Chapter 739: The Dragon’s Downfall
(Planet Varam, Righteous Faction Territory, Veyr’s POV)
The first thing that reached him was not sound, nor light, but the sting, sharp, cold, and wet. Something struck his shoulder, then his chest, followed by a dull thud near his ribs as another object splattered across his skin.
"Ugh~"
He groaned faintly, his mind still thick with the weight of sedatives, as the pain coaxed his consciousness back from the haze.
Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and the world flooded in—too bright, too loud, too cruel.
*Thud*
*Whack*
*Splat*
Pebbles, rotten fruits, and even human feces rained down upon him from every direction, bouncing off the faintly shimmering walls of the translucent barrier that encased him. It was a cage, not of iron but of condensed mana glass, transparent, reinforced, and designed to allow only small projectiles through its narrow gaps, enough to bruise flesh and break dignity, but not bones.
He blinked, his vision still adjusting, as the scene around him took form. He was not underground anymore. He was outside, surrounded by thousands. A massive street stretched ahead, overflowing with people packed shoulder to shoulder, their faces twisted in fury and disgust.
The air itself reeked of fruit rot, smoke, and contempt.
"Where... where am I?" Veyr whispered weakly, his voice nearly lost in the roar of the mob, as the realization crept over him like a shadow that could not be outrun.
He was being paraded.
Butt naked, shackled at the neck and wrists, his once-proud figure reduced to something between a spectacle and a corpse.
The cage hovered two feet above the ground, gliding slowly along the cobblestone road as armored soldiers marched around it, the banners of the universal government fluttering high above.
"Die, Evil Dragon! Die!"
"You bastard! My uncle was in the Sky-God Arena when your Cult bombed it! I lost my family because of you!"
"Monster! Burn in hell, you filth!"
"Your dick is as small as my pinky, no wonder you have ’coward’ written on your chest. You’re a small cock wanker.... Hahahaha"
A half-rotten fruit splattered against his cheek, sliding down his face as laughter erupted around him.
Veyr blinked slowly, the fruit’s pulp mixing with sweat and grime as his breathing turned shallow. His body ached, his head throbbed, but none of it compared to the weight pressing upon his chest, the unbearable awareness that thousands of eyes were on him, judging him, mocking him, relishing his degradation.
Everywhere he looked, faces stared back with hatred, their mouths twisted in joy at his suffering. There was no pity, no hesitation, not even curiosity, only disgust and superiority, the satisfaction of seeing the great Dragon brought to his knees.
But what hurt him most was not their cruelty. It was what it meant.
These were not soldiers. Not nobles. Not men of politics.
They were commoners, farmers, vendors, children even, throwing stones with the same passion as their generals, shouting the same curses their military preached.
And in their eyes, he saw it clearly, it was not just hatred for him.
It was hatred for everything he represented.
For the Cult. For his faith. For the dreams his people had bled for.
’I... I have let down my people,’ he thought faintly, the words forming like shards of glass cutting through his mind. ’They believed in me. They looked to me as their strength, and now... this.’
His head hung low, eyes staring at the ground as the carriage continued to crawl through the endless crowd. Another wave of objects struck his chest, back, and shoulders, each one hitting harder than the last. A child’s voice shouted something crude, an old man spat through the bars.
But he himself did not even flinch anymore.
Somewhere deep within, something inside him began to crack, not his bones, but the pride that once held him together.
Until suddenly, amidst the chaos, a new sound cut through the noise.
A single voice, loud, desperate, and trembling with conviction.
"LORD DRAGON! KEEP YOUR HEAD UP!"
The shout silenced the nearest section of the crowd, the words echoing across the street like a fragile flame struggling against the wind.
"NO MATTER WHAT THEY DO TO YOU, KEEP YOUR HEAD UP! WE ARE WITH YOU, MY LORD! EVEN NOW, YOUR PEOPLE ARE WITH YOU—"
The voice was cut short by the metallic shing of a blade leaving its sheath, followed by a wet thunk.
The man who had shouted, an unremarkable citizen with plain clothes and weathered hands, fell to the ground, head rolling to one side, his lifeless body collapsing under the weight of his devotion.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the crowd erupted in cheers, louder, crueler, the soldiers grinning as blood painted the cobblestones.
Veyr’s eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
He watched as the man’s blood seeped toward the wheels of his cage, mingling with the rain and dirt, a dark ribbon spreading across the street. The cheering voices blurred into static, fading into a hollow ringing that filled his ears.
That single act, so futile, so meaningless in the grand scheme of things, struck deeper than all the insults combined.
The man had no reason to speak. No power. No escape.
And yet, he had done it anyway.
He had given his life to remind him of something Veyr had forgotten.
That the resistance was still alive.
That his people were still behind him.
That even when everything else was taken away, the Cult’s flame could not be extinguished so easily.
’That’s right.....’
Veyr thought as his breathing steadied.
’I need to keep my head up.’
He realized, as his eyes regained their usual lustre once more.
’My people still believe in me. I cannot fall apart here. Not now. Not like this.’
He inhaled deeply, straightening his back as much as the chains allowed, and lifted his chin toward the crowd.
The jeers did not stop. If anything, they grew louder.
But now, each shout, each curse, each thrown stone only made him see clearer.
They wanted to break him. They wanted to make him bow.
But he would not give them that satisfaction.
He would not let them win.
’It’s not over yet,’ he told himself, his gaze sweeping over the faces of those who screamed at him. ’I’m not dead yet. And as long as I live, I will live as the Dragon.’
The cage rolled onward, the crowd’s fury relentless, yet Veyr’s expression remained unchanged.
No matter how many things struck him, no matter how many voices cursed his name, he kept his eyes open and sharp, meeting the gaze of every person who dared to look at him.
There was no madness in his stare, no arrogance, only silent defiance, a quiet promise written behind every unblinking glance.
To the onlookers, it was unnerving, almost unnatural, how even in such disgrace, he looked back with the same composure as a man gazing at his executioners.
As if his humiliation was not an ending, but the beginning of something darker yet to come.
And though none of them could understand it, deep within that cage, amidst the insults, blood, and fruit pulp, the Dragon’s will began to stir again.
His body was shackled. However his spirit was not.
As at this moment, he resolved for once and for all, that if he ever survived this ordeal.....
That they will all pay dearly for their acts today.