The following morning, over forty individuals stood in front of the western gate with determined expressions on their faces. These were the chosen from the eight kingdoms.
Nox stood at the forefront, upright, his armor gleaming under the glare of the sun. Several gazes pierced his broad back—some filled with envy and scorn, while the majority carried admiration and respect.
He could feel all those gazes and easily understood the reason behind them. It was because he was powerful. Dragons were proud, mighty creatures that rarely bowed their heads to anyone.
To gain their respect and admiration, one had to be strong enough to make them kneel. Nox's victory in the tournament had already erased most doubts, but deep down, he knew there would still be those who'd want to challenge his leadership.
Standing beside him was Drake, who handed him a map showing the route they would need to take to reach the Marked Zone.
