We traveled through time together, but I'm the only dragon? The others are all beautiful girls?

“Lead the way, Sir Alec.” Akalion’s wicked humor vanished, his voice returning to its usual calm tone, as if issuing an unquestionable command. “Resolve the energy problem as soon as possible. The withering of the botanical garden is not a pleasant sight for this lord.”

The title of 'lord' was nothing but a burden to him.

But since he was going to use magic from the Tower of Mystery to fill his stomach, he should accept the Tower of Mystery's "favor" in recognizing him as its master.

He will manage the city well and get it running again. And these resurrected elves, whether they are heartbroken noble knights, secretaries with special positions, or other survivors whose identities are still unknown... they are all indispensable parts to keep the city running.

It is his asset, and also his property.

As long as no one hunts him down, and as long as they still respect, love, and even worship him, Akalion will fulfill the duties of a lord.

Let this city continue to exist until the end of his life.

This was his promise to the city.

Erevan didn't react much to the dragon's possessive and utilitarian words. She simply silently adjusted her emotions, concealing the last trace of blush on her face, and regaining the rationality befitting a knight.

She gave him a standard knightly salute once more, then turned and led Akalion to the energy core deep within the botanical garden, which had now completely dimmed.

Replacing the crystal was a piece of cake for Akalion, who possessed the immense strength of a dragon. The crystal needed here was still the Holite Crystal, and the reason for its replacement was simply that its energy had been completely depleted due to prolonged loss of control. It only needed to be replenished to be used again—the Mystic Tower would need about a week to recover.

As he placed the brand-new crystal he had brought back from the Ancient Tears of the Gods Mountains into its base, the entire botanical garden's massive glass dome emitted a soft hum. Countless long-extinguished transparent energy runes were rekindled, and a gentle magical glow, like a living tide, began to flow slowly, nourishing the plants that had been dormant for millennia.

Visibly, withered vines sprout new green shoots, shriveled flower buds burst into vibrant colors within seconds, and unripe fruits swell rapidly at a speed that defies the laws of nature.

"My lord, the botanical garden's ecological cycle is now functioning smoothly. We expect to harvest the first stable crop in five days." Eleven gazed at the familiar scene before him, his voice still steady as he reported the progress. "In ten days, we will be able to supply the basic food needs of the city's estimated 50,000 elves."

"Hmm?" Akalion looked at the fruits that were already emitting an enticing aroma and asked, "How do these foods taste?"

“For me personally, it’s a bit too sweet.” Araven’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, as if he had remembered something. “But at the end of the Great Catastrophe, ‘sweetness’ is the simplest and most direct way for intelligent life to obtain happiness.”

She paused, then added, "If Your Highness has any other dietary needs, please feel free to ask. Given the current abundance of resources, the botanical garden can provide you with special rations."

“No need, my Culinary Arts will suffice.” Akalion shook his head. He had no interest in crossing the food red line, and besides, the more food reserves the better. “This place is entirely in your hands, my protector.”

"You... don't expect our loyalty, you simply care about the 'normal operation' of this city, don't you, my lord?"

Just as Akalion was about to turn and leave, Erevan's cold voice suddenly came from behind him.

Akalion's massive body paused slightly. He slowly turned his dragon head, looking down at the petite knight before him with his deep gray dragon eyes.

“Of course not,” he replied in a low voice, with a hint of arrogance. “Loyalty and whether this city functions properly are meaningless to me. All I need is for you to alleviate my loneliness.”

“I understand.” Araven nodded slightly. After receiving this expected yet reassuring answer, her tense shoulders seemed to relax a little. She straightened her back and knelt on one knee with an unprecedented solemnity.

"In that case, the last patriarch of the Moonsong family, Erevan Moonsong, hereby pledges his eternal loyalty to you. May your reign coexist with Ansersheen forever and ever."

Volume 1 Snowfield Dragon Lord: 19. Loyalty!

Meanwhile, in every corner of Ansersheen City, the elves, who had just been awakened from their slumber of death, were experiencing a bizarre and surreal reality.

They wandered aimlessly through streets that were both familiar and strange, touching homes that had crumbled in their memories but were now perfectly intact.

Apart from Eleven, who was heartbroken and chose to immediately fulfill his duties, and Isriel, who was summoned directly to Akalion as both 'Secretary of the Council' and 'Secretary of the Lord', the other sixteen elves, after their initial shock and confusion, all made the same choice.

They returned to their respective homes.

