Kieran awoke to the pale light of dawn creeping through the jagged rocks around him.

His body ached with a dull, persistent throb, as though he had been trampled under the heavy steps of a beast.

The source of the ache was no mystery.

His right palm bore the glowing mark of the Celestial Crest, a relic he had stumbled upon in the darkest moment of his life.

The searing pain from the day before lingered faintly in his memory, like the ghost of a brand long extinguished.

He flexed his fingers, the glow pulsing softly, as though alive.

For a fleeting moment, a thought crossed his mind of fanciful heroes from children’s tales—those who blasted energy from their palms to vanquish foes.

The absurdity of the comparison made him scowl.

He was not a hero, nor did he aspire to be one.

He was just Kieran—a scarred orphan of the Wyrmlands, struggling to survive in a land where survival was never guaranteed.

The warmth of the Crest stirred again, steady and deliberate, as if to remind him of its presence.

He stared at the glowing mark, his green eyes narrowing.

This was power, raw and untamed, but it would not be enough.

Not yet.

A memory surged forward unbidden, the sight of molten gold scales glinting in firelight, the sound of roars tearing through his village.

He clenched his jaw, anger flaring hot within him.

He would grow stronger, no matter the cost.

The faint rustling of leaves pulled him from his thoughts.

His gaze snapped to the treeline, sharp and wary.

The Wyrmlands were never silent for long, and the land had its way of testing even the most hardened traveler.

He rose to his feet, his hand instinctively brushing against the dagger at his side.

The wind shifted, carrying with it a musky scent that set his nerves on edge.

It was then that he saw it—a Glintfur Bruin emerging from the dense undergrowth.

The beast was shaped like a massive bear, but its shimmering silver coat and unnervingly intelligent eyes marked it as something far deadlier.

Its muscles rippled beneath its fur, taut and brimming with latent strength.

Glintfurs were known for their speed and resilience, their hides capable of deflecting most mundane weapons.

The beast locked eyes with him, its gaze burning with a primal challenge.

Kieran’s breath steadied, his anger fueling his resolve.

This was no chance encounter.

This was an opportunity.

The Crest pulsed again, brighter this time, as though answering his unspoken call.

The Glintfur’s lips curled back in a snarl, revealing rows of sharp teeth that could tear through steel.

Its massive body crouched low, ready to spring.

Kieran did not wait.

He raised his marked hand, and the golden light flared to life, illuminating the clearing in a brilliant glow.

The Glintfur charged, its speed belying its size.

Kieran moved swiftly, sidestepping the beast’s initial lunge.

The ground trembled as its claws gouged deep furrows into the dirt where he had stood moments before.

With a surge of focus, Kieran thrust his glowing hand forward.

The light shot out in an arc, striking the Glintfur squarely in the chest.

The beast roared, its body convulsing as the energy coursed through it.

Yet, it did not fall.

Instead, it rose again, its defiance unbroken, its eyes blazing with fury.

Kieran’s heart pounded, but he did not falter.

The strength of the Crest was not limitless, and he knew this fight would test him.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

The beast lunged again, faster this time.

Kieran ducked beneath its swiping claws, his movements fueled by a combination of instinct and sheer willpower.

The Crest’s light surged once more, enveloping his arm in a radiant aura.

With a roar of his own, he struck the Glintfur with a concentrated burst of energy.

The impact sent the beast skidding across the clearing, its body crashing into a tree with a deafening crack.

It lay still, its shimmering fur dimmed, its defiance extinguished.

Kieran stood over it, his breath heavy, his arm trembling from the strain.

The glow of the Crest faded, leaving behind a faint warmth in his palm.

His anger burned hotter now, not at the beast but at his own limits.

He had won this battle, but it was only a small step toward the power he sought.

His thoughts turned to the Strength Index, a system devised to classify creatures like the Glintfur.

The beast had been ranked as E-Grade, formidable but not insurmountable.

Beyond it lay creatures of unimaginable power—B-Grade Behemoths that could reshape landscapes, A-Grade Apex predators that shaped history, and S-Grade Supremes that rivaled gods.

To face the dragons that had taken everything from him, Kieran knew he would need to ascend far beyond his current strength.

His Strength Index barely scraped the edge of the Elite tier, lingering below 50—enough to fend off lesser beasts but laughably insufficient against even a low-tier dragon.

