Region 32...
Brimhold City...
The new black dragon base...
No one really knew when the nickname Black Dragon got pinned to Josh Aratat. It wasn't planned. It wasn't branded. It just... happened. Whispered during his early victories, maybe. Echoed after a few impossible battles. Now, it echoed through all 68 regions like thunder rolling across valleys.
And funny enough—no one knew Josh's real identity either. Not the soldiers. Not the prisoners.
Not even the gossips in the palace. Only Lola and Conrad Stan knew the truth. They had been there with him from the very start of this journey— when Josh sacrificed himself for Conrad, when Lola was weak and could only cry as a maid, before titles, before loyalty levels, before empires began to tremble at his name.
Now? Even the 2600 captured war prisoners called him Black Dragon. The name had sunk into their bones.
But what truly sent tongues wagging wasn't the name. It was what he did next.
After they completed the construction of the huge Black dragon Base...
Josh Aratat didn't enslave them. Didn't whip them into submission. No grueling punishment. No extended chains. He gave them freedom.
And not metaphorical freedom—the real kind. He unlocked the gates and said: "Go. You're not prisoners anymore."
The silence that followed was louder than war drums. Even the news of the Emperor's scandal—the one where he supposedly defiled the High Priestess, driving her to suicide—wasn't as shocking.
It shook people harder than a spiritual beast's roar.
When Jaden Aratat, Josh's estranged half-brother, heard of it, he nearly choked on his wine and muttered to his advisor, "Is he a fool wrapped in brilliance or a genius wrapped in madness? I can't tell. If this is mercy, he should sell his sword and open a bakery."
Where most warlords would wring every drop of sweat from their captives, Josh handed them a choice.
And they chose him.
1,200 of the 2,600 refused to leave. They stayed. Voluntarily.
When Josh checked the System Interphase to be sure of where their true loyalty lies, his eyes widened. Over 1,000 of them showed "Death-Level Loyalty."
He laughed. Actually laughed out loud.
"These people were enemies yesterday," he muttered to himself, "and now they'd die for me. This system has to be bugged."
But that wasn't all...
Their training rate exploded. Within weeks, the base had more Ocean-Opening Realm Rank 4 soldiers than some minor kingdoms. And Josh, ever calm, received another reward from the System:
A high-tier Earth Rank weapon—a glaive that launched fire.
Without hesitation, he handed it to Conrad Stan.
The man hugged it like it was his firstborn and ran around the camp whooping it around.
He would from time to time scream like a child at a candy fair. "Master! You're giving me this?! This is beyond...my expectation?"
Josh nodded, dry as usual. "We keep improving and growing. There are more enemies to fight and more lands to conquer, you just need to be loyal and the rewards would follow...!"
Conrad was so happy, he started to swing it and dance to no music in particular.
Lola sighed. "If I see you twirl that thing like a baton again, I will break it."
Conrad grinned. "Don't be jealous, Lola. I remember you got a whip first, don't worry, You'll get a flaming dagger someday. Or a fireproof apron."
She lunged at him. They wrestled. Everyone laughed.
---
"Oi, Lola!" Conrad bellowed one morning, holding the glaive between his legs like a stallion. "Tell me I'm not the hottest thing in leather right now!"
Lola raised a brow. "You look like a flaming goose trying to hump a scarecrow."
Josh almost choked on his tea.
But peace rarely lasted.
---
That Night – 9:00PM
The moon hung heavy. The base shimmered under its silver gaze. Crickets sang. Grasshoppers settled in for the night.
The soldiers had trained themselves to the bone. Their limbs ached, but their spirits soared. Most retired to their tents, proud of the strength they'd earned. Some lower-ranked soldiers looked at the death-loyal members with envy and growing unease.
Their growth... it was monstrous. And that pressure pushed many to consider going all in.
The night wasn't not destined to be normal...
Suddenly, from the edge of the base, a figure emerged.
A woman in red. Slit running up her thigh. Eyes like dripping wine and death.
She strutted forward with confidence too bold for the hour.
"Hey boys," she purred, "you like what you see?"
The effect was immediate.
Soldiers started to drop like flies.
No one knows if it was the effect of the words she said or something more, but she seemed to be able to bring everyone under the sound of her voice under her control.
One collapsed mid-sentence. "M-my eyes... my soul... my will... gone."
Another fell clutching his heart. "If dying like this is wrong, I don't wanna be right."
Even the women weren't spared. They stared, dazed, breathless, like they'd been hit with a beauty-curse.
"A witch!" someone shouted. Panic spread like wildfire.
Panic spread like wildfire.
Soldiers scrambled, bumping into one another, dropping like moths on a radiation bulb.
And then—just as hope flickered—
Three shadows emerged.
Josh Aratat. Lola. Conrad Stan.
The Black Dragon Major Trio. The Core.
Josh still wore his mask. Calm. Unbothered.
Lola twirled her Earth-rank whip with assassin's grace, twin daggers glinting by her thighs.
Conrad spun his glaive, grinning like he'd been waiting all week for this.
"Witch in red, huh? So... does she explode when we hit her, or is that just me being optimistic?"
Lola muttered, "If she breathes fire, I'm quitting. I'm not doing another fire fight in this outfit."
Josh said nothing at first.
The woman smirked. "So the Black Dragon shows up... at last."
Josh tilted his head. "You dropped six hundred of my men with a perfume trick. Impressive. But you've lost the element of surprise."
"You're overdressed for a warlord," she hissed. "Still hiding behind that mask?"
Josh's voice was calm—like bedtime stories told with a blade.
"I hide my face so people learn to recognize action over appearance."
"Wise words," Conrad muttered. "Lola, write that down."
"I would," Lola said dryly, "but your girlfriend won't give me a pen." she winked at the lady in red.
The witch's smile sharpened. "Enough chit-chat."
"Everyone sleep... and feel as if you will die!" she cried.
But the trio didn't even blink.
Lola's whip lashed out, coiling around the woman's throat and yanking her down.
Conrad was already there, driving the butt of his glaive into her temple.
She slumped.
He kissed the glaive and winked at Lola.
She rolled her eyes. "Show-off."
Minutes later, the woman sat unconscious, strapped to a chair—awaiting interrogation.