The ruins felt smaller now.
Not physically—but in meaning.
He stood at the center of the broken stone, white dust settling around his boots, and realized something fundamental had shifted. The pressure he had grown used to—the constant sense of being watched, measured, judged—was gone.
Not weakened.
Gone.
He closed his eyes and focused.
The system responded, but its presence felt distant, restrained, like a tool instead of a master.
[Status: Active]
[Restriction Level: None Detected]
"So it's true," he murmured. "You can't touch me anymore."
The dragon core within his chest pulsed slowly, calmly. It no longer flared at every threat. It no longer demanded release. Power sat where it belonged—contained, obedient to his will alone.
He took a step forward.
The ground did not resist him.
Before, the world had always pushed back in small ways—mana currents shifting, space tightening, subtle corrections guiding his movement. Now, reality accepted his presence without argument.
That unsettled him more than any battle.
He left the ruins behind and moved through the forest at an unhurried pace. His senses stretched far, farther than before, brushing against distant lifeforms, mana pools, even the faint outlines of ley lines buried deep beneath the earth.
Everything felt clearer.
Not louder.
Clearer.
A group of creatures lay ahead—beastkin by their mana signatures, armed, tense, hiding among the trees. They had been tracking him for hours.
Hunters.
Or scouts.
He stopped.
"Come out," he said calmly, without turning. "You're bad at hiding."
The forest rustled.
Five figures stepped into view, fur-covered faces tight with fear and determination. Their leader, a wolf-like beastman, gripped his spear with white-knuckled hands.
"You're the one," the beastman said. "The dragon human."
He turned slowly.
Golden eyes met theirs.
The air changed instantly.
None of them could breathe properly. Their instincts screamed at them to flee, to kneel, to submit.
He did neither.
"I'm not here for you," he said. "Leave."
The beastman swallowed hard. "The northern kingdom wants you dead."
He tilted his head slightly. "For what reason?"
"You exist," the beastman answered honestly.
That earned a faint smile.
"Then tell them this," he said. "I'm not their enemy. But I won't be controlled."
The pressure vanished.
The beastkin collapsed to one knee, gasping, stunned by the sudden release.
By the time they looked up—
He was gone.
Far above, moving across the sky with wings half-formed, he headed north. Not toward a throne. Not toward a war.
Toward resistance.
Toward conflict.
Toward places where strength was tested without rules.
Somewhere deep beyond the horizon, something ancient stirred again—watching, waiting, satisfied.
The world had lost its leash.
And he had just taken his first step into true freedom.