The Holy Light Dragon and the Fallen Angel

The fourth figure was a tall, handsome youth—the same one who had flown in earlier. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, with long golden hair as brilliant as a flame, and a face carved as if from fine jade. He radiated a noble aura; even amidst an endless sea of people, he would draw the eye at once, like a golden sun.

Monk Yizhen lowered his voice. “Rand. A young expert of the Western tribes. He is a God-Gifted Spellmaster—also called a Curse Speaker. It is said he can borrow the power of the gods he worships.”

Xiao Chen envied the Spellmaster Rand’s ability to fly. For a martial artist like himself, achieving flight was a long and arduous path.

As the two groups converged, Yizhen smiled and introduced them. “Allow me to present a new friend—Xiao Chen, from the Mortal World.”

The four who had just emerged from the coconut grove were all astonished. They stared at Xiao Chen in disbelief.

Xiao Chen knew they had misunderstood. “I did not break the void myself. I merely stumbled into the World of Immortality.”

He gave a brief explanation, and the four calmed down, no longer paying him any attention. Clearly, they did not think much of Xiao Chen—far less than Yizhen’s friendly demeanor. Not one of them exchanged a word with him.

Xiao Chen smiled wryly. The World of Immortality was just as pragmatic as anywhere else; without great strength or background, no one would value you.

“Roar…”

A deafening dragon cry came from the depths of the sea, shaking the heavens like thunder. The ocean churned violently, and on the distant horizon, two large ships rapidly broke apart. A colossal dragon shadow thrashed, tearing through the vessels with irresistible force.

“Those are our ships!” The Barbarian youth Kaio growled in anger. His three-meter-tall body tensed, radiating a feral, dangerous aura.

“They are too far away. Our people may not make it to the shore. Leaving this island will be troublesome from now on,” said Arold, the Forest Tribe youth, in a calm, unhurried voice.

Monk Yizhen gazed at the massive dragon shadow in the sea. “Before long, more cultivators will arrive on Dragon Island. We can leave on their ships.”

“Roar… roar…”

Gradually, the group sensed something amiss. The Eight-Armed Malignant Dragon had vanished into the sea, yet the dragon cries continued—and the sound seemed different from the aquatic tyrant.

Monk Yizhen, clad in white robes, pointed into the distance and exclaimed, “A strong cultivator is battling a dragon!”

The young experts by the seashore stared in shock.

In the far sky, a dragon silhouette circled, while a human figure fought it fiercely, bursts of resplendent divine light erupting with each clash.

A cultivator who could battle a dragon—even if not a god, must be close to that level!

The midair battle was intense, brilliant flashes of light flaring repeatedly. Man and dragon drew nearer to the island from the distance, and soon the details of the fight became visible.

It was a Winged Dragon, fifteen meters long. Its scales gleamed with a dazzling radiance, exuding an overwhelming pressure. As it approached, all the roars of beasts along the island’s edge fell silent.

This was undoubtedly a fearsome beast. Its wings stretched thirty meters from tip to tip, blotting out the sky and casting a vast shadow. Even on the ground, one could feel the gale stirred by its flight.

What astonished Xiao Chen was that this silver dragon, wreathed in divine light, could freely command great divine abilities—as if it did not belong to the sealed dragon clans at all.

Terrifying bolts of lightning shot from its mouth, crashing through the sky with thundering roars. The air was filled with dazzling arcs of electricity, an awe-inspiring spectacle!

Moreover, it belched torrents of Winged Dragon holy fire, blazing flames that seemed to burn the void itself. The whole sky turned into a sea of fire, radiating an aura of dread!

“Venerable Yizhen, you said the dragon clans were all sealed. How can this Winged Dragon use divine powers so freely?” Xiao Chen could not help but ask.

“Winged Dragon? That is an old name. I had nearly forgotten it.” Yizhen watched the midair battle as he explained. “Now, across the vast lands, they are simply called ‘dragons.’ I forgot to tell you—they are the only dragon clan not sealed. They are among the most powerful creatures on the continent. An adult Winged Dragon wields the strength of a demigod. But they are rare and seldom appear before mortals.”

From what Xiao Chen knew, the Winged Dragon was far from the strongest among the ancient dragon races. If even they had such fearsome power, how terrifying must the true ancient dragons be? But the other clans were sealed, leaving the Winged Dragon as the only “dragon” known to the world.

Yizhen continued, “Winged Dragons can be further divided into types—Black Dragons, Holy Light Dragons, Golden Dragons, and so on. They seem to have ties to the Western tribes. You could ask the Spellmaster Rand; he surely knows more than I do.”

The golden-haired youth Rand was extremely handsome, like a golden sun. His sea-blue eyes swept over Xiao Chen, but his expression remained aloof—whether because the aerial battle was too absorbing, or because he disdained to explain to Xiao Chen, no one could tell.

“The one fighting the Holy Light Dragon—that’s a Fallen Angel!” exclaimed Arold of the Forest Tribe in shock. “Fallen Angels have not appeared in the world for over a century. I never thought we would see one here!”

The Holy Light Dragon’s massive body shimmered with sacred light, while its opponent was enveloped in an aura of darkness and mist. Now, the onlookers on the ground could finally see her true form.

Her jet-black hair streamed like a waterfall. Though her features were unclear, her figure was devilishly enchanting, radiating boundless allure.

Her lithe, curvaceous body was barely concealed by near-transparent black robes, accentuating her full breasts, slender waist, rounded hips, and long, snow-white legs—a sight that could captivate any beholder.

But what drew the eye most was the pair of black wings sprouting from her graceful back, pulsing with an eerie, netherworldly light. The energy emanating from her quelled the lightning and flames that surged toward her.

The Fallen Angel was unmatched in combat, yet her movements were breathtakingly graceful. Even in the heat of battle, her every motion flowed like a beautiful black swan dancing.

The massive Holy Light Dragon was not at an advantage; instead, it was suppressed by the lithe Fallen Angel. In her slender hands she held a ten-meter-long energy blade, its edge gleaming with black mist that lit up the sky.