’ Guild had seen to that — a handsome reward had funded a full renovation of the tavern, and the space next door had been cleared and rebuilt as a warriors’ plaza. At the plaza’s center stood a bronze statue: a young man releasing a soaring eagle into the sky, an unmistakable tribute to the spot where the Sky Stairway’s foremost warrior had first taken flight.

The pilgrims came in a steady stream. Mercenaries and starry-eyed young hopefuls from across the Longteng continent, yes — but also dwarves, minotaurs, pig-folk, golden elves, and a dozen other allied races of the Sky Stairway, arriving in groups led by Sky Stairway warriors, all of them wanting to see with their own eyes the ground where the legend had begun.

The soil of Whitestone City had become, it was said, one of the most coveted souvenirs among all the races of the Sky Stairway. A gift of Whitestone earth carried the blessing: may your descendants rise as he rose. If Jun Wuyou hadn’t issued a strict prohibition on unauthorized digging, there was a real possibility that the very house where Yueyang and Fourth Mother had once lived would have been quietly dismantled and carried off in small bags.

“Is it true? A broken-down nobody like me — I can actually sign up for the Third Young Master’s wedding ceremony? What? What did you say? A Dragon Rider Legion — pass the evaluation and you get a Gold-rank flying dragon? You can join the Third Young Master’s escort legion to bring home the brides?”

A one-eyed mercenary had just walked in from a completed job with his companions, and the words hit him before he’d even found a seat. His hands shook so badly that the drink in his cup sloshed across the entire table and he didn’t notice.

“It sounds like a dream,” someone else said. The people around him weren’t sure they’d heard right either.

“When has Golden Fang ever told a lie? What would I get out of fooling you?” The speaker was an old mercenary with two gold-capped front teeth, currently occupying his chair with the bearing of a man who had, for once in his life, arrived somewhere before everyone else. The tavern owner was personally pouring his drinks. He had earned that. He was the one who’d brought the news. “Besides — do you know who we’re talking about? When the Third Young Master gives his word, it lands harder than an imperial decree. You can doubt anyone else on this earth, but you will not doubt the Third Young Master. That kind of filthy suspicion just shows you haven’t begun to grasp his greatness and generosity. Lucky for you, you’re saying this here — open your mouth like that in the capital, and you’d have a crowd beating you in the street before you finished the sentence.”

“I’m not doubting the Third Young Master, I would never, I just — I couldn’t process it—” The one-eyed mercenary fell over himself to correct the record. The charge of doubting the Third Young Master was not one he was prepared to carry.

“Thought so.” Golden Fang laughed broadly. “Because otherwise, even at my age, I’d have knocked you flat.”

“Right, right, absolutely.” The one-eyed mercenary could have killed Golden Fang with a single slap. Everyone in the room knew this. Nobody said anything.

The news had Golden Fang in a state of near-divine authority, and he had every intention of enjoying it. He picked up his chopsticks, unhurried, selected a peanut with great deliberateness, and chewed it with theatrical satisfaction while the room full of people who desperately wanted to know more were left staring at him.

He let them wait until their patience had stretched to its absolute limit.

Then he slammed his chopsticks down, hit the table with one palm, and launched into it with the gusto of a man who had been rehearsing this moment since dawn: “You think the name Golden Fang is just decorative? My information is the freshest and the most accurate. By the time it reaches Whitestone City it’s already running behind — in the capital they’ve known for days. Think about it — could the Third Young Master’s betrothal gifts possibly be some ordinary affair? This is the Third Young Master we’re talking about. When he does something, he does it on a scale that makes your head spin. What I know is just a fraction of the whole picture, and even that fraction was enough to knock me sideways.”

“What about the betrothal gifts? Tell us, please, we’re begging you—” The one-eyed mercenary refilled Golden Fang’s cup with both hands.

“The secret parts I’m not permitted to say — those are matters of state, not for the likes of us. Even people with real power, even his close family and friends, only know pieces of it. The most closely guarded details are between the Third Young Master and the two Imperial Majesties personally.” Golden Fang drained the cup with a satisfied smack. “I’d never have breathed a word of this if I hadn’t been sent on a task to spread the news. And do you know who gave me that task?”

“…The Third Young Master?” The room collectively held its breath.