To stand a chance, he would need to push past the Elite rank, climbing through Dominus and Conqueror levels, where the Index ranged from 50 to 500, and into the realm of true power.

He would have to master every facet of the Crest, uncovering its secrets and unlocking abilities capable of rivaling beings with Strength Indices in the thousands.

Only then could he hope to challenge the Apex and Supreme forces that dominated the skies, wielding the kind of power that had turned his village to ash.

“To do that, I’ll need to fight,” Kieran thought grimly. “Again and again.”

As though the land itself had heard his resolve, the wind shifted, carrying a distant sound that made him freeze in his tracks.

A roar echoed through the barren landscape, deep and resonant, far more menacing than the Glintfur’s growl.

Kieran’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward the source of the sound.

On the horizon, a shadow moved, larger and more imposing than any creature he had faced before.

Its scales shimmered in the fading light, and its glowing eyes locked onto him with a predatory intensity.

Kieran’s grip on his dagger tightened.

The Crest pulsed once more, the light flaring in response to the approaching threat.

His jaw set, his anger sharpening into resolve.

"Come on then," he growled, his voice steady, his focus unyielding.

The beast roared again, louder this time, as it charged toward him.

Kieran raised his marked hand, the golden light blazing anew.

And with that, the battle began.

The Razorback Gorehorn lunged forward, its tusks tearing through the jagged terrain, its glowing eyes locked on Kieran.

The air was thick with the scent of blood and earth, the remnants of their skirmish etched into the battered ground.

Kieran staggered, his legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion and pain, but his resolve burned fiercer than ever.

He clutched his side where the beast's charge had grazed him, the warmth of blood soaking through his tunic.

The Celestial Crest flared again, responding to his desperation with a golden light that rippled along his arm.

The Razorback roared, its muscles taut as it prepared another charge, its hooves gouging deep furrows into the dirt.

Kieran gritted his teeth, his mind racing.

He had to end this, now or never.

Failure meant death—his and possibly many others’ should this beast continue its rampage.

He thrust his hand forward, the Crest unleashing a radiant blast that struck the Gorehorn’s armored flank.

The beast staggered, its cry filled with rage but also pain.

The light had pierced its hide, but the wound was shallow.

The Razorback wasn’t done, and neither was Kieran.

The Crest pulsed again, brighter, more insistent.

It seemed to resonate with his anger, his determination to survive.

He thrust his hand forward once more, the light exploding outward in a radiant wave—one nearly twice as powerful as before.

The energy surged forth, crackling with intensity, and he felt the strain in his arm as the Crest drew deeply from his reserves.

His mind raced even as the light carved through the air.

This wasn’t just a desperate strike—it was power, raw and unrelenting.

The Razorback Gorehorn was a D-Grade Dominus, its Strength Index likely within the range of 100 to 150.

The previous bursts had staggered it but barely left a mark, their force too shallow to break through the beast’s hardened hide.

But this wave—this was different.

The surge was immense, easily doubling the energy of his earlier attacks.

If the Crest's first blasts had carried a Strength Index of around 50, this one had to exceed 100, perhaps even more.

The thought filled him with grim satisfaction.

This was the level of force capable of breaking a creature like this.

Not just wounding, but truly damaging—rending flesh, shattering bone, and bringing a predator to its knees.

The light struck the Razorback with a thunderous impact, carving through the air like a celestial blade.

The beast roared, the sound twisting into a guttural cry of pain as the golden energy tore into its side.

Its armored hide, once impervious to mundane weapons, cracked and smoldered under the intensity.

The sheer force of the blast hurled it back into the shattered remains of the boulder, debris scattering in every direction.

For a fleeting moment, Kieran’s focus sharpened, his thoughts turning cold and precise.

He was no longer just surviving—he was testing the limits of this power, and it was proving formidable.

The Razorback struggled to rise, its legs trembling, blood pooling beneath it.

Kieran watched, his breath heavy but controlled, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

This wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

The Crest pulsed faintly, as if sensing his resolve.

It was power, yes—but it was only the beginning.

The beast rose once more, defiant despite its injuries.

Kieran stepped forward, his eyes narrowing, his voice low and resolute.

“This ends now,” he murmured, the golden light in his palm flaring brighter.

He braced himself as the Razorback charged one final time, its fury meeting his unrelenting will.