Lord of Caldera

Chapter 172

"Ha, you misunderstand," the Marquis Serge said, stroking his beard with a sly smile. "The qualifications for participating in the Platinum Council are Northern bloodline and holding land. Although he is from Corleone, his maternal lineage is Northern, so he has every right to be here."

"Corleone!"

"The Red Dragon of the East!"

The nobles gaped at Sylas, astonished. The legend of the dragonslayer who had fought alongside the Empire's founder was famous even in the North—perhaps more so there, where warriors and martial prowess were revered. To the people of the North, a dragonslayer was the pinnacle of all warriors.

"As the Marquis says, my maternal grandfather and mother are of Northern blood, and I reclaimed their homeland. So, I naturally hold the right to be here," Sylas stated calmly.

"Preposterous! What kind of...!" Ragnar began, only to be cut off by Sylas.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked. "So much so that you would deny my birthright just to bar me from participating?"

Ragnar clenched his mouth shut. The accusation of cowardice was petty, but in the North, where valor was paramount, it was a powerful taunt.

"Hmph! Very well. I acknowledge your bloodline."

"Thank you."

"But claiming the throne is a different matter. You, with your little barony, dare to challenge for the title of king? Do you believe you're worthy?" Ragnar scoffed.

"That's a flimsy argument," said Bjorn, answering before Sylas could. Ragnar frowned, surprised by the response.

"A flimsy argument?"

"Indeed. Since when did rank matter in choosing a king in the North? Wasn't it always about selecting the greatest warrior?"

Before becoming part of the Empire, Northern kings had always been the mightiest warriors, regardless of lineage or nobility. Tradition held that any recognized warrior in the Platinum Council could contest for the throne.

"Any warrior acknowledged by the Platinum Council has the right to vie for the throne! Remember our traditions, Great Chief!"

"Mm." Ragnar let out a deep growl at the mention of tradition. This entire ordeal had been crafted to utilize Northern customs in his own bid for the throne. Yet, if his opponents invoked tradition, he was compelled to honor it.

"...Very well. But to qualify as a candidate, he needs the support of at least seven members. Does anyone support his participation?" Ragnar asked.

"Of course, I will support him," said the Marquis.

Ragnar narrowed his eyes slightly, realizing the two had likely coordinated in advance.

'So, you'll agree, and then the others will just fall in line,' Ragnar thought, predicting the next steps. Yet, to his surprise, the Marquis rested his chin thoughtfully.

"Hmm, this is a difficult decision."

"...?"

"He may qualify for the Platinum Council, but his right to vie for the throne is a separate matter. It's truly a difficult choice," the Marquis said, making Bjorn's eyes widen in shock.

Sylas's brows furrowed. According to the plan, the Marquis was supposed to support him smoothly, but now he was stalling.

'So that's his play?' Sylas thought, realizing the Marquis's motive. Most of the nobles here were the Marquis's supporters, so if he hesitated, they would hesitate too. It was clear the Marquis was sending a message.

'He wants to assert his authority. Without my help, you won't achieve your goals—so bow to me.'

And that was precisely what the Marquis intended, casting a glance at Sylas and Bjorn as he feigned indecision.

'Youngster, no matter what tricks you pull, without my approval, you can do nothing. Do you understand your position?'

The Marquis wasn't a fool. Though Sylas's proposal seemed to open new possibilities, he knew it was designed to ultimately benefit Sylas's goals. But he wasn't going to make it easy.

"The method is obvious," Ragnar replied confidently.

"Through trials."

"Trials?"

"From ancient times, candidates have faced three trials to prove themselves as king. So, we must do the same," Ragnar said, a smile forming on his lips, while the Marquis's face hardened. The trials, now that he thought about them, were absurdly difficult.

"Are you really serious about this?" the Marquis asked.

"Of course," Ragnar replied, dismissing the Marquis's question with a sweeping gaze.

"The first trial is simple. Bring back the heart of a dragon."

"...!?"

A stunned silence fell over the council as the nobles processed his words. Did he say... a dragon's heart?

"Are you talking about a dragon heart?" one noble stammered.

"Indeed."

"Ridiculous! A dragon's heart isn't some child's plaything!" The noble who spoke seemed indignant, as if he felt mocked. Whatever ancient tradition might say, this was impossible.

"Besides, where would one even find a living dragon in this age? They've long been extinct!"

A dragon's heart—or, more specifically, the heart of an ancient dragon—was a legendary treasure, prized not only for its power but for the profound magic it contained. However, dragons of that caliber had vanished from the world. Only lesser, beast-like dragons remained. Yet, here Ragnar was, demanding a dragon's heart in the name of tradition.

"Are you mocking us?"

"No, I am serious."

"Great Chief, listen!" one noble interjected, exasperated. "Ancient dragons no longer exist!"

The traditional trial might have required hunting an ancient dragon, but in a world where they were extinct, the trial had to be approached differently.

"However, a dragon's heart still exists in this age," Ragnar said.

"What!?"

"That's impossible!"

A dragon's heart was a legendary relic, one of the rarest of treasures, possessing a mystique that surpassed even the most powerful elixirs.

"And where would this heart be?" another noble pressed, his voice tense.

"In the Warrior's Tomb."

The air grew thick with apprehension. The Warrior's Tomb was a place that had been designated forbidden territory since the Empire's founding and the spread of the Goddess's faith.

"There, lies the heart of a dragon."

As the council absorbed the weight of Ragnar's words, Sylas's mouth quirked into a barely concealed smile, struggling to keep his expression neutral. Access to the Warrior's Tomb was the true reason he had joined this trial.

'Because the dragon's heart really is there.'

The dragon's heart—a dreamlike relic that, for the average person, would grant eternal vitality, perfect physical form, and immortality. But for those of Corleone lineage, it offered something even more profound.

'It allows us to awaken the dragon's blood.'

The dragon's heart was the key to reviving the dormant ancient lineage within Sylas, and he had just gained the perfect excuse to claim it.