That was their last refuge in the world—their home. Now, although they have endured the relentless erosion of ten thousand years, under the almost miraculous protection of the Secret Light Tower, every building has returned to its most perfect and flawless moment in their memories.

However, this perfection is more like an exquisite yet cruel form of torture.

The city guard captain's hands trembled as she stared at a family portrait on the wall that filled her with bewilderment and heartache. It depicted two kind-faced elderly elves, their smiles seemingly transcending millennia, warming hearts. She knew she should know them, should feel that blood-related warmth… but now, that memory seemed shrouded in a thick, impenetrable fog.

The knights from the royal court silently took down their once-proud fine gold armor from the armor rack, carefully wiping each emblem of glory with silk. They remembered the ferocity of every battle, but had long forgotten the merits that had awarded them for so many of those badges.

The runecrafters, heartbroken, gathered around the remains of a runic artifact that had nearly been completed on the eve of the calamity, only to ultimately fail. They could see the exquisite craftsmanship and grandeur of the work, yet they couldn't fathom which crucial step had gone wrong, leading to this irreparable failure.

The wandering knights, however, felt it even more acutely. Looking at the seemingly pristine furniture and decorations in their rooms, the moment their fingertips lightly touched them, the exquisite wooden chairs, the soft linen beds, and even their beloved longbows and arrows hanging on the wall, all silently turned into the finest dust, slipping through their fingers.

The tower's magic sustained the building's eternity, but it couldn't hold back these mundane things that had never been touched by magic.

They understood that the root of all this was the 'Edivara Resurrection Curse' that had brought them back to the present world—those who were resurrected would lose some crucial memories within the next one to two years.

But they find it hard to feel any gratitude for this 'new life'.

In this world devoid of hope, devoid of family, and where even memories are shattered, does 'living' truly hold any meaning?

This was a heavy, unwavering thought in the hearts of all of them. But out of a deep-seated sense of responsibility to their lord, they took action.

They first silently and meticulously tidied their appearance, as if using this ritualistic act to forcibly pull their long-dead souls back from the cold and empty underworld to the endless pain of being 'alive'.

Later, in their respective homes, they all looked out their windows at the towering mage tower in the center of the city, and at the imposing figure resembling a young dragon perched on the rooftop terrace.

"...It seems we have a new master." A female ranger with dazzling blonde hair leaned against the window, sighing softly, her face revealing neither joy nor sorrow.

“A dragon…a vicious dragon.” Her companion, another short ranger who was sitting at a table sharpening his sword with a whetstone, spoke with a surprisingly lively tone, “I can sense the chaotic and powerful aura emanating from him, but…it’s not purely evil.”

"Does it even matter whether it's evil or not?" The blond ranger gave a bitter smile. "This world is already a desolate ice field. Even the most evil five-colored dragon probably wouldn't like to roar alone in this empty, icy wasteland all day long."

Her words also expressed the sentiments of all her companions.

Before everything was destroyed, a city ruled by a dragon was not unprecedented in history. It was just that for the elves, who had once possessed a brilliant civilization, it was somewhat difficult to accept at first.

They are the dead, ghosts who were able to return from the apocalypse thanks to this "evil dragon" lord.

They will never forget this.

From a purely practical standpoint, to continue surviving in this desolate world, they must attach themselves to a sufficiently powerful force. And that dragon, the new lord acknowledged by the Tower of Mystery, is their only and ultimate choice.

Ideally, this evil dragon would acknowledge their loyalty—because 'loyalty' is the only ethereal thing they have to offer.

Their fighting power? For a dragon, it's practically the same as not having one.

Their treasures? Seriously, kill them, and those treasures will belong to the dragons too.

Their only remaining value lies in being the people themselves, filling the desolation of this empty city, so that the Dragon Lord is not too lonely.

One by one, the elves, after tidying themselves up and bidding farewell to their long-gone past, left their homes and slowly made their way towards the Tower of Mystic Light.

They prepared to pledge their allegiance to the evil dragon lord.

Akalion, perched atop the terrace, also noticed the commotion on the street below. Mystic Tower informed him of the names of all the elves who had not yet pledged allegiance, and in what order they would come to pledge allegiance.

They came in orderly rows, each elf wearing a bright little lantern on her chest, looking like fireflies from afar, advancing towards Akalion to the rhythm of the ranger's whistle.

Even in the apocalypse, why maintain these meaningless rituals and etiquette? Akalion thought so, but as a dragon, he felt quite pleased with himself.

Because he was certain that these were now his assets, and they were offering their loyalty to Akalion in their own way.

