Dean, along with Rohaim and Colton, immediately straightened their posture. It wasn't just their manners that changed—their hearts did too. Deep down, they had accepted it. The boy before them was the Root of their Clan, the one to whom they owed reverence. Once they acknowledged that truth, they felt strangely at ease. They had suspected a connection from the start, but not having any confirmation had kept them on edge. Now that it was out in the open, the anxiety that had lingered in their chests finally faded away. From that point on, everything moved smoothly. Without a hint of doubt, the three began preparing the site. They pulled a tent from their magic pouch, set up the ground, erected a small altar, and drew a magic circle. There wasn't even a thought of "what if"—for who would dare doubt the one who had come from the very root of their bloodline? To doubt him would be worse than death. "Preparations are complete, Lord Tite." "Yes. Once we place the scroll and activate the magic circle, the Transmission sealed within the scroll will be triggered. Normally, spoken messages can be intercepted, but by using this dual-scroll communication method, the risk is greatly reduced. However, once we activate our scroll, the other side must also activate theirs for the link to form—so there may be a brief delay." "Hmm… how long would that take?" "We all carry emergency scrolls on us, but if the person is staying at the main estate, it might not be within immediate reach. Still, since they're checked several times a day, we should receive a response within an hour at most—assuming nothing has gone wrong." Dean bowed respectfully. His tone and manner carried a level of deference far beyond before. Previously, he had treated Tite as someone extraordinary—Now, he treated him as a superior. Fresh chapters posted on 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹✶𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲✶𝗻𝗲𝘁 Rohaim and Colton were no different. Their eyes glimmered with reverence. The truth was undeniable now: this young man—no, this being who appeared to be a boy—was someone from the Root of Dragon's Dream, a figure from the very origin of their lineage. They had a mountain of questions. The Root of the clan had always been a mystery, whispered of but never confirmed. Though rumors of a hidden "true family" had followed every generation of clan heads—beings of transcendental power—none had ever been verified. And yet, faced with that truth incarnate, they held their tongues. Even Dean, who as party leader had always spoken freely before the clan head, did not dare speak carelessly now. "I see… but what if we can't establish a connection?" Dean hesitated, his face darkening. "Then… that would mean there's no one left at the main house to answer us." His words trailed off heavily. He thought of Rot, the youngest, who had sent them that final warning. If the scroll failed to connect, that would mean even Rot—perhaps the last survivor—was gone. In truth, the fact that the Root had sent someone already meant the clan's danger was real and imminent. Judging from Tite's behavior, he seemed to be communicating with someone else—someone above him. Clearly, he already knew more than they did. This was no mere inquiry—it was a confirmation. A way to determine whether the main branch of the Dragon's Dream family, seated within the royal capital of Re-Estize, had already fallen into enemy hands. Dean prayed inwardly that Rot was still alive as he placed the scroll on the altar. The parchment, made from dragonhide, began to glow faintly as it absorbed magical energy. Seeing it, Dean let out a slow, heavy sigh. "So… there really hasn't been any contact since then." "Well, they say no news is good news, right? Let's wait a bit." "And in the meantime, let's rest. We should stay prepared, just in case something happens." Tite glanced at the altar once, then sat down quietly. He gazed into the air and began moving his lips again—clearly sending another Transmission. Dean watched him with a conflicted expression. There was no doubt in his mind that Tite was communicating with the true, hidden power that had always stood behind their clan. He too had countless questions—more than anyone else. As leader of Dragon's Dream's adventuring party, Dean had seen more than most, but that only meant he had more reasons to be curious. The mysterious absence of the clan's higher heads, the untraceable origins of countless magical items, the almost prophetic flow of information, the unbroken 150-year legacy… The clan was shrouded in too many secrets—secrets no head had ever explained. Now, the answer sat right before his eyes. And yet, his respect for the one before him made it impossible to ask. Even Dean—the man who had once spoken freely to the clan head himself—found he could not utter a single word to this boy named Tite, whom he had known for less than a month. Still, his curiosity and doubts outweighed his fear. Stammering a little, Dean addressed Tite, who was moving his lips toward empty air. "E–excuse me, Lord Tite?" "…Hmm? What is it? Did a reply come through?" "No, not that. I just have a question… If it's not a bother, could you answer?" Tite looked puzzled, closed his mouth for a moment, then let his lips move again. After a brief, considering look, he nodded. "Hmm… Yes. I'll answer what I can." "Th-then… do you happen to know Senior Scal?" At Tite's plainly unfamiliar response, Dean's shoulders sagged. He clenched his teeth and pressed on. "He was the previous leader of the Dragon's Dream party—a senior of mine. After he retired, he suddenly vanished without a word, saying he would seek out the clan's root. I wondered if you might know…" "Scal… you say? One moment." Tite once more moved his lips toward the empty air. Was he using a Transmission again? He kept his gaze raised and his lips shifting for several dozen seconds, then made a somewhat awkward face. "He… exists. Yes, a man named Scal is in Shinshi." "R-really? So Senior Scal actually reached that place… I'd heard his last words were