"Does your master know about any of this?"
Rowan Mercer's voice was calm, almost distant, after hearing everything Vexar had laid bare.
He felt neither pity nor disgust toward the man sitting across from him.
Vexar had committed unforgivable acts. That much was undeniable. If Rowan hadn't intervened earlier, the entire coastal city might have been wiped out just to erase loose ends. Sympathy would not change that.
But Rowan had long since stopped viewing the world in absolutes.
Good people carried rot.
Cruel people often had histories soaked in suffering.
None of that mattered to him.
What mattered was far simpler.
Was this person useful to him?
Or was this person a threat?
Anyone who tried to kill him would die. It didn't matter if they were hailed as a saint or cursed as a demon.
Anyone who didn't cross his bottom line could live, regardless of their past.
"I… don't know," Vexar said after a pause.
His expression was complicated.
"Everything Archsage Solarian does is hidden. Not just from our master, but from most of the senior disciples as well. Only his personal attendants and a handful of us in the enforcement units truly understand the scope of it."
Vexar hesitated.
"But if I'm being honest… someone at that level doesn't miss much."
Rowan already had his answer.
Power on that scale did not exist in a vacuum.
If a figure like Archsage Solarian could orchestrate something this vast for this long, then higher authorities either knew… or had chosen not to look.
And Rowan suspected the latter.
What Solarian was doing wasn't purely self-serving. It strengthened the Iron Front as a whole. The refined resources, the quiet eliminations, the growing reserves. All of it prepared the organization for future large-scale conflict.
As long as it stayed hidden.
As long as no one forced it into the open.
Morality had never been a requirement for godhood in this world. Only dominance.
Rowan leaned back slightly.
"In their eyes," Vexar continued, "you're still a dragon. Still classified as a monster. Even if you were human, without a prestigious bloodline or origin, you wouldn't be valued."
He met Rowan's gaze.
"That's why I don't recommend the Iron Front."
Then, more quietly:
"If you truly want a path, I have contacts on the outer islands and along the abyssal coast. I could help introduce you to the Abyssbound Path. Their central sanctuary isn't worse than the Iron Front's stronghold."
There was something wistful in his voice.
"If I hadn't entered the Iron Front first, I would've gone there myself."
The Abyssbound Path accepted anyone.
Humans. Spirits. Beasts. Outcasts.
Strength mattered. Commitment mattered.
Birth did not.
But that freedom came with chaos. Their members scattered across the world, rarely gathering, rarely involving themselves in celestial politics.
Which was precisely why, when the dragons rebelled in the past, the Iron Front had been the primary force sent to suppress them.
And why Glacien had no choice but to walk the Iron Front's road.
Only someone rising within that system could bargain for the dragon clan's future.
Rowan was different.
He had no clan, no legacy, no political baggage.
After a long moment of thought, Rowan nodded.
"Then I'll take your advice," he said simply. "Thank you."
The decision settled cleanly in his chest.
With Archsage Solarian's faction lurking behind every corridor of the Iron Front, Rowan knew he would never be allowed to grow freely there.
The Abyssbound Path might be loose, even unruly.
But at least the air would be honest.
As for the future cataclysm everyone whispered about…
That was still years away.
By then, Rowan intended to be strong enough to walk through it rather than be swept aside by it.
If something beyond his reach appeared?
He would run.
Survival was never shameful.
Dying for pride was.
Vexar soon returned to training. Rowan left the battlements without disturbing him.
Yet as he prepared to depart, he felt a lingering gaze.
Rowan turned.
From within the fractured abyssal prison below, a pair of luminous eyes watched him.
Mara Vale.
The Western Sea Dragon Queen.
Elegant. Composed. Dangerous.
Rowan descended to the edge of the fissure and offered a polite nod.
"Queen Mara Vale."
She smiled faintly.
"Black Dragon," she said. "You're very courteous to someone who stands above a cage."
Rowan's eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone remained warm.
"Cages are temporary. When the Eastern Sea King's plans succeed and the dragon clans regain their footing, none of you will remain imprisoned."
Mara Vale studied him carefully.
A thinker.
A schemer.
Interesting.