He slowly lowered his body, resting his massive dragon head on his forepaws, and quietly awaited the arrival of his 'people'.

"Lord Lord!"

With a crisp, synchronized sound of metal clashing against stone, six royal knights, led by Linara Dawn, dressed in their adamantite armor that symbolized their lost glory, knelt down on one knee in unison.

Linara lowered her head, her voice cool and solemn: "The eternal duty of protection that we once swore to the Sun Crown of Anelseion, we now present in its entirety to you, the new master of the Tower of Mystery, the sole monarch of this city."

“I accept,” Akalion replied in a deliberately low voice.

Next came Tyrael, Lysser, and Elaree, dressed in magnificent artisan robes. They carried no physical objects, but simply extended their hands, and three exquisitely crafted phantoms of equipment, constructed from pure runic light, slowly swirled in their palms.

“Our hands still hold the memory of creation, my lord,” Chief Craftsman Tyrael bowed. “We are willing to offer this memory and skill entirely to your rule, so that Anthershine may regain its former glory.”

“I accept.” Akalion nodded, acknowledging this loyalty offered as a sacrifice of 'technology'.

Finally, five rangers, led by the red-haired elf Fina, hesitantly stepped forward. Their slightly oversized robes, borrowed from their knightly colleagues, seemed out of place with their agile and nimble bearing, and a blush of embarrassment lingered on their faces. They had no mithril armor, nor any dazzling skills to display.

Fina took a deep breath and, with an almost self-mocking tone, offered their oath: "My lord, our forest has become a memory, and our longbows have returned to dust. Now, we have nothing of value to offer but these eyes that can still see into the darkness, these feet that can still traverse the wasteland, and... the last remaining loyalty of a group of people who have lost everything."

“…I accept.”

Akalion's voice came a second or two later than before. The elves' rather plain, even somewhat disheveled, attire involuntarily reminded him of Lumin's unique clothing, a blend of styles from two worlds. A strange sense of loss instantly gripped his heart.

The rangers, however, were unaware of the dragon's thoughts. All they saw was that after they offered their loyalty, the dragon's eyes suddenly darkened and deepened, and the surrounding atmosphere became cold and oppressive. A chill ran through their very souls, making them instantly believe they were about to be devoured on the spot by this capricious and wicked dragon lord.

Fortunately, Akalion eventually acknowledged their loyalty.

"My lord, Hilian."

Finally, a city guard captain clad in silver armor and possessing radiant silver hair took the stage. She slowly walked to Akalion. She did not kneel, but instead placed her right hand on her chest, bowed slightly, and gazed directly at the dragon with her eyes as blue as the ocean.

"The duty of the guard is to protect Ansersheen, the lord, and his people." Her voice was not loud, but it clearly reached the ears of everyone present, and every word carried an unquestionable determination. "I, Celian, swear by my life that I will defend the lord to the very end."

“I accept…” Akalion looked at the beautiful elves in front of him in a daze. He couldn’t sense even a trace of disgust or fear from these elves. He only felt a bottomless confusion and despair.

Resurrection is not a good thing for them, Akalion knows this very well, and if he were in their shoes, he wouldn't want to live in this apocalyptic world either.

The human part of them felt deep sympathy for these elves and thought they had gone too far.

As for the part that's a dragon, I feel a little sympathy, but then my appetite comes along with it. It's really hellish to digest (laughs). Playing a pun on hell, haha—it seems a bit lame.

Volume 1 Snowfield Dragon Lord: 20. Territory Development, the World, and the New 'Me' (Part 1)

Time flies, and more than a month has passed in the blink of an eye.

If it weren't for the Secret Tower's punctual timekeeping, Akalion wouldn't have been able to determine the exact time in this world where every hour is midnight and the sky is overcast; otherwise, he might have thought much more time had passed.

Because his size had grown so rapidly, it was already close to four-fifths of the size he had been in that dark space.

As a result, his appetite increased day by day.

The emergency food reserves that could have fed 400 people for a whole year are now only enough to sustain 300 people, even though the elves eat only half as much as humans.

Occasionally, to break the monotony of his taste buds, he would visit the botanical garden. The fruits there were just as Elaven had described—incredibly sweet, as if injected directly into the brain, but not cloying. Instead, they brought a surge of happiness to his soul, even intoxicating him for a moment.

The effect was almost like... no, it didn't matter even if it was the end of the world, and besides, it didn't bring any known side effects.

Judging from the fact that he only feels hungry again after eating a full meal once recently, his growth rate should slow down in the future. According to the Secret Light Tower's deduction, this growth rate is the last gift of the 'extinguished divine spark' that cannot be rekindled, and the current growth rate is the normal growth rate.