that he was heading for the Azerlisia Mountains, but to think he truly made it there…" Dean was overcome, unable to continue. In his younger days, Scal had been his life's goal. The clan heads always stood in a realm beyond realms, impossible to catch up to, but Scal—the "Sword Demon" whose fame shook the land back when Dean was still a novice—had been his beacon. Then, one day, Scal abruptly announced his retirement and disappeared. Not only the clan but the entire kingdom stirred. An adventurer recognized as a Hero by the Kingdom, the Empire, the Theocracy, the Dragon Kingdom, and even the Council State had vanished overnight. Once, adventurers across the continent had scoured the land seeking the missing hero. Even so, Dean had believed. He'd believed in the rumors within the clan about the legend of the Azerlisia Mountains, and that Scal, who'd gone to seek that legend, must have reached it… But as years passed, he himself had begun to file it away as mere myth. And yet Scal had reached it. "Is… is he doing well? I'm ashamed to ask, Lord Tite, but I must know—please, at least tell me he's safe!" "Well, that's… hmm, how should I put it." Tite's expression shifted—ambiguous, perhaps a touch sympathetic. After a moment's decision, he spoke. "That person, Scal… I'm told he's currently in seclusion, under criticism after a string of defeats. Aside from that, there's no particular issue with his safety." "A string of… defeats…?" Dean's face went blank. Defeats? Was there any word that fit Scal less? He had once shaken the entire continent, been hailed a hero by five nations, slain demon gods, dispersed rampaging hordes… What in the world had happened to him for such a thing to be said…? But Tite offered nothing further, and Dean, feeling it would be rude to pry more, swallowed his regret and held his tongue. Even so, he had learned much from that brief exchange. Senior Scal was alive—that alone brought joy. But the word "Shinshi" that Tite spoke struck him like a bolt. Shinshi. The clan's hidden power would not bear such a name lightly. Shi—"city"—was a term used for a settlement of considerable size, even a fortified one. Which meant the clan's backing might be far greater than he had ever imagined. It was possible that Dragon's Dream—the "Great Clan" whose influence reached across the continent—was, compared to the true root, only a small part… The thought sent a shock like lightning through Dean's body. Could that be? Could the clan that has endured 150 years, Dragon's Dream, whose reach spans the continent, be merely a fragment? Is that truly possible? Before he could think further on that possibility, the scroll set upon the altar flared with bright light— and from beyond it came a feeble voice. The moment the voice came through the scroll, its tone was faint and trembling. "...Who's contacting me? Senior Dean? Senior Colton? Senior Rohaim? Or… Senior Alvin? Who is it?" "...Rot? You're alive?" At that voice, Colton reacted immediately. His long-lost junior, whom they'd half-expected to be dead, was still breathing. He tried to speak again—but before he could, Dean's rough, calloused hand clamped over his mouth. "Colton-senpai? Is that you—?" "It's me. I'm the one calling, Rot." "Senior Dean? Even you… why—?" Just the sound of that weak voice told Dean how much life had drained out of him. Dean glanced back at Tite, and when the boy nodded silently, he continued. "It's been more than a week. We heard the capital was in danger and laid low for a while, but things seemed to calm down, so we came back… How's the clan holding up?" "Why… why did you come back, Senior…?" Dean froze. That wasn't the reply he'd expected—it was a whisper thick with grief and accusation. And then, Rot's next words turned his blood cold. "The clan… is finished. It's no longer ours anymore. Please, Senior—run. As fast and as far as you can. Leave the country if you must!" "What are you saying, Rot?! What happened to the clan?! Tell me—!" "There's no time to explain. That demon could be watching any moment—he might already be listening. Please, Senior, hurry—ah!" "Roth! Rot! Hey! Answer me, Rot!" His shout was desperate—but the voice on the other side was gone. A strangled cry had cut off mid-sentence, and then, after several seconds of static silence, a different voice came through. "Hmm… so this is how it worked. An altar, a magic circle, and enchanted items to block interference—quite the clever setup. I'll have to remember this. That man was useful after all." The new voice was smooth and cold, yet laced with a lilting amusement that made their spines crawl. It wasn't human—it couldn't be. But Dean trembled not with fear, but rage. Whoever this was had done something to Rot. Whoever they were… they were likely the very one behind the fall of the clan. "Me? Hmm… I'd love to tell you, but wouldn't that spoil the fun? Besides, talking through this thing isn't nearly as satisfying, is it? Especially when we're so very close." That final sentence wasn't echoing through the scroll anymore—it was whispering directly beside his ear. Dean's instincts screamed a warning. He stumbled back from the altar—just as the parchment flared, a black line tearing through it like a rift in space. The tear widened, gaping open like the maw of a beast, and from it emerged a hand clad in a crimson-and-white suit sleeve. Then the rest of the figure stepped out—tall, gaunt, with elongated ears and a twisted grin that split his face nearly to the ears. A crimson-striped tail coiled behind him, chitinous and monstrous. "...I thought I'd introduce myself in person," the demon said, smiling as if savoring their horror. "Good evening—members of Dragon's Dream." A/N: Huhuhu, I'm really sorry for the delay, guys. I've been dealing with so many problems these past few days. I went to my mother's place, where a strong earthquake struck. Our house was demolished. I really need your help… even the smallest support means a lot to us. Thank you for understanding. This is my PayPal: [email protected] If you want to read 10 advance chapters ahead.