Five hundred years had slithered by, and Isaiah found himself a weathered dragon rather than the youthful pride he once brandished.

In his earlier days, being the weakest among his formidable companions was a humbling experience—one that didn't do wonders for his ego.

Urien, the revolutionary Force Art user, had sparked the glorious epoch known as the Force Golden Age. His strength was so intimidating that it left Isaiah feeling more like a barely flickering candle in a bonfire of arrogance.

Then there was Apostle Romeuf, whose remarkable ability to wield Holy Energy as if it were mere mana had Isaiah questioning the very nature of power. Who wouldn’t feel a little inadequate watching someone command celestial forces while he struggled to lift his own tail?

Vlad, the vampire, not quite the titan of strength, managed to be extraordinary in his own right. He hadn’t just mastered Vision Art but had the audacity to master Force Art as well. Honestly, who did he think he was? A triple threat?

Of course, Merlin reigned supreme among them all, an undeniable behemoth whose strength left even mountains trembling in envy. Morgan, on the other hand, had been born special.

Now, Isaiah, after five hundred years of patient waiting—well, one would hope such extensive time would translate into growth—had hoped to surpass any of them.

He embraced the rich tapestry of their legacies, his scales shimmering with the vibrant promise of a dragon who understood that time was his ally.

With a long lifespan and the mythical “strongest birth privileges” to guide him, he was on a unique journey of growth and transformation. Rather than merely competing in an endless game of “Who’s the Strongest?”, Isaiah recognized the power of patience and perseverance.

With every passing century, he evolved, stronger and wiser than he had been 500 years ago. He began to see that true strength wasn't solely about conquering rivals, but also about self-discovery and embracing his own potential.

He manifested his Vision.

TWANG! CLASH! CLASH! SLASH!

Isaiah pivoted, his spear glimmering with purpose, a sharp contrast to the raw and precise force that was Burn.

The air crackled with tension, and with his scales reflecting the light, he was well aware of the spectacle he was a part of. Burn, with the elegance of a predator, swung his longsword, carving arcs that seemed to dance through the air.

Trying to penetrate dragon scales was akin to attempting to pierce the world’s mightiest armor made from the purest pride. With his body fully clad in protection, Isaiah didn’t feel the need to dodge as much.

Yet, let’s be real—he wouldn’t actually let Burn strike him cleanly. His scales might hold up against a light drizzle, but he imagined that a solid hit would do little more than leave him with reassuring scratches.

And Burn? Well, Burn dominated the space around him with an air of unyielding might—a presence Isaiah had never found himself up against before.

“Urien, Romeuf, even mine own father…” Isaiah began, deflecting a downward strike intended for his shoulder, the spear’s shaft buzzing with the vibration of the impact. “They are naught in comparison to thee, art they?”

“So Morgan wasn’t lying,” Burn replied, a glint of amusement brightening his eyes even as he shifted his stance, muscles coiling for the next strike.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Isaiah lunged, thrusting the spear forward. It was a calculated move, targeting Burn’s midsection.

But Burn sidestepped with a lofty grace, retaliating with a swift horizontal slice. Isaiah ducked, the blade swishing mere inches above him, his heart racing as he spun to regain his footing.

“Nice try,” Burn taunted, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Risky. But great.”

“Am I fated to roam in an age most ill-suited? From the dawn of mine existence, many hath eclipsed mine every endeavor,” with a growl, Isaiah capitalized on Burn’s overcommitment.

He twirled, bringing the spear’s shaft around to strike at Burn’s knee. The blow connected, sending a shockwave through Burn’s leg, but the man merely grunted. He countered with a quick jab of his sword, the tip seeking Isaiah’s throat.

SSSSRRRRING!

It scratched his neck—“Egad,” Isaiah cursed.

“Let us maintain civility,” Isaiah quipped, maneuvering under the blade and deflecting it with his horn, the tip of his spear aiming for Burn's belly. “For it is but a friendly spar, is it not!”

Burn twisted, using his momentum to create distance and avoiding Isaiah’s tail whip at the same time, then lunged again, this time with a fierce upward slash aimed at Isaiah’s abdomen. Isaiah parried in haste, his spear clashing against the longsword with a thunderous clash that reverberated through the battlefield.

CLAANGGG!!!

“You’re getting better, I’ll give you that,” Burn remarked, stepping back briefly, a fleeting moment of respect flickering in his eyes. “But can you keep up?”

With a fierce grin, Isaiah surged forward. “What substance doth comprise thy body?!”

“Hahahah!” Burn laughed, finding his question genuinely funny, parrying Isaiah’s final attack.

CLASH!

“Answer me!” Isaiah demanded, his knee kissing the ground as he transformed back to his humanoid form.

“I absorbed the pure heat energy of a dying sun,” Burn replied, an air of nonchalance accompanying his admission. “Morgan helped with the transformation. This body is no longer... well, the DNA is still human, of course, but it’s evolved into my own little design project.”

Isaiah frowned, skepticism etched across his features. “Dying sun... dost thou profess this to be the zenith of Force Art?”

Burn nodded, planting the sword firmly in the ground, leaning on it like a crutch. “My body won’t tear, and even if it does, it’ll commence self-healing immediately. Aging abolished. My body clings to the finest version of itself, retaining the data and memory to fabricate the perfect cell it ever produced.”

“No more deterioration for me. Cancer? Not on my watch. Aging? Like I said, nope. Evolving? Mutating? Only if I give it a thumbs up.”

In theory, the main cause of aging was the imperfect production of cells, data corrupted like an old VHS tape struggling to play. Over the years, it was as if our bodies decided to photocopy fading documents, ink smudging, and original data disappearing.

The ability to replace failing cells? Yeah, that dropped off like a bad date—slowly and with plenty of awkward pauses.

Isaiah's lips thinned into a line. “But if thou dost draw thy might from a stellar body, wouldst not its radiation lend a pall upon thy regenerative revelry? Is not the sun the cosmic embodiment of unbridled calamity?”

Burn waved his hand dismissively, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “If you think of sun energy as just energy—like mana or Holy Energy—it’s not a stretch to say it’s all relative.”

“Initially, I could only contain it and process it slowly. Now? I integrate it fully. It’s still energy, after all.”

With a flick of his wrist, he bent light above his palm with mere intense heat. “We often transform mana to mimic the sun’s destructive energy, but what if we flipped the script? The sun, into mana.”

“That be clever,” Isaiah muttered. “Perchance 'tis my draconic privilege that doth stifle my creativity. I believed I hath already attained my zenith, yet I was wrong. Thou hast triumphed in this spar, Son of Arthur.”

Burn chuckled. He might have overpowered him, but deep down, he knew that if Isaiah truly unleashed his full strength—with both his Force and Vision somehow working in harmony—he could, without a doubt, leave a mark on Burn's supposedly imperishable form.

Isaiah’s humble nature really contrasted with what people think of dragons. Perhaps it was because of his past and his struggle. That was why he refrained from actually unleashing all he had in this spar.

“Pray tell, to what extent can thy body attain?” Isaiah asked.

“Well, now, I cannot be physically killed unless faced with powers greater than my own,” Burn stated calmly. “And even if my soul deteriorates or departs this realm, my body will remain impervious to decomposition.”

Isaiah’s eyes widened, a mix of awe and disbelief. “And is this achievable without any form of preservation?”

Burn nodded slowly. “Yes. Without the need for any preservation techniques, nothing in this world could break my body back down to dirt.”

The man hummed.

“I call this state of being as vessel immortality.”