In the hallowed halls of Agni Academy, Catherine stands as the most cherished and welcomed beauty, revered not solely for her exceptional loveliness. Her grace extends beyond the physical, manifesting in the warmth that consistently graces her countenance. Among the adolescent hearts pulsing with the fervor of romantic inclinations, she is the most sought-after topic. I even harbor a suspicion that those lads, whose primal desires are stifled and have no outlet, channel their fantasies into thoughts of her.

Yet, most are cognizant of the futility embedded in these fantasies. So today, amidst my birthday revelry, my mischievous comrades decide to manifest their base desires by coercively feeding Catherine alcohol, exploiting her inebriation, especially considering the setting is her own abode.

"Regardless, there's no one around now, and Catherine is already inebriated, and it's in her own dwelling..."

I hastily supported Catherine as she surrendered to the pull of intoxication, her rosy lips slightly parted, her gaze alluring, and I found myself ensnared. An impish thought surfaced at this juncture.

No, I cannot succumb to this! My conscience admonished me.

Do not squander this opportunity; do not be a fool! Another thought clamored within. To my own self-reproach, this time, my conscience prevailed.

I struggled to quell the desire that had momentarily surged, transported the slightly inebriated beauty, and settled her in a guest chamber on the second floor.

"You shall repose here tonight." I cast a glance at the already unconscious beauty and withdrew gently.

"I must be the biggest imbecile and fool in the world!" Beyond the chamber's confines, I slapped myself ruefully. Such a golden opportunity, and I allowed it to slip through my fingers like grains of sand!

A peculiar emotion exists between Catherine and me, one that eludes elucidation even in my own introspection. We had crossed paths before her sojourn to Agni Academy.

It unfolded more than three years ago when, at the age of fifteen, weary of enduring the torments of the fiery-haired tyrant, I clandestinely ventured outside the city for respite.

On the sprawling lands of the Alassia continent within the Wind Domain, where humans had asserted dominion for three centuries, numerous ferocious creatures still roamed the untamed wilds. Traveling alone was fraught with peril, but at that juncture, my skills fueled confidence, and I feared not the dangers that lay in wait.

"If anyone dares to provoke me, I'll slaughter them for a drink!" I declared to myself.

In a maple-draped forest lining the roadside, I encountered Catherine—the woman who would haunt my dreams for a lifetime.

She wasn't my teacher then, en route to Wind City when beset by a griffin's assault.

The griffin, a formidable creature with the amalgamation of a lion's body, a luxuriant mane, eagle-like head, and wings, was a fierce predator. Even in its non-adult form, this creature was remarkably menacing, with keen, cunning eyes.

Catherine, a mage of no small strength, made a fatal misjudgment—engaging the griffin in close quarters, a perilous endeavor for mages.

Although unfamiliar with her at that moment, the sight of a damsel in distress propelled me forward, sword unsheathed.

Armed with nothing more than an ordinary blade, I could already harness the power of the Doomsday Bringer transformation—the second most potent transformation, trailing only the Dragon Warrior transformation. Yet, I refrained from employing it.

"Why use a sledgehammer to kill a chicken?" I mused.

Exuding arrogance, a trait often ascribed to those newly venturing into the world, I deemed myself invincible. Little did I fathom that after three years of traversing, progress would become an arduous endeavor. Perhaps, a few setbacks were requisite for a profound understanding!

With my sword raised to the sky, I uttered an incantation: "The wrath of the Thunder God descends here, bestowing upon this sword the power of lightning, all-pervading and invincible." A lightning flash emanated from the blade, enveloping it in an electric aura.

I brandished the sword towards the griffin's vulnerable neck, executing my proudest move—the Thunder Dragon Lightning Strike!

The sword traced an elegant arc, descending upon the griffin's neck. The creature, preoccupied with Catherine, only registered the impending strike moments before its execution. In a single, seamless motion, I severed its head.

As simple as slicing a watermelon, far too facile!

What griffin? A mere trifle!

However, victory proved fleeting. In the throes of my triumph, the griffin, instinctively counterattacking before succumbing, swept its claws across, gouging a deep gash into my chest. Blood surged forth akin to a fountain, and the searing pain plunged me into unconsciousness.

Upon regaining consciousness, darkness enveloped the surroundings. A captivating maiden lay atop me, sound asleep. A pink maple leaf gently descended, nestling in her golden hair. Her tresses flowed like a cascade, concealing half her countenance. Beneath the windless night sky, beneath the tranquil heavens, the scene exuded warmth and poignancy. The maiden's remarkably supple chest pressed against mine, a sensation evoking indescribable comfort. Popular among girls since the age of fifteen, my first kiss transpired at seven. Yet, the girl before me stirred feelings unparalleled by any other.

