Rowan vanished.
Ignia snatched the falling mirror out of the air, his fingers closing around the glass with a sharp crack. He scanned its surface, then clicked his tongue. The magical traces were gone. Clean. Almost elegant.
"So you know spatial magic too," he muttered, lips curling. "I'll remember you, little cat."
It was his own fault. He had underestimated Rowan, written him off as a nuisance with sharp tricks. That carelessness had earned him a light wound. In his true form, even magic of that caliber wouldn't have scratched him. But lately, he'd sensed something else stirring. The Black Dragon's presence. Somewhere on the northern continent.
That alone was enough to keep him restrained.
The world liked to whisper that the Five Dragon Gods rivaled the Black Dragon. Ignia knew better. At best, they could survive an encounter. Victory was a fantasy. Killing that thing was out of the question. Not now.
He exhaled slowly. "Sealing the Five can wait."
Far away, Rowan emerged from a mirror in a border city, landing hard on cobblestone. He dropped the illusion instantly, then blinked again. And again. Only when he'd scrambled his trail beyond recognition did he finally stop and breathe.
That last spell had cost him dearly. He'd burned a third of his vitality to force it through, and all it had done was wound Ignia's human form. The gap between them was obvious now. Brutal. Undeniable.
Against opponents near his own weight, that spell barely drained him. Ignia was different. Far above him. Rowan had known it going in, and he'd paid the price to confirm it.
Six months. That was how long it would take his body to fully recover. Expensive, yes, but not wasted. Information was worth blood.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see the others."
He followed the tracking spell west, toward the sea. The marker stopped over open water. Rowan didn't hesitate long. If the Water Dragon was sleeping at the bottom of the ocean, that was the end of it. Fighting underwater wasn't his game.
He turned instead toward the final signal.
The Wood Dragon.
The arrow pulled him toward a mountain range. No, toward one mountain in particular.
Rowan slowed as the peak came into view.
"...That's strange."
The spell didn't point to any of the five cities scattered across the slopes. It pointed to the mountain itself. No matter how finely he adjusted the spell, the result didn't change.
He assumed the dragon was hiding inside the mountain until his boots touched the summit.
The moment he made contact, his body locked up.
An overwhelming presence flooded his senses. Life. Ancient, vast, crushing. Dragon power so dense it made the air feel thick.
Rowan stared at the stone beneath his feet.
"You've got to be kidding me."
It hit him all at once.
The Wood Dragon wasn't inside the mountain.
The mountain was the Wood Dragon.
Eight thousand meters of stone and forest. A living thing on the scale of the world's highest peaks.
"Sleeping…?" Rowan whispered.
He reached out with his mind. The response was faint. Distant. The dragon's consciousness was submerged, drifting in something like hibernation.
Rowan smiled.
"Sleeping is good," he said softly. "Sleeping is very good."
He'd come here expecting nothing more than a glance. Instead, he'd found a gift wrapped in stone.
The cities on the slopes had existed for decades. Maybe longer. If the dragon hadn't woken by now, it wouldn't anytime soon.
Which meant Rowan had time.
Wood-aligned dragon power had always been near the top of his list. He didn't hesitate. He lay flat against the summit, right where the dragon's head would be, and let his magic sink deep.
Slowly, carefully, he began to draw in its power.
This wasn't like embedding a dragon crystal. There was no violent fusion, no gamble with instant death. This was cultivation through adaptation, a month-long process of reshaping the body from the inside. Safer. Slower. Honest.
Dragon crystals were shortcuts. Dangerous ones. Without the right talent or physique, they tore their host apart. Even legends had nearly died taking that path.
Rowan chose patience.
As the days passed, the dragon power threaded through his body, reinforcing bone and muscle, knitting something new into his core. His vitality surged. The damage from Ignia's fight vanished in three days, erased as if it had never happened.
A month later, Rowan's eyes snapped open.
A scale flashed across his cheek, gone in an instant. He shot into the sky, cheeks puffed, and roared.
"Dragon Magic. Wood Dragon's Roar!"
Green energy spiraled upward, tearing the clouds apart.
He inhaled again.
"Dragon Magic. Fire Dragon's Roar!"
Flame followed wood, stronger than before. Sharper. More alive.
Rowan laughed quietly.
"As expected. Wood feeds fire."
He hovered there, letting the truth settle. This wasn't imitation anymore. This was real.
Rowan Mercer was now a true Wood Dragon Slayer.
And with the fire crystal he'd absorbed in another world, he could still mirror the flames of a certain reckless pink-haired idiot. His magic, his body, his life force—all of it had climbed to a new tier.
He looked down at the mountain beneath him.
"…You're no saint, are you?"
A month of contact had revealed the truth. The Wood Dragon wasn't merely sleeping. It was feeding.
Anything that lived on its body was slowly assimilated. Converted into fuel. The cities weren't accidents. They were bait.
Rowan circled above the settlements. The people below walked, talked, laughed. And yet, every one of them was hollow. Puppets bound to the mountain's will.
He turned away.
"Not my problem. Not today."
He was stronger now, far stronger than when he'd faced Ignia. But even so, waking this thing would be suicide. Even at full output, his strongest spell wouldn't kill it. It would only open its eyes.
And that would be worse.
Rowan angled toward the horizon.
First things first.