Silver Dragon Soars to the Heavens Chapter One: Silver Armor! Visitors from the Imperial Capital

New Divine Era, Year 7734.

The Boundless Demon Sea. Thousand Sorrow Cliff.

Dim, ominous clouds boiled across the sky, accompanied by the furious roar of thunder. The land and sea—just as always—were shrouded in a strange, oppressive darkness. Yet, within those shadowed clouds, a scarlet point of light flickered in the distant horizon, growing ever brighter.

Atop Thousand Sorrow Cliff, an elderly man of average build stood against the wind. The wild gusts tugged at his robes and scattered his long hair, which, though streaked with gray, could not conceal the weathered marks of age and hardship etched upon his face. Even as the invisible wrath of the heavens seemed to fill the world—an intangible killing intent suffusing the air—the old man’s gaze remained as cold and sharp as gathered blades, fixed unwaveringly on the crimson speck that steadily grew larger.

The pounding waves crashed against the cliff base in their relentless fury, yet the man remained unperturbed. He raised a hand, and a tattered page appeared in his grasp. A faint smile played at his lips. As a gentle breeze swept by, the page fluttered from his fingers like a kite with its string cut, drifting freely over the endless sea. He watched it vanish into the distance, then lifted his eyes to that wavering, blood-red light teetering above the ocean.

“Dark Star descends, dusk returns, flesh becomes blade, and pierces the firmament.”

His sonorous words had barely faded when a tremendous crash resounded from the sky. The sea, already turbulent, erupted into a towering wave a hundred meters high, surging up the cliff to dwarf the old man. He gazed at the silent, suspended wave with an easy smile, but then his expression grew grave. In the distance, the drifting scrap of parchment suddenly ignited, burning to ash in moments. With his hands clasped behind his back, the old man’s figure simply vanished into thin air.

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Fifteen years later.

Eastern coast of Skyreach Continent—Luoyu Village. Home to over three thousand souls, the village nestled between mountains and water, its haphazard houses stacked along the shore. The air was alive with noise and laughter, especially that of children. At the inland edge, the village opened onto a vast, seemingly endless forest, and there, a throng of villagers had gathered, eyes straining toward the woodland path. Though only dust whirled along the road, anticipation shone undiminished on every face.

At the very front stood a gaunt old man, leaning on his cane, apart from the chattering clusters. His eyes, filled with hope, remained fixed unwaveringly on the forest’s farthest depths. Not ten paces away, a little girl with twin braids watched him with curiosity, then skipped to his side and tugged at his sleeve. He looked down and smiled at her, and she asked, wonder bright in her eyes,

“Grandpa Qiuye, do you think the Silver Dragon Knights won’t come after all?”

She swung his sleeve as she spoke, her delicate face shifting through expressions that betrayed her own hope for reassurance. He smiled again, took her small hand in his, and gazed once more into the woods—hesitation flickering in his eyes before hope returned.

“Little Ya, even Grandpa can’t say for certain. But I can promise you this: the Silver Dragon Knights will come. After all, our village has a clever little prodigy like you.”

The girl scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue at him, then glanced around at the gathered villagers. After a moment, disappointment crept onto her face. The old man, seeing this, smiled wryly—an emotion too subtle to name crossing his features. Only he knew the truth: a remote village like Luoyu, perched at the empire’s edge, lay over a thousand miles from the imperial capital of Skyreach. Nearly a century had passed since the last visit from the imperial knights; he’d never imagined he’d live to see their return. For the villagers, accustomed to peaceful days, war and hardship were but distant memories, and in such tranquility, the drive to pursue greater paths had faded. Perhaps, for these people, simple contentment was enough. It wasn’t the fault of peaceful times, nor of those who relinquished ambition; to pursue the highest path meant forsaking all one once had. And those who did—whose lifespans far surpassed two hundred years—could only watch in sorrow as loved ones aged and died, leaving them alone on their solitary quest. After a century had passed, turning back, all that was once dear was now dust. Thinking thus, the old man’s gaze grew forlorn, drifting to a wild, grassy hillside beyond.

“Grandpa Qiuye, I’ll go find my brother—I’ll be back soon!”

Her childish voice snapped him from his reverie. As he composed himself to reply, he realized she had already vanished into the crowd. He could only shake his head with a helpless smile.

Meanwhile, on the path leading into the village, Luo Chen ambled with eyes closed, hands behind his head, lost in leisure. He heard the distant commotion, cracked open an eye, and instantly stiffened—his mouth twitching awkwardly at the sight of the waiting villagers. Panic overtook him; he was about to turn and flee when he glimpsed Luo Xiaoya waving at him from the crowd, already rushing his way. He knew then that escape was impossible. Sighing in resignation, he dropped his hands and trudged toward the throng. Moments later, a small hand seized his own—Xiaoya’s voice chirped in his ear.

“Brother, why are you so late? Grandpa Qiuye’s waiting for you!”

“Ah, so Grandpa Qiuye’s here too…” Luo Chen groaned in despair, covering his face. He was doomed to yet another scolding for being late. He glanced at Xiaoya, marveling at how she was always cheerful, never once downcast—something he himself could never manage.

Head lowered, Luo Chen let himself be tugged through the crowd, mustering polite smiles in response to greetings. At last, he saw the old man ahead and hesitated, but Xiaoya’s insistent pull drew him onward.

“Grandpa Qiuye, I brought my brother!”

Luo Chen was still searching for an excuse when Xiaoya’s clear voice sealed his fate. He shot her a reproachful look, then raised his head to meet the old man’s angry glare. As the old man lifted his hand, inspiration seized Luo Chen—he caught the arm before it descended, and solemnly declared,

“Grandpa Qiuye, please let me explain before you hit me. If, after I’ve explained, you still want to punish me, I’ll accept it.”