“Dreaming!” Golden Fang cackled. “The Third Young Master is a busy man — he’s in the middle of a wedding, he doesn’t have time to run around commissioning the likes of me. And it wouldn’t be fitting for someone of his standing, would it? Don’t be absurd.” A chorus of embarrassed laughter rippled through the room. Of course. The Third Young Master didn’t even know Golden Fang existed. “The person who commissioned me was the Third Young Master’s own mentor — and you’ll know the name: Lord Xiahou Weijie. The most famous Eagle-Eye on the Longteng continent.” He paused for effect. “Yesterday, Lord Xiahou gathered every mercenary registered with the capital’s guild — myself included — fed us all dinner, and then stood up and issued a commission on the spot: spread the wedding news. I told this story in four different cities before I got here. The reaction? Every single room, absolute pandemonium. People wouldn’t let me leave. The only reason I made it out of Crimson Leaf City was the mission deadline.” He spread both hands wide. “All right, you poor souls — your moment has come. The most generous, the most magnificent, the greatest Third Young Master in the known world has brought you light at the end of the tunnel. And if any of you earn a place in the Dragon Rider Legion or the Dragon Blood Guard, you remember where it came from. You remember who gave you that chance, and you don’t forget to be grateful.”

“Tell us everything. Please. Details.” The one-eyed mercenary and several others lunged for the table, clearing the clutter, and shouted to the owner to bring out a rack of the house specialty — charcoal-roasted demon bull knee — reserved for Golden Fang alone.

“What about people like us, though?” A bearded mercenary toward the back let out a heavy sigh. “No potential, thirty-something years old, failed our last job, flat broke — we probably can’t even afford the registration fee.”

He wasn’t alone in thinking it. Half the room had the same thought and hadn’t said it yet. Mercenaries lived hard and spent harder — money in, money out, the gaming tables and the taverns took the rest. There was no such thing as savings. The difficulty of the Dragon Rider evaluation aside, most of them were genuinely more worried about scraping together a fee to register.

“Pfah.” Golden Fang spun on the bearded man with sudden ferocity, pointing at his nose. “How dare you use that kind of gutter thinking to second-guess the Third Young Master’s generosity? Who said anything about a registration fee? You think the Third Young Master would charge money to people like you — people worse off than beggars? He could say one word and people would pave the roads with gold coins for him to walk on. A registration fee? There is no fee. Not a single coin. Completely free.”

“…Completely free?” The room went blank. This had never happened before. Not once in living memory.

The understanding settled in slowly. If there was no fee, then the costs were being covered by the Third Young Master himself. For the Dragon Rider Legion, he was not only providing training and flying dragons — he was paying every expense out of his own pocket. The realization sent a wave of heat across more than a few faces. Measuring the Third Young Master by ordinary standards — imagining him as some coin-grubbing bloodsucker — that was the real insult, and they’d committed it. Golden Fang’s anger was entirely justified.

“I — I take it back. I didn’t know it was free. I wasn’t being disrespectful to the Third Young Master, I was just — I wasn’t thinking—” The bearded mercenary slapped himself across the face. The others rushed to echo the sentiment, affirming that they knew the Third Young Master was the most generous man alive and they had only phrased themselves badly.

“What about people with no potential? Older ones who can’t pass an evaluation like that — is there anything for us?”

“Listen carefully.” Golden Fang settled back with the authority of a man delivering a verdict. “Lord Xiahou made this very clear: it doesn’t matter what your current strength is. Innate realm means nothing to the Third Young Master — it’s not even on his scale. But that doesn’t mean he looks down on any of you. He is the greatest man in the world, full stop, no comparison. Weak doesn’t mean hopeless. The Third Young Master has methods — ways of measuring a person’s true potential that nobody else has. Now, be honest with yourselves — if you’re older and your potential has already run dry, that’s not a failure, that’s just life, and there’s no shame in it. Not everyone can keep up with youth.” He let that land, then: “For those of you who can’t make it into the Dragon Rider Legion — there is still one more door open. The Dragon Blood Guard.”

“The Dragon Blood Guard?” Eyes lit up across the room.

“The Dragon Blood Guard,” Golden Fang said, “is simultaneously the easiest thing to join and the hardest.”

“How can it be both?” Confused looks bounced around the tavern.