I lay in quietude, inhaling the air infused with the fragrance of youth, immersed in the romantic and poignant panorama. Astonishingly, no lecherous thoughts tainted my heart.

The wound on my chest had mended, and I deduced the situation. She must have wielded the healing magic of the Light system, tending to my injuries. Overexerted, she succumbed to slumber upon me.

With a slight movement, I lifted the maple leaf from her tresses. Her stirring awoke the maiden, her face crimson as she swiftly stood. She gazed at me, her blue eyes radiating brilliance akin to the most resplendent stars. Her visage flushed, resembling the sunset on the horizon—so exquisite and poignant. With jade-like hands, she gently swept her hair, a graceful gesture that quickened my heartbeat.

Immobile, I seemed ensnared in place. Her beauty etched itself onto my soul, enthralling my heart.

Upon scrutiny, her skin, unblemished as snow, reflected an unmarred purity. Delicate, proportionate facial features earned accolades from any who beheld them. She exuded a natural fragrance, refreshing and invigorating.

I realized—I was in love, genuinely in love.

The night enveloped us, and as the city gates sealed shut with the shroud of darkness, we sought refuge within the wilderness, amidst the ancient trees, where a bonfire flickered and tales unfurled through the night—a serendipitous encounter. I learned her name later—Catherine, a seeker of arcane knowledge, destined for the mantle of a magic teacher in Wind City.

Our discourse spanned the topography of Wind City, the caress of its climate, and the intertwining of our shared interests. At fifteen, my musings were bold, resonating with an audacity beyond my years, leaving her pleasantly surprised. In the tapestry of our thoughts, a shared disdain for war wove its threads, and my disinterest in blindly serving the emperor found resonance with her.

In these moments, we discovered kindred spirits, a rarity in my life where communion with my father often stumbled over discordant notes. Were I not his son, the repercussions of my rebellious musings might have been far graver.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Time slipped away unnoticed, yielding the most cherished memories of my life as the first light of dawn painted the horizon.

In the years that followed, marked by my ascent to notoriety, I revisited that sacred space alone. By the warmth of a solitary bonfire, beneath the vast canvas of starry heavens, I counted the descent of pink maple leaves, reminiscing about that enchanting moment—the leaves suspended in mid-air—and the facets of my youth forever lost.

As daylight broke, I returned home. My father, inquired about my nocturnal wanderings, confronted a fabrication tailored to elude inquiry. In the days ahead, Catherine and I burgeoned into inseparable confidants.

Five months later, my father ventured to the battlefield, a campaign destined for Karak City. Fate, however, proved merciless, and he never returned. In his demise, he perhaps found solace, for since my rendezvous with Catherine, I had earnestly immersed myself in training, confounding both the Red-Haired Madman and my father, who bore witness to this transformation.

Little did they grasp that this metamorphosis was predominantly for Catherine, and in part because, post my clash with the griffin, the veracity of "when the student is ready, the teacher will appear" dawned upon me.

At fifteen, infatuation burgeoning, I was oblivious to love's intricacies. Yet, in Catherine's company, I found profound happiness, desiring an everlasting connection.

Over time, Catherine and I forged an unspoken bond. Conversations flowed during my leisure, magical studies became our shared pursuit, and, incongruously for me, I assumed an earnest demeanor during practice. However, my abode remained off-limits to Catherine.

My father, an irresistibly charming man, famed as the Empire's Dragon Warrior, was too lecherous to relinquish such a beauty. Fearing Catherine's potential infatuation with him, I resisted her pleas to visit my home until my father's demise.

By then, my affection for her had burgeoned, yet confession eluded me. Not age disparity—the gap between my fifteen and her twenty—held me back, but rather, the taboo of teacher-student liaisons weighed heavily. As Charles Williams, scion of the revered Charles Williams, descendant of the inaugural Dark Dragon Warrior, societal norms wielded a stifling influence, even as my disdain for age-old traditions simmered beneath.

Sleep eluded me one moonlit night. The full moon, coinciding with my birth, cast its silver glow upon my unrest. Thoughts of Catherine, her enthralling silhouette, pervaded my mind. Prior relationships paled in comparison; a peculiar blend of mother, sister, lover, and friend emanated from her—a blend no other could proffer.

Perhaps, the twisted upbringing by my father and the early loss of my mother had left a void only a woman like a mother could fill.

In the nocturnal embrace of moonlight, unrest overcame me. My body, touched by lunar influence, underwent an inexplicable transformation—an eerie power coursed through me. Was it the dormant might of a dragon?

Heart racing, body surrendering to an uncontrollable force, I descended from my bed, pushed open the door, as if ensnared in a trance, and ascended to the rooftop.

The uppermost floor housed a vast chamber, once my father's sanctuary. Above, an ethereal beckoning stirred within.

