Long Live the Dragon Clan

“Ahem… sorry, I lost myself.”

Only after Black reminded her did Karina stop—her face slightly flushed with embarrassment as she patted her cheeks.

She bowed to Black and hurried away.

Truthfully, Black already knew all this.
The game had plenty of lore on Alice’s character.

If he had to describe her?
A clumsy, stubborn, un-cute little girl.

Clumsy—because she practiced swordsmanship without insight or innovation.
She only followed the manuals—dooming herself to stagnation.

Stubborn—because she desperately craved recognition, valued pride too much—leading to her isolated, spoiled personality.

When you can’t surpass someone—just lie flat.
Some geniuses are walls you’ll never climb.

Couldn’t she learn from the Third Princess? A little cute act—and she’d win affection?

But no—she had to be a stubborn mule.

As a villainess, Alice had only one fate in both good and bad endings: death.

Now that he thought about it—it was because she so desperately wanted her mother’s approval that Jiaye manipulated her—leading to her death at Jörmungandr’s hands.

While playing, Black had pitied her.

Because anyone who’s studied knows—the tragedy isn’t the top student or the bottom.
It’s those who study day and night, yet see no progress.

Those mocked when grades are posted—”fake effort,” “dumber than me”—how pitiful.

And since Alice was fated to die, Black had never cared much about her.

Even as her personal guard—unless he slipped up, she couldn’t touch him.

Now—his priority was sabotaging the Dragonblood Council!

Black glanced at the sky—estimated the time.
Thinking of what he’d do next—a grin spread across his face.
Soon, he was nearly cackling.

“Hehehe… Dragonblood Council—I’m coming!”

If you’re spies on the Hodir—then I’ll become a spy within your spy ring!

Let’s play a thrilling game of Werewolf!

****

That night—moon bright, stars few.

The Hodir had fallen into silence.
Most were asleep.

But Mr. Black—dressed in black, wearing his bat mask—slipped into the shadows.

The Hodir, one of Cassel Continent’s largest ships, displaced nearly 100,000 tons—a true leviathan.
Its size rivaled Earth’s aircraft carriers and luxury liners.

With twenty decks: upper for combat, middle for living quarters, lower for engine and storage.

Black’s target? The storage hold.

More precisely—to meet the Dragonblood Council.

Of course, he couldn’t fight their elites.

So—join them.

His plan? Infiltrate as a double agent—sabotage from within.

Sounds impossible? For Black—it wasn’t.

In the game, the Dragonblood Council operated extremely cautiously—using coded messages to communicate.

For maximum secrecy, even they didn’t know who else was sent by the leadership.

They used codenames and signals to verify identities.

As a player—Black had god’s-eye view.
He knew their codes, codenames, signals.

Becoming a double agent? Child’s play.

But becoming an agent wasn’t his true goal.
His real aim? Steal the Council’s treasure: [Dragonfang Blade].

[Dragonfang Blade]—a 6-star weapon, one of the Council’s Three Sacred Treasures.

Forged from the broken fang of the Dragon King, Demon Dragon, hammered by an Emperor-Tier Alchemist.
Sharp enough to cut through anything in existence.

The blade carried a lethal poison—once poisoned, the Final Execution effect triggers:
Ignores level/status—removes 10% of max HP!

Even an Emperor-Tier master—if reduced to 10% health—would die instantly if stabbed by a Level 10 weakling wielding this blade!

Just how broken was this weapon?!

Players bid over a million yuan for it—pay-to-win exclusive!
Essential for level-skipping kills!

Of course—you still need to hit an Emperor-Tier target to trigger the poison.

Anyway—this 6-star weapon was now in the Council’s hands.

They brought out such a divine artifact—only to assassinate Empress Elizabeth.

They waited—for the moment Elizabeth and Jörmungandr weakened each other—then strike.
Use the Dragonfang Blade to finish her.

So—to ensure the good ending, Black had to steal the blade!

This would cripple the Council’s power!

Plus—with this blade, Black—the Level 10 weakling—would finally have a trump card.

No more having swords pressed to his neck!

With that, Black descended the stairs to the storage hold.

Taking the elevator was faster—but too noticeable.

He had to appear like a cautious, careful spy.

Entering the storage corridor—darkness.

Empty. Silent.

Perfect for spies to exchange intel.

The storage hold usually closed after midnight—no one came here.

Thud. Thud.

His footsteps echoed—heavy, oppressive.

Occasional water drips added eerie tension.

Black felt tense.
His plan was based on the game.
Facing the real Dragonblood Council—would they immediately expose him?

After five minutes, Black stopped at a corridor turn.

His lantern barely lit one meter ahead—too dark to see farther.

Yet—Black suddenly spoke:

“Long live the Dragon Race.”

A forbidden phrase—echoing in the narrow passage.

Before him—only darkness.
He seemed to speak to empty air.

But the moment the sound faded—something moved in the dark!

A ghost-like figure appeared before Black.

Had he not expected it—he’d have jumped.

The intruder wore black, masked—only cold eyes visible.