“Easy, because theoretically anyone can get in. The door is permanently open. Recruitment never closes. There is always hope.” He raised his left hand for emphasis, then his right. “Hard, because it is genuinely hard. Lord Xiahou told us: the Third Young Master wants to give every warrior on the Longteng continent a chance. Every single one — including you and me sitting here right now. If anyone among us can pass the will trial — regardless of strength — there is a path into the Dragon Blood Guard. No talent requirements, no genius threshold, nothing like the Dragon Rider evaluation. Only one thing is asked of the Dragon Blood Guard. Perseverance. The Third Young Master’s own words, as Lord Xiahou relayed them: even the most thoroughly mediocre person — someone with absolutely no exceptional gifts whatsoever — if they are willing to do one thing, consistently, for ten years without stopping; if their will is unbreakable; then they may join the Dragon Blood Guard. Because even a mediocre person with will that can be recognized — the Third Young Master can give that person a Dragon Blood Pill and make them a powerful warrior, starting from nothing.”

The tavern went completely silent.

Everyone in the room stopped breathing at once.

The only sounds were the suppressed inhales of mercenaries trying to hold themselves together, and the occasional thick swallow.

Nobody spoke for a long time.

Golden Fang finished the entire rack of demon bull knee before anyone found their voice.

Even then, it took a few more moments.

When he finally stood to leave, he delivered one last piece of news that hit the room like a thunderclap: “The Dragon Rider Legion — the Third Young Master has reserved three thousand slots. Three thousand. But when you count up all the elite young talent from every great family in Longteng combined, you don’t reach three hundred. Which means: every one of you has a real chance. Your children have a real chance. Bring a three-year-old child in to be tested — why not? That child might be a Dragon Rider one day. Gentlemen — I’ve brought you this news, and I ask nothing in return. Remember one thing only: the Third Young Master is the greatest man alive. Carry that gratitude with you, and don’t forget where it came from.”

Golden Fang walked out of the tavern and on to the next city. The mercenaries sat where they were for a long time afterward.

Was this real? Was this a dream?

The news struck the Longteng continent like a hammer blow.

The Third Young Master of the Yue Clan had formally presented betrothal gifts to the four great clans: the Xue Clan, the Great Xia Imperial House, and the Tianra Imperial House had all accepted. The eldest daughter of the Xue Clan, Princess Qianqian of Great Xia, and Lady Luohua of the Tianra Imperial House would be given in marriage to the Third Young Master together — Xue Wuxia as principal wife, Qianqian and Luohua as equal wives.

That alone was enough to shake the world. But it was the promise he’d spoken aloud at the betrothal ceremony that set the entire continent alight.

His exact words had been these:

In honor of my respect for the Xue Clan, the Great Xia Imperial House, and the Tianra Imperial House, I will personally assemble a Dragon Rider Legion, and lead it forth to escort my brides home.

The Dragon Rider Legion, he announced, would recruit from the whole of the Longteng continent. From the allied races of the Sky Stairway. From anyone who could pass the tests of potential and will — regardless of their current power, regardless of background, regardless of age. Any warrior of Longteng who qualified would be welcome in the Legion’s reserve roster, and upon joining: elite training, and a flying dragon of no less than Innate Level Five, Gold rank, awaiting their bond.

An ordinary commoner, becoming a Dragon Rider. The distance between those two things, and it could be crossed in a single step.

If that wasn’t enough — there was more.

For those whose potential fell short of the Dragon Rider standard, the most generous, most magnanimous, most magnificent Third Young Master — the one the whole world would be talking about for generations — had made another promise. One that left no one unmoved.

Pass the will trial. That was all. No matter how lacking the potential, no matter how meager the strength — if the will was sufficient, a place waited in the Dragon Blood Guard. And with it: the Dragon Blood Pill, and the chance to become a true warrior from nothing.

This was the pledge the Third Young Master had given at his betrothal. The decision the whole world agreed could change the fate of the Longteng continent forever.

As the people of Longteng wept with gratitude and sang his praises, not one of them would ever know the truth: how shamelessly he had swindled a certain two-headed black dragon out of a dragon whistle, dragon blood, dragon teeth, dragon claws, dragon horns, dragon scales, dragon flame, moonstones, and star crystals while the poor old dragon congratulated itself on a magnificent deal. Even if someone had tried to tell them, nobody would have believed it.

Because in the eyes of every ordinary warrior on the continent, the Third Young Master of the Yue Clan was the very definition of generosity and greatness.

A sacred and untouchable existence.