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Unconsciously, the group had already reached the end of the path, where the iron-wrought main hall stood before them.

This palace was starkly different from the opulent style favored by Northern nobles. It lacked the so-called noble extravagance, instead embracing a straightforward, brutal aesthetic, giving a powerful sense of visual impact and pressure. It could make any ordinary person shiver in its shadow, deeply aware of their own insignificance.

Fried looked back at the carefully chosen boys, noticing that Anthony seemed to be lost in thought once again.

"Everyone, focus."

"You are about to meet the one true ruler of this land."

In truth, he had high hopes for the young boy named "Anthony."

Seven months ago, under the advance of the tiefling forces, the Calvin family, led by Earl Brandon, was wiped out. When the tieflings pursued the Earl's second son, Soli Calvin, they found him dead in the baron's mansion basement, his clothes in disarray.

A sharpened wooden stake was deeply embedded in his throat.

Beside the corpse, they found a boy, barely thirteen years old.

He was bare-chested, gripping a broken wooden stick in his trembling hands. His delicate face was smeared with blood, but his eyes held a determination far beyond his years—that boy was Anthony.

Fried had to admit that he was somewhat partial to Anthony, giving him extra attention.

It was because Fried had once been saved by his "White Lion Knight" brother, Tarik, in a similar manner. Tarik had killed the beastly headmaster who hid behind a human mask and escaped the orphanage with him. That memory was engraved so deeply in Fried's mind that he still remembered it clearly, and Anthony's situation had brought it all back.

Thankfully, Anthony did not disappoint him. With a relentless attitude toward training, he had become the most outstanding candidate.

"But what does this have to do with me?"

"I'm just completing a mission."

Fried allowed himself a barely perceptible smile, thinking this to himself.

With a heavy creak, the main doors of the hall slowly opened before them.

"Follow me."

Fried led the way at the front, with the boys trailing behind, carefully maintaining a tidy line.

Fried knelt on one knee at the steps, respectfully announcing, "Master, I have found suitable candidates as you commanded—those who are worthy of receiving your great blessing. I hope you are satisfied."

As Fried knelt, the boys, just as they had been taught, dropped to their knees behind him, their heads bowed low.

Anthony's breath quickened; he could smell the faint scent of sulfur.

The air inside the hall was much hotter than outside, and sweat rolled down his forehead, yet he remained kneeling, not daring to move an inch.

"Good. Raise your heads."

A commanding voice echoed from above, reverberating throughout the vast hall.

Anthony cautiously lifted his head, finally laying eyes once more on the imposing figure that was already etched in his memory—the massive, muscular dragon body lounged lazily atop the Iron Throne, its surface shimmering with magma-like ripples.

The golden slit-pupil eyes on that fearsome dragon head were filled with majesty, and the swept-back horns resembled a regal crown.

This was the absolute symbol of power, the one who shattered the old order of the North, the architect of the kingdom's new regime—the Ember King, Cassius.

Anthony's heart raced. He had never been so close to this formidable being before, and the thought of soon wielding immense power and attaining a glorious status, breaking free of his humiliating past, made his heart burn with ambition and anticipation.

The voice above spoke again.

"What is your name?"

Feeling the scrutinizing gaze from above, Anthony's heart pounded even faster. He thought with excitement, "Is... is he talking to me?"

The humiliating experiences of his past had buried deep-seated inferiority in him, making it hard for him to believe that His Majesty would focus on him.

He quickly lowered his head and responded, "Your Majesty, my name is Anthony."

"Oh? So you are Anthony?"

There was a hint of curiosity in Cassius's voice.

Cassius knew Anthony's story well. It had been turned into a typical example by the kingdom's cultural propaganda department—"Northern nobles oppressing commoners, kingdom's order rescuing the people"—and used in leaflets distributed to other northern nations, becoming an important piece of their narrative campaign.

But Anthony himself obviously did not know this.

At this moment, the young boy was overjoyed, even a little overwhelmed. "He knows me!"

He hadn't imagined that someone as lowly as himself, someone who had been no more than livestock under the old Northern order, could be remembered by His Majesty. The other boys looked at him with envious eyes.

This was the benevolence of the powerful toward the powerless. When there was such a vast gap in status and power, every move of the mighty would be seen as a great gift. But Cassius was already quite accustomed to this.

If a few words could make his subordinates loyal, why wouldn't he do it?

After a few symbolic questions and words of praise, Cassius yawned and commanded:

"Fried, begin the ceremony."

"Yes, Master."

Fried stepped forward, facing the boys, and calmly recited the oath:

"Extinguish the flame of the enemy's hope, enforce order with an iron fist, the Dragon Lord above all."

The boys loudly repeated the oath.

Anthony, his heart filled with emotion, followed the familiar script he had practiced countless times. Kneeling on the ground, he uttered each word firmly:

"Extinguish the flame of the enemy's hope, enforce order with an iron fist, the Dragon Lord above all!"

"Good."

Feeling the power of the contract, Cassius spoke.

The magma-like ripples on his body moved, releasing tiny glowing embers.

Now, with the ancestral dragon bloodline within him, he no longer needed the primitive method of "blood-dripping" to bestow blessings. With only a negligible amount of energy, he released magical fire seeds that contained his bloodline, granting mere mortals the blazing Red Dragon blood.

The flickering embers entered the boys' bodies.

They transformed human blood into dragon blood infused with elemental power, coursing wildly through their veins.

Despite being mentally prepared, Anthony gritted his teeth the moment the dragon blood began its transformation, nearly shattering them. He could hear the screams of his companions around him, unable to endure the pain.

It was so hot, unbearably hot!

His body felt like it was being submerged in magma, ready to burn away.

Anthony writhed on the ground in agony, his skin turning red as scalding steam rose from his body.

In that instant, Anthony felt like he was back on that unforgettable afternoon. Once again, Baron Soli appeared before him, stretching out his vile hands towards young Anthony.

"But... I need this power!"

"What if I become a monster? What if I become a follower of a dragon? At least I won't be livestock to satisfy someone's desires."

"I want to be truly human!"

He roared inwardly.

This time, Anthony did not experience the reality of abuse; instead, he unleashed raging flames, incinerating that wretched man to ashes.

Scales faintly appeared beneath his skin, a row of spines emerged along his back, and his once-thin frame greedily absorbed the surrounding energy, becoming stronger.

As the steam dispersed, Anthony's appearance was still somewhat human but now carried distinct draconic traits.

The remaining eleven boys had undergone a similar transformation.

All twelve who received the blessing had, without exception, successfully transformed into Dragon-Oath Paladins.

However, the others couldn't bear the impact of the immense power on their minds. They were unable to control their newly formed dragon bodies and had temporarily passed out.

Only Anthony, using his arm now covered in dragon scales, managed to support himself, slowly rising before kneeling again.

His lips moved slightly.

"Dragon Lord..."

At this moment, he had truly been reborn, leaving behind the boy who once cowered in a dark corner.