Translator: CinderTL
Despite the ancient and mysterious nature of dragonborn lore, Roland was certain of one thing based on his current knowledge:
Dragon Transformation was a unique ability exclusive to creatures with a dragon bloodline, a symbol of the deep awakening of their bloodline's power.
Yet, since his arrival in this world, he had never personally encountered another creature capable of dragon transformation. His own ability to become a dragonborn and wield Dragon Transformation was a miracle born from the convergence of multiple, extremely rare circumstances:
First, the fortuitous encounter with a dragon in Mist Creek Town, which bestowed upon him its blessing. Second, the reliance on his unique Job Panel to undergo the transformation. Third, the crucial guidance left by his mentor, Graham, for the inheritance.
These three factors were indispensable.
The sheer number of coincidences and opportunities involved underscored the extraordinary rarity and preciousness of being a dragonborn.
And yet—
He recalled the faint yet undeniable, familiar scent of dragon bloodline lingering within the ordinary Ashborn he had encountered earlier.
Combining the Ashborn's towering physique with combat techniques strikingly similar to A Knight Does Not Die Unarmed, a chilling hypothesis struck Roland like lightning.
Could it be—that these so-called Ashborn before me were created from me as a template, cloned by some unknown force?
The thought was so horrifying that Roland's heart skipped a beat.
As his mind raced, the Dragonized Ashborn before him completed its transformation.
However, its dragon transformation was crude and distorted compared to Roland's. It had clearly failed to fully control the mysterious dragon bloodline within its body.
Not only could it not maintain a basic humanoid form, but its body had bloated into a grotesque, raging mass of flesh.
Sparse, dull scales, as if incomplete, covered its surface. Its left arm had mutated into a massive, structurally distorted bone claw, while its right arm still retained some pale, humanoid features.
The wings on its back were tattered and pathetic, like rags crudely stitched together.
Its entire body was covered in grotesque bulges and malformations, as if it were a failed experiment.
Though the energy fluctuations it emitted were several times stronger than before its dragon transformation, filled with primal destructive intent, its chaotic and unstable form was riddled with openings in Roland's eyes.
Suppressing the swirling shock and doubt in his heart, Roland's gaze sharpened, and he decided not to engage further.
In the blink of an eye, his human pupils transformed into icy, golden vertical slits, as if an ancient dragon, long dormant, had now awakened.
Hum!
Without a roar or warning, an invisible yet overwhelming pressure erupted from Roland, centered on him.
Dragon's Might.
In that instant, the air in the entire Granary Hall seemed to solidify into a tangible substance, becoming thick and heavy.
Tiny dust particles and gravel on the floor levitated against all logic, only to be slammed back down by an invisible force, even embedding themselves into the stone slabs.
The ancient decorations on the walls, already loose, groaned under the strain and crumbled to the floor.
A majesty that transcended life itself, one that made the soul tremble, permeated the air.
The Ashborn, having just completed its Aberrant Dragon Transformation and raising its massive, mutated claw to strike, suddenly froze.
The fierce red light in its hollow eye sockets flickered violently, like the flame of a candle in the wind, filled with indescribable terror.
Its swollen body began to tremble uncontrollably, and its mutated claw dropped limply, clattering against the ground with a dull thud.
The threatening growl it tried to emit turned into a series of broken whimpers, like the whimpers of a wounded animal.
Under the absolute suppression of bloodline and spirit, its once-ferocious aura melted away like snow under the midday sun.
The monster that had been brimming with murderous intent just a moment before now seemed drained of all strength and ferocity. It curled up on the spot, trembling slightly, docile as—
—a terrified kitten.
Moreover, under the overwhelming pressure of the vast Dragon's Might that pierced to the depths of its soul, something even deeper seemed to be stirred.
In the eye sockets of the Dragonized Ashborn before him, which had previously held only hollow red light and murderous intent, an extremely faint yet undeniably real—
A glimmer of clarity.
The light briefly dispelled the chaos, revealing a fleeting expression of bewilderment and pain, characteristic of a sentient being.
Roland, with his keen senses, caught this fleeting detail.
A thought stirred within him. His golden vertical pupils remained icy, but he slightly restrained his Dragon's Might.
He sheathed the Radiant Moon Longsword with a reverse motion, then stepped forward slowly and stopped before the curled, trembling, deformed body. In a deep voice, he asked,
"Can you understand me? Who—who are you?"
The Ashborn's twisted head struggled to turn, emitting a raspy, bellows-like sound from its throat.
Its words came in disjointed fragments, each syllable seeming to require immense effort to extract from the chaos of its fragmented memories.
"Gu—guard—by order—to guard this place—Sui—Hidden Hall—"
The voice was dry and distorted, yet its meaning came through clearly.
"Guard? By whose order? Who created you?"
Roland pressed, his gaze like a burning torch, fixed on the wavering light of clarity in the creature's eyes.
"I—don't—know—my—memories—are—shattered—only—the—mission—remains—"
The Ashborn's answer remained fragmented and filled with deep confusion, as if it truly had no knowledge of its own origins.
Roland's brow furrowed as he asked the most crucial question:
"Then—do—you—recognize—me?—Do—you—know—who—I—am?"
A flicker of deeper bewilderment seemed to cross the Ashborn's contorted face as it struggled to "see" Roland.