Eyes fixed on the ceiling—an Empire-crafted masterpiece surrounded by crystalline facets—moonlight streamed through, enchanting the room.

Dragons, enamored by moonlight, drew strength from it; the Dark Dragon, in particular, cherished this celestial glow. Moonlight harbored the essence dragons absorbed to fortify themselves—an attribute inherited by Dark Dragon Warriors.

My father's blade, the ancient Dragon Heartscale, hummed—a call that resonated with me.

It beckoned!

Forged by the Ten Sages, architects of the Dragon Warrior, Dragon Heartscale was wrought from the "parts" of a dragon's anatomy. More than a blade, it was a magical amalgamation, part weapon, part wand.

Dragon scale enshrouded the hilt, the most impenetrable hide on a dragon's form—Dragon Heartscale.

"Touch not the Dragon Heartscale upon the dragon's chest, for those who dare shall perish beneath the dragon's flames!"

The hilt comprised four colossal dragon teeth, bound by the stickiness of dragon brain tissue—the stickiest substance known to the world. Embedded within was a seal, affording the wielder access to dark magic—an emblem embodying the might of shadows.

My father relayed that the materials used in forging this sword were harvested from a dragon. That dragon, owner of the Dragon Core of the Dark Dragon in our lineage, fell prey to the Ten Sages, who seized its core, extracted "parts" for crafting, and birthed Dragon Heartscale. The Dragon Core subsequently passed to our progenitor William, elevating him to the status of a Dragon Warrior.

Only a Dragon Warrior, matching the power of the Dark Dragon, could unleash the sword's true potential.

Ascending the stairs, the sword seemed to welcome me, casting a golden glow. Since my father's demise, it stood solitary upon the rooftop's altar. My persistent resistance to embrace my destiny as a Dragon Warrior held me back from ever touching it. Yet, it awaited like a steadfast lover, yearning for a change of heart.

Eyes fixed upon the radiant sword, I regarded it as one would a cherished antique, scrutinizing it meticulously. A slender, razor-sharp blade, ancient runes etched into its black surface, emitted a soft glow. A red blood groove, midway, hinted at a macabre history—dragon's blood or human's, an enigma veiled in the shadows. Lives had undoubtedly been claimed.

With a large hand, I reached out, fingers brushing against it, firmly grasping the hilt, and lifting it from the altar.

Dragon Heartscale departed from its long resting place, quivering subtly in the air, emitting a low hum.

After countless years, it was my first contact with the blade. Wrapping my fingers around the handle shrouded in dragon scales, the frigid edge gently grazed my face, its touch reminiscent of a familial embrace.

Engaging in a series of sword stances with Dragon Heartscale, I discerned a peculiar weight—it neither burdened nor floated, seamlessly an extension of my own limb.

Abruptly, a searing pain lanced through my skull, initially akin to a mere insect bite, but escalating into a torrent, akin to ripples from a stone cast into tranquil waters, coursing through every sinew.

The dormant Dragon Core within my mind stirred.

"Ah..."

Intolerable agony resonated in my screams, reverberating through the ancient castle.

Yet, the torment proved ephemeral. My bones resonated audibly, veins surfaced on my skin, and my physique underwent a robust metamorphosis. A surge of power inundated me like an unyielding tide, prompting a triumphant exclamation, "Yeah!"

Head tilted back, I bellowed into the moonlit night, the resonance echoing a dragon's roar. In the wake of my transformation, my garments disintegrated into myriad shards, swept away by the burgeoning dragon energy.

A sharp sensation and an itchiness seized my back. Amid the airborne fragments, a pair of ebon membranous wings unfurled from my frame. Each spanned seven feet, adorned with three enigmatic claws. The wings expanded behind me in a crescent arc, faintly fluttering. With their motion, my form levitated above the ground.

Initiating the most potent metamorphosis—the transformation of the Dark Dragon Warrior—I underwent a profound alteration.

In this moment, my eyes, once purple due to the mingling of demon blood, transmuted into gold—the distinctive golden gaze of a Dragon Warrior.

Fist clenched, draconic power coursing within, I had ascended to the echelons of a Dragon Warrior.

The experience diverged significantly from my metamorphosis into the Doomsday Bringer. The power within me was boundless, akin to the vast sky, yet I couldn't fully unleash it. Memories spanning seven generations of Dragon Warriors, from my progenitor William—the inaugural Dark Dragon Warrior—to my father Charles, surged into my consciousness, akin to a tidal wave from the depths of Dragon Heartscale.

The newly implanted memories violently collided with my existing ones, akin to pouring cold water into a vessel of boiling oil—a volatile reaction.

Plummeting from the heavens, I knelt upon the ground. My skull throbbed, thoughts plunged into chaotic disarray.

