264 Sacred Judgment

Ivar continued, his voice calm but unyielding.

“The Dragon’s Heart contains an unfathomable power. Those deemed worthy will receive its blessing the moment they touch it. But those who are unworthy…”

He let the silence linger.

“…will die. Their bodies will be ripped apart.”

A heavy chill settled over the crowd.

The Heart did not simply reject the unworthy.

It destroyed them.

For a long time, the chieftains had ruled without challenging the Heart.

Because no matter how powerful they were, there was always a chance they would be deemed unworthy.

“However,” Ivar continued, “I chose to take that risk. I approached the Dragon’s Heart—and it deemed me worthy.”

His voice grew stronger.

“I received its power! The very power you have all witnessed before!”

A sudden surge of energy erupted around him, distorting the air like shimmering flames.

A wave of heat swept over the tribespeople, causing them to recoil.

“The Blue Dragon’s Fire…”

“That power came from the Heart?”

“I thought it was simply the chieftain’s blessing…”

William observed the reaction with mild amusement.

It seemed they were aware of the power itself—but not where it came from.

‘Interesting… So this is magic drawn from the Dragon’s Heart.’

It was crude. Unrefined.

If Felicia’s energy was like a masterfully sculpted statue, then Ivar’s was nothing more than a chopped log—rough, unpolished, untamed.

Still, there was something unique about it.

Even in its raw, unshaped form, the heat it radiated was real.

William’s eyes narrowed slightly.

If someone who actually knew what they were doing harnessed that power properly…

Before he could dwell on the thought, Ivar’s voice rang out again.

“I have kept this secret until now,” he said. “Because if word of it spread, countless fools would try to claim the Heart’s power for themselves. And I would not allow our sacred land to be defiled by their greed.”

“Then… why reveal it now?”

The question came from one of the elders.

Ivar’s expression hardened.

“Because an outsider dares to challenge for the seat of the chieftain.”

At the mention of “outsider,” every pair of eyes turned toward William.

Ivar glared at him, his expression hard.

“I granted him the right to challenge for succession,” the chieftain declared. “But is it truly right for a man from foreign lands to rule over us? Does he deserve such authority? Should he have been given the chance at all?”

Silence.

No one dared to answer.

William was the first outsider in history to lay claim to the chieftain’s seat.

Right or wrong… there was no precedent to measure it against.

“I do not have the answer, either,” Ivar continued. “And that is why I will ask the Heart of the Dragon! Today, you shall witness its judgment with your own eyes! Between this outsider and my own sons, who is truly fit to rule?”

The gathered tribespeople murmured among themselves, nodding as they slowly came to accept Ivar’s reasoning.

If the Dragon’s Heart truly possessed a will of its own, then what could be fairer than its decision?

William, however, barely held back a scoff.

‘What a joke.’

There was no divine judgment here.

The truth was simple—if you met the conditions, you received the power.

William could see exactly what Ivar was trying to do.

This was a way to justify his own claim to the Heart’s power—turning himself and his descendants into figures of reverence.

At the same time, he was clearly hoping William would fail—that he would be torn apart before the eyes of the people.

If everything went according to plan, Ivar would solidify his rule beyond question.

But the chieftain had overlooked one very real possibility.

What if the outsider—the man he despised—was the one the Heart recognized?

William was eager to see just how Ivar would react when that moment came.

With the trial declared, Ivar led William and his two sons toward the sacred grounds.

The tribespeople followed closely, moving in an eager flock.

There was no preparation—no ceremonial rites or lengthy procedures.

They simply walked.

Which meant the sacred land was not far.

Indeed, after climbing a few hills, they arrived.

Ivar turned, nodding.

“We have arrived.”

“…A shack?”

William blinked.

This was the sacred land?

The legendary resting place of the Dragon’s Heart?

The supposed holiest site of the tribe?

What stood before them was a rickety, half-rotten wooden shack that looked ready to collapse with a single push.

It wasn’t even a proper hut—it was barely livable.

William could hardly believe it.

And yet, none of the tribespeople seemed to find it strange.

Instead, their faces were filled with reverence, their expressions solemn.

“From here, only those permitted may proceed,” Ivar announced, lifting a hand to halt the rest of the crowd.

He then gestured at his sons and William, beckoning them forward.

William felt an odd mix of amusement and unease as he approached.

Then—

—a weight pressed down on his body.

It was subtle at first.

Like stepping into deeper water.

William faltered for only a fraction of a second before he understood.

‘Residual magic…?’

It was the kind of lingering force left behind when immense power had been unleashed in a place for long periods.

Like the embers of a once-mighty flame.

Only, in this case, the fire had burned ages ago.

And yet… the presence remained this strong?

Just the remains of a dead dragon—just its heart—and it still radiates this much power?

William clicked his tongue.

Now he understood why the tribespeople treated this place as sacred.

Even he could feel it.

It didn’t matter how pitiful the structure looked—the power was real.

“Stop here,” Ivar commanded, halting them before the entrance of the shack.

Then, without any further discussion, he turned toward his eldest son.

“Ainar.”

“Yes.”

Ainar stepped forward without hesitation.

Ivar opened the door for him, and without another word, Ainar disappeared inside.

William crossed his arms, waiting.

Time passed.

A few minutes.

Then a few more.

And then—

—the air changed.

A faint warmth brushed against William’s skin.

At the same time, the lingering pressure in the air shifted—like a ripple through still water.

A moment later, the shack’s door swung open.

Ainar stepped out.

Wreathed in blue fire.