The number of times the full-power breath attack is still thirty, but the level of damage has jumped from the street-level to the weak city-level.

Without the protection of the Great Barrier, about seven to ten shots would be enough to completely burn down this elven city, which covers an area of ​​about sixty square kilometers. If there is a Great Barrier, then it is a different story.

Of course, he didn't need to do that; it was his city, his property.

Even as a city lord, Akalion possessed power that was more absolute and almost limitless than he had imagined.

But he wasn't crazy or brain-dead, and there's no anti-dragon magic like Dragon Maniac Lock in this world.

He was even somewhat surprised to find that even if he did not display any power or do anything beneficial to the city, these resurrected spirits would obey him unconditionally.

During the days he slept soundly on the terrace, not a single elf dared to launch any attack against him, this veritable 'dragon'.

Apart from that deep-seated fear of predators, they possessed no other hostile emotions.

It just felt like... every single one of them seemed so disheartened, a deep-seated weariness and emptiness, as if they had already accepted the fact that the world was destined to be destroyed.

However, after realizing that he was not the kind of purely evil dragon who took pleasure in destroying and tormenting living beings, and after Akalion had indeed been fulfilling his duties as the city lord for the past two weeks, the fear that everyone had of him gradually transformed into a certain degree of respect over the course of that month. It's always good for a prodigal son to turn over a new leaf.

Of course, the only exception was a certain female knight with a male elf's name who always had a stern face. Her dejection was off the charts, but when Akalion decided to 'tease' her on a whim, that sense of utter despair would vanish, replaced by a girl's fierce resistance, tinged with shame and indignation—this was the greatest source of pleasure in his life during this period.

Overall, this lord's job is quite easy.

All he needed to do was occasionally transform into a 'miner' and personally fly to the abandoned mines in the Tear of the Ancient Gods Mountains. While satisfying his appetite, he would search for high-quality Holite crystals that could serve as energy cores for the facilities in the city that were in dire need of repair, especially since more than half of the energy cores of the thirteen nodes of the Great Barrier were almost depleted.

Although the problem can be solved by charging the Secret Tower, the charging time is too long. To avoid accidents, it is better to replace them directly. More than half of the key facilities in the city have been replaced, so a few more won't make a difference.

Furthermore, the normal operation of the entire city of Ansersheen depends on the stability of the Secret Tower.

If one day, the core of the Mystic Tower were to fail due to an energy problem, then the 'Great Barrier of Ediwala' that protects everything would also fail. At that time, everything he possessed would meet its end in this eternal ice and snow.

This understanding was systematically established during the magical and magical history lessons that he forced Isriel to undergo.

Now that the gods have been far removed from this world since the Second Age, the Year of the Long Wind, the stable and orderly 'magic net' that once covered the entire world has also disappeared.

Although the air was still filled with almost limitless primal magical energy, directly channeling it to cast spells was an extremely difficult task—even though, over the long span of ten thousand years that followed, the local spellcasters had figured out a way to directly manipulate energy for casting spells.

But that requires either an exceptionally high level of talent, one in a million, or a particularly rare magical medium.

In contrast, spellcasters no longer need to remember fixed spell slots, nor are they bound by the vast majority of spellcasting materials.

As long as there is enough primal magical energy around them, as long as their mental strength is strong enough, as long as the power of the medium has not been exhausted, and as long as they can withstand the violent backlash of the primal magical energy, they can continuously cast spells.

If, in the days when the magic network still existed, one mage capable of consistently casting first-level spells could be born out of about a thousand ordinary humans, then today, that number would probably be barely one out of a hundred thousand.

While there are more elves who are naturally affinity-for-magic, the proportion has dropped from the terrifying ratio of 'ten out of ten could become spellcasters' to 'five out of ten'.

As for the second and third ring roads... they are extremely rare, so let's not even mention them.

Even so, the elves and humans of this land once built a glorious arcane empire by relying on this violent, primal magical energy.

The elves were the first arcane empire. But they encountered an indescribable terror called 'Calamity'. Although they did their best to keep it out of the world, the losses were too great. More than 90% of the elves were wiped out in 'Calamity', and the once mighty empire was destroyed as a result.

From that point on, the entire elven society adopted an extremely conservative defensive posture. They relinquished their vast dominion over the skies, continents, seas, and underground, retreating entirely into fortified cities centered around mage towers, licking the wounds that had seeped into the very marrow of their civilization day after day.