Visions of my father's demise at the Giant Stone Fortress, his fervent dalliances with a coterie of enchanting women, the duel between my ancestor and Lucifer III, the valiant stand of my grandfather confronting heavenly tribulations—all flickered before my eyes.

Amidst these memories, profound sorrow, vehement fury, the tenderness of autumn waters, and the audacity to sacrifice oneself for others intertwined. A myriad of emotions cascaded.

For a fleeting moment, my consciousness became a vessel tossed upon tumultuous waves, buffeted up and down in a tempestuous sea, tormented akin to a leaf in the gusting wind. Instinctively, I extended a hand, seeking a beacon in the tempest, searching for a haven to escape the sudden turmoil. Yet, all I grasped was the howling sea breeze.

Prostrate on the ground, coiled like a shrimp, my whimpering echoed, saliva uncontrollably dripping onto the earth. The bed lay nearby, but the strength to ascend eluded me. Control over my own body proved elusive, much less a plea for assistance. In the shrouding darkness, a guiding light was imperative.

Just as my spirit teetered on the brink of collapse, a warm hand rested upon my forehead.

"What's amiss? Oh, you've sprouted wings?"

In the throes of darkness and suffering, a glimmer pierced through. I reluctantly peeled open my hazy eyes.

A blurred figure stood before me. She aided my ascent from the ground onto the bed.

As one adrift at sea on the precipice of drowning, my limbs flailed wildly. Suddenly, I seized onto her like a drifting piece of wood, my limbs enveloping her in a grip refusing release.

My countenance pressed against her chest, my form trembling like a sieve.

She resisted my embrace momentarily but soon softened. Her hands initiated a gentle caress upon my neck. Her bosom, soft and resilient, exuded a faint fragrance. Breathing in the subtle scent, warmth surged through me from our intimate contact, dispersing the chill enveloping my form.

Gradually, the storm waned.

In this misty and nebulous state, the shadow of my mother materialized.

"Mom!"

I uttered softly, and my mother arrived to offer solace. I recalled a night following the Red-Haired Madman's initial perverse training, an ordeal that left my body fatigued. Throughout that night, my frame ached intensely, groaning in pain. Much like now, my mother, in a manner akin to the present, cradled me in her arms, fingers gently tracing my contours, soothingly patting my back, comforting me, accompanying me, guiding me through the long hours.

Memories of seven generations of Dragon Warriors gradually melded into my consciousness. Now, I could no longer discern my identity. I stood as a melancholic figure, bearing half a lifetime's worth of misfortune. With embittered patience and unwavering devotion, my progenitor William eventually won the heart of his beloved. I, too, assumed the mantle of my father Charles, the unparalleled martial artist, reveling freely amidst captivating companions. It felt as if I had just been born—a famished infant, eyes unable to open, yet instinctively seeking my mother's nurturing bosom, savoring the sweet and fragrant milk.

Internal impulses spurred commotion. Beyond mere hunger, another need clamored for attention. Though my eyes remained veiled in darkness, my body instinctively recognized the course of action.

Obstacles barred my path, yet I tore through them with my hands. Opponents continuously obstructed, but my two additional limbs—a pair of wings adorned with six tentacles—subdued them. I advanced, groping forward. In this process, faint calls reached my ears.

Finally, I reached a narrow and constricted cave entrance, seemingly impassable. Driven by hunger and the craving for my mother's sweet milk, I forced my way in.

My hands seized a soft yet firm and elastic entity. Exerting force, I progressed incrementally. Soon, I encountered another obstruction. Unperturbed, I pushed forward, the impediment before me compressed, deformed, and ultimately collapsed. A pained scream reached my ears, yet I paid it no heed, for I had successfully reached my destination.

I kept working hard to pursue this beautiful happiness.

In this beauty, I keep growing up, from a baby to a teenager, from a boy to a young man.

I ran on the grass, played in the fields, and chased the flying butterflies.

Happiness is accumulating and brewing bit by bit in the body, and finally reaches the stage of explosion.

"ah!"

Another small scream pierced the air, and a sharp pain shot through my back. The name sprang to mind, and I was startled.

The voice sounded familiar, and suddenly I recalled that it was the girl's scream from the day she was attacked by a lion heron in the maple forest.

"Catherine!" I remembered my identity.

I opened my eyes abruptly, and in a flash, I saw her perfect face once more.

However, this time, Catherine and I were lying unclothed in a spacious, plush bed. Our lower bodies were intimately connected. My manhood was thrusting inside her, as I reached climax.

"Catherine, my teacher?"

I exclaimed as my body went limp, and every drop of my seed entered Catherine's body. My head fell on her breasts, which were stunningly beautiful.

"It's not your fault; you are still a child," Catherine said as she closed her arms around me and pulled me into her warm embrace. She had a slight flush on her face, making her look pale yet charming.