The faint light of clarity in its eyes flickered violently, as if searching for memories that didn't exist, ultimately fading into even weaker whispers:
"A—familiar—aura—but—I—don't—know—who—you—are—"
Its answer did nothing to resolve Roland's confusion, instead making the "clone" theory even more baffling.
Just as Roland was about to press further, trying to dig up more clues about its creator or its connection to himself,
another transformation occurred.
"Aaaagh!"
The Ashborn let out a horrific, inhuman scream. The hard-won clarity in its eyes was torn apart like a candle flame in a gale, instantly swallowed by a thicker tide of chaos and agony.
The already unstable dragon-transformed body began to convulse violently and uncontrollably, its scales and keratinous hide emitting a sickening crackling sound.
"Can't—suppress—the—bloodline—it's—going—to—"
It uttered a few final, garbled syllables.
Then, under Roland's solemn gaze, the grotesque form began to shrink and collapse at a visible rate, like a punctured balloon.
Its flesh seemed to lose all support, and the bones within emitted dull cracking sounds. The dragon-transformed features rapidly receded, until finally—
The massive body completely disintegrated, collapsing into a bubbling, dark red mass of flesh that stank faintly of sulfur and burnt meat. It lay motionless on the ground, devoid of any trace of life.
All questions were buried once more with the solidification of this fleshly mass.
"Tsk!"
Roland clicked his tongue in annoyance and shook his head, as if trying to cast off the nauseating stench and the lingering mysteries of the bizarre creature.
Only then did he step around the ominous mass of flesh and approach the crooked doors behind it.
Pushing open the heavy door, Roland found the scene inside largely confirmed his earlier suspicions.
This was clearly a massive storage area, its vastness far exceeding his imagination.
As far as the eye could see, the area near the entrance was piled high with dark gray Rock Core Blocks, forming small mountains. The quantity far surpassed what Holm and the other survivors had in their possession.
Deeper inside, rows of long-rotted wooden boxes and shelves stood in disarray.
Most of the boxes were broken, their contents having long since mutated and decayed beyond recognition. Only from some shriveled, twisted, and strangely colored residues could Roland barely make out that they might once have been some kind of vegetables, grains, or processed meat.
After carefully searching the area and confirming that there was nothing directly edible apart from the unpalatable but life-sustaining Rock Core Blocks, Roland didn't linger. He continued walking deeper into the warehouse.
There, he found a pair of special metal doors.
Creak!
When he pushed them open, the scene before him suddenly opened up, a stark contrast to the dilapidated storage area outside.
The room was small, but its structure and style instantly reminded Roland of Observation Post No. 7.
The interior was sparsely furnished, the most striking features being two machines of fluid and peculiar design, placed side by side.
Constructed from some unknown metal and crystalline material, their surfaces were covered in intricate patterns of runic veins. Though thick with dust, their structures appeared far more intact than the shelves outside.
Even more notable were the specially crafted plaques embedded beside the control panels of each machine.
Perhaps due to their unique material or the depth of the carvings, the inscriptions remained barely legible despite the passage of long ages.
"Is this... an instruction manual?" Roland felt a flicker of curiosity. He leaned closer to read carefully.
"Matter Reorganization and Food... Synthesis Unit? Hmm... capable of deeply processing basic organic matter into standardized nutrients that are more easily absorbed and stored..."
"But there's no food available right now. I'll explore the spaces behind the other doors later."
With this thought, Roland withdrew his gaze and turned to another machine.
"High-Efficiency Water Collection and Purification Unit—can extract and purify drinkable water from the air or deep soil... This is quite promising!"
"If this machine can be successfully activated, at least we won't have to worry about drinking water anymore."
Roland nodded lightly, his gaze drifting downward as he began reading the operating instructions.
The manufacturer seemed to have prioritized ease of use; the startup procedure was described in extremely simple terms, requiring only the press of a prominent main control button.
Seeing this, Roland reached out and pressed the conspicuous button on the water purification unit.
Nothing happened.
He frowned and circled the machine, examining it closely. Finally, near the base at the rear, he discovered a circular recess etched with intricate energy-channeling patterns.
At this sight, Roland felt a flicker of recognition.
After finding that peculiar suit of armor at Observation Post No. 7, he had asked Bronson to help install one of the energy cores salvaged from the Rust Knight Order's broken weapons into a similar interface on the armor's waist. He had hoped it would power the suit.
The results were disappointing.
The core fit inside, but it sank like a stone into the sea, eliciting no response.
He could only conclude that the armor required a more specialized or advanced power source.
But these two machines were different.
From the information he'd consulted in the Imperial Academy Library and the machines' user-friendly manuals, it seemed that The Granary Hall, as a piece of public infrastructure, should use more standardized and common equipment.
In that case, perhaps the relatively common energy cores salvaged from the Rust Knight Order's weapons...
...could power them?
This idea revitalized Roland.
Just as he was about to turn and leave to retrieve the energy cores from the shell ship for testing, his steps abruptly halted at the threshold of the room.
His gaze was drawn to a wall several steps away, its plaster severely eroded by time.
On the mottled surface, several lines of inscription stood out starkly against the surroundings.
The marks seemed to have been scratched in with a sharp tool, the handwriting slightly messy yet piercingly clear through the ages.
"Holland was here! Just checked the rations—tsk tsk, plenty of room for improvement!"
(End of the Chapter)
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