Reborn as a Devouring Dragon with a System-Chapter 95: Golden Dragon Palace

There it stood—a Golden Palace, a sanctum untouched by time, perched as if atop a radiant, sky-floating mountain wreathed in divine clouds of gold.

Colossal golden spires pierced the heavens like spears of judgment, each etched with celestial dragon runes that glowed faintly with molten light. The entire exterior shimmered—as though the palace itself breathed. Its walls were forged from an unknown alloy, a material that gleamed like dawn on an ancient battlefield, and at times seemed to reflect echoes of past rulers in its solemn luster.

Stretching before the palace was a wide bridge—The Path of Kings—suspended above an endless chasm of light. Embedded along its length were glowing golden scales, each one larger than a man, laid out like stepping stones on a dragon’s spine. Every step toward the palace resonated with memory—whispers of tyrant dragon roars and divine decrees echoing with every footfall.

Guarding the titanic gates stood a golden dragon statue—but it was no mere sculpture.

Its eyes burned with conscious light, its mouth slightly agape, as if prepared to roar to life at any moment. Its wings were folded behind it like a robe of judgment, its tail coiled around the base of the gate like a divine seal. Its spiraled horns crowned it like a regal helm, and its scales, like sacred armor, shimmered with unknown runes.

Etched into the archway above, glowing runes proclaimed the name:

"Golden Dragon Palace."

It marked the sanctum as the throne of draconic dominion.

This was what had stunned Drakion. He had never imagined a palace of such grandeur. It towered vastly beyond his own, spanning a radius of fifty to eighty kilometers. From where he stood, he couldn’t even grasp its full size.

And he wasn’t alone.

Everyone who laid eyes upon the palace was struck silent, their gazes locked in awe and disbelief.

Drakion’s eyes then shifted to the bridge that separated him—and the crowd—from the Golden Dragon Palace.

Then, something strange happened.

A familiar call stirred within him, faint yet undeniable, resonating from the palace itself, as if something within was summoning him. Confusion crept in.

"Welcome, Dragon Emperor."

Drakion’s eyes widened. The voice echoed in his mind.

He immediately looked around, scanning the crowd for anything out of place—anyone behaving oddly—but saw nothing.

"Who are you?" he asked inwardly.

Silence.

No response came, leaving Drakion unsure whether his identity had just been exposed.

A tense stillness fell over him as he watched and waited, surveying his surroundings for any sign of a threat.

Meanwhile, the crowd had begun moving across the bridge, their eyes gleaming with greed and ambition. The palace was the only structure left intact, and they believed the legendary treasures of the dragons still lay within its depths.

They didn’t care about what had caused the downfall of the dragons—not the clans, nor the mystery of the extinction. Their families had warned them not to delve too deep if they wished to avoid disaster.

Out of a thousand people, only ten managed to cross the bridge. Seven to nine of them emerged injured—only one or two unscathed. It took unwavering willpower, immense strength, and sheer perseverance to make it through.

The force that resisted them was far greater than the bridge they’d crossed near the dragon skeletons.

"It’s been turned to ruins too," Drax sighed within Drakion’s mind.

"What do you mean? It’s still intact," Drakion replied, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Use your Devouring Eyes to see through the illusion," Drax sighed again, voice heavy with truth.

Drakion activated his Devouring Eyes.

And then he saw it.

Astonishment washed over him.

"You’re right... the palace didn’t escape it either," Drakion murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.

The palace was a ruin cloaked in illusion.

The golden spires that once pierced the clouds were fractured. The celestial dragon runes had dimmed to near nothingness. The entire palace now emitted only a faint golden hue—a dying echo of its former glory.

He turned to the bridge.

It too was battered—damaged and leaking power. Its current strength was but a fraction of what it once had been.

Not even ten percent... Drakion realized. And yet, cultivators were still struggling to cross it.

"I wonder just how powerful the Golden Palace was at its peak," Drakion whispered as he stared at the majestic ruin.

"Far beyond your imagination," Drax chuckled, his tone tinged with nostalgia. "It was a Level 4 Golden Dragon Palace—home to over a hundred thousand clan members. It’s not something you can ever underestimate."

"Wow, the dragon statue came to life."

Drakion heard the words and was pulled from his reverie. His gaze shifted back to the statue now fending off the ten cultivators who had crossed. It struck them down without mercy—some were slain outright, while others fled, desperate to cling to their lives.

As Drakion watched the carnage, his eyes narrowed.

The dragon statue’s head had been severed, rendering it headless—yet it still unleashed death as if driven by will alone.

"How strong was the enemy that left this behind?" Drakion sighed, his voice laced with grim wonder.

"Drax... I heard someone say ’Welcome, Dragon Emperor.’ It seems my identity might’ve been exposed," Drakion murmured in quiet apprehension.

"Your identity hasn’t been exposed yet. I can still sense a faint trace of life within the palace," Drax replied calmly. "It feels... like something is waiting for you."

Drakion stared at the palace, suspicion clouding his golden eyes.

"What if it’s a trap—an enemy’s plot?"

"There’s only one way to find out," Drax answered with a low chuckle.

Turning away, Drakion addressed his companions.

"You should all wait here for me." His tone was firm but calm, his eyes already locked on the radiant bridge.

As he walked toward it, he noticed Lyla, standing off to the side, watching him with an unreadable smile etched across her face.

Then, Drakion stepped onto the bridge.

The world shifted.

It was as if time pulled him backward—into memory itself. The scene before him melted into a vision of peace and beauty. He saw young dragons, little more than hatchlings, laughing and playing. Adult dragons soared across the sky, wings slicing through golden clouds. In the courtyards below, dragons in their human forms walked and conversed, smiling, living, thriving.

The air was rich with warmth—love, kinship, and pride.

Drakion didn’t realize when a single tear traced down his cheek.

By the time the vision faded and reality returned, he was already standing at the end of the bridge.