The old man withdrew his hand, his eyes warning against lies. Luo Chen straightened and said,

“I was late because I knew we were leaving for the academy today, so I trained through the night to prepare.”

Seeing the old man say nothing, Luo Chen turned away, relieved. From the corner of his eye, he sensed the old man’s disbelief; perhaps he spared further rebuke for the sake of dignity before the crowd. Glancing at Xiaoya, he saw her stifling a giggle, signaling him to crouch down. As he did, she leaned in and whispered something that nearly made him fall over in shock—she knew exactly where he’d been last night, sneaking off to the back hills for roasted meat and wine. He’d been so careful—how did she know?

But the villagers’ sudden cheer cut his thoughts short. Following their gaze, Luo Chen squinted into the forest, where a dazzling silver light flickered. He stood, pulling Xiaoya to the old man’s side.

From the forest’s depths, shimmering silver lights grew brighter. Three figures on a beast Luo Chen couldn’t name emerged into view. It looked like a stag, but its head bore two massive, strange silver horns, and its body—like its riders—was clad in silver armor. As they drew nearer, Luo Chen realized the horns themselves were armored, resembling twin icy blades exuding an aura of death. The riders wore silver armor too; the leader at the center bore a longsword at his waist, the others silver spears. Behind them, a column of knights rode one-horned wolves—creatures Luo Chen recognized, distinguished by their single horns.

Guarded in their midst was a carriage. Luo Chen counted nearly a hundred in the procession, winding through the woods like a great silver serpent. The knights’ faces were hidden behind armor, only their eyes and mouths exposed, and the lead beast’s two armored tails, each tipped with a silver blade a foot long, swept behind. Blades at the fore, blades at the rear—this was less a beast than a living engine of war, its gaze cold and ruthless from countless battles.

Luo Chen turned to the old man and asked,

“Grandpa Qiuye, what kind of spirit beast is that, under the armor?”

The old man smiled, pride in his eyes.

“Silly boy, that’s a Gale Rider, also called Windsteed. Its true form is a mutated horned wolf—out of every thousand, only two undergo the change. The survivor of their battle for dominance becomes the pack’s king. Our imperial stables are the only place you’ll find them. Once transformed, they can attune to the purest wind elements, commanding the very air, which gives them their name. As adults, they’re unmatched—able to cross a hundred miles in a flash, leaving no trace on the sand.”

Gale Rider, Windsteed—Luo Chen’s mouth watered at the thought of its meat and a fine wine, but seeing the beast up close, he abandoned the idea. A heavenly-rank spirit beast—on par with a Skybreaker cultivator—could kill him with a mere glance. Spirit beasts found cultivation far harder than humans; they had only pure spirit energy, no pills or special environments, and so, at equal rank, none could match their power. Luo Chen had seen earth-rank spirit beasts before, but this was the first time he’d witnessed one of the heavens—its presence was unmatched.

Soon, the Windsteed halted less than twenty paces away. Luo Qiuye stepped forward and bowed slightly.

“I am Luo Qiuye, village chief of Luoyu, and on behalf of all our people, I welcome the honored knights.”

As he finished, the lead knight leapt down, landing before Luo Qiuye and returning the gesture.

“Chief Qiuye, you are too kind. I am Zhao Xingyu, of the Third Legion of the Imperial Knights. By royal command, we are here to escort the two students selected from Luoyu Village to the imperial academy, ensuring their safe arrival.”

Zhao Xingyu? Luo Chen thought the name familiar, though he couldn’t place it. He remembered Luo Qiuye mentioning that, with Luoyu so remote—over a thousand miles from Silver River, the imperial capital—dangers abounded along the way. Still, the empire’s grandeur was clear: a hundred knights to escort two students! He’d heard that Skyreach’s capital was the most splendid city of the Four Continents. The thought filled him with anticipation.

“Luo Chen, Xiaoya, come and greet Sir Xingyu,” called Luo Qiuye.

Luo Chen glanced at Xiaoya, who looked both shy and curious, then took her hand and stepped forward.

“Luo Chen greets Sir Xingyu. Luo Xiaoya greets Sir Xingyu.”

They bowed. Through his visor, Zhao Xingyu’s eyes seemed to pierce them, cool and assessing, as though nothing could be hidden. Then, after a moment, he smiled.

“Miss Luo, no need to be afraid. I too come from a humble family—just a bit bigger than most. You have reached the fourth level of Spirit Induction, and Master Luo the third. Once you reach the academy and pass the selection, when your spirit veins fully awaken, you will surely achieve great things.”

Xiaoya relaxed at his gentle tone, her shyness fading. But Luo Chen’s curiosity was piqued. The Imperial Knights were famed as the first wall of defense—unyielding, sacred. Yet Zhao Xingyu, shifting from stern scrutiny to warm camaraderie, gave him new perspective. And what did it mean, “fully awaken the spirit vein”? Could it be that drawing spiritual energy into the body, condensing it around the dantian, was not true awakening? Luo Chen had heard the term from Luo Qiuye years ago, but even then, the old man had not known its meaning.

“Sir Xingyu, I, Luo Chen, have a question I hope you’ll answer.”

Luo Qiuye shot him a warning glare—afraid he’d offend the knight. After all, they were commoners; Zhao Xingyu’s rise to knighthood made him a world apart. Yet the knight’s eyes showed only interest.

“Oh? Speak freely, Master Luo. I will answer what I can.”

“It’s not a great matter—only, I don’t understand what you meant by ‘fully awakening the spirit vein’?”