CHAPTER 130: THE ODD TREND

Hearing my question, the others also quieted down, some curious about what we meant, while others seemed to know of what we spoke, and just wanted to see my reaction, as Isaac answered with a small smile "The trend you speak of, sire, is the fact that after gaining your newest titles of the Ruinous Dragon and the Mad Monarch, the other three emperors decided to bestow their heirs with titles similar to yours, that hold the word dragon within them."

I was taken aback for a moment, not because I had just heard the second title I had apparently earned during this for the first time, that Isaac had previously mentioned wasn’t so flattering; which it wasn’t, neither in this life nor the last. But never the less, I had expected to earn my old title of the Mad Monarch even faster in this lifetime than the last. But the Ruinous Dragon was still odd to hear, especially after finding out that it had apparently started a new found taste for draconic titles among the inheritors of the other major powers.

"Hmph!" Valdour snorted in contempt. "No doubt they did it in an act to show the world that their heirs would not be any lesser than you, sire." He said as he refilled his massive cup with more Dionysian Ambrosia.

"How is that any fair?!" Cyrus suddenly yelled out in indignation, slamming both his open palms on the table, as he jumped from his seat, jumpscaring the younger children on the table while surprising the adults.

My mother wanted to quickly admonish him for his poor manners, especially before our guests, when Nizam spoke first, his tone more measured than Cyrus’ outburst, but far colder "Brother fought the Mercenary King to a standstill and ended a massive rebellion in a little more than three months to earn his titles. What have they done to earn an honour even slightly similar to that of my brother?"

"Exactly!" Cyrus hollered, pointing at Nizam as if he were a lawyer before a court, and his older brother was his best piece of evidence.

And though it was undeniably humorous how he acted, and the fact that these words were spoken from the mouths of children, who spoke more as an outburst of innocent emotion; they were still without fault, as many of the adults also felt the same, silently agreeing with my brothers’ outrage for the other empires’ shamelessness.

Chuckling while a warm feeling, like that of drinking a glass of hot tea in a cold winter’s night, spread through my body, I turned to Isaac yet again, and half knowingly asked "Was Maximillian the one who gave me this title?"

"Indeed he did, sire." Isaac affirmed. "After he entered the Yue Dynasty, he spoke very highly of you, and apparently only referred to you as the Ruinous Dragon, as he proclaimed you as an equal in strategy, and the only one to be able to ruin his plans so spectacularly." Isaac finished with a chuckle in his throat and a hint of pride in his voice.

"That just makes it worse!" Cyrus raged again, his cute little face flushed red to his ears. "The Mercenary King gave my brother that title because he judged him his equal, who are they to claim the same?!"

"Cyrus, that is enough." Though my mother scolded him with an even voice that gave none of her true thoughts away, her unconscious frown betrayed her true emotions, since she too was as displeased as he was, but she didn’t want her son to continue acting like a mannerless hooligan who couldn’t even rule over his own temper.

"But mother!" Yet the ever obedient Cyrus, who never dared disobey our mother once she was serious, was so consumed by his fury this time around that he utterly forgot himself, even venturing the foolish risk of wanting to argue with her after she had spoken.

"Cyrus." I called out, not wanting the banquet my mother had worked so hard on to be soured, as I jokingly continued "Calm down little brother. Your outrage here is misplaced, save it for tomorrow, during your martial arts lessons, and maybe you’ll finally be able to manifest your aura."

Cyrus seemed to finally regain a sense of clarity at the sound of martial arts and aura, as he sat back down in his seat, though he was clearly still displeased, as evident by his crossed arms and pouty scowl, which failed to elicit anything from any of us other than a light hearted chuckle at his childish antics. With even my mother gently rubbing his golden hair, trying to ease his mood, though it was clear that he would not escape a good talking to after all of this was over.

I then turned to Isaac again, and curiously asked "What were the titles the other three received?"

Isaac thought for a moment "Emperor Octavian awarded his son and heir, the young crown prince Aurelius, the tile of the Radiant Dragon, representing that he would one day blind all with his glory, and outshine any who would share in his generation."

My uncle snorted, not impressed, while the still upset Cyrus scoffed, his already existing hatred for the Luminous Empire increasing two fold as he heard Isaac’s words, while his previous opinion of Aurelius instantly plummeted, already writing him off as an arrogant brat he wouldn’t like meeting in his entire life.

Isaac continued "Additionally, Emperor Tianlan, had bestowed upon his son, crown prince Weixiao, the Celestial Dragon title, signifying that he shall stand above all others, with none being able to reach him, no matter how high they fly."

This time it was Abraham’s and Nizam’s turn to show their contempt, as a sneering laugh emerged upon their lips, finding this title even more pretentious than the last.

"And finally," Isaac proclaimed, my full attention now focused on his coming words, wanting to know what that scum had earned himself this time without doing anything "Emperor Mikhail of the Boreas Empire named his only son Nicholas, the Everlasting Dragon; symbolizing that he would prevail no matter the odds and challenges he’s faced with, and outlive all his foes, creating a legacy that shall no know end."

"How pretentious." It was Valdour who spoke, scoffing as he did, while taking another sip from the mesmerizing Dionysian Ambrosia in his hand.

"Indeed." My mother echoed, her face showing a rare glimpse of open aversion, since as a trained priestess and a devout member of the clergy, she had long been taught that their was only one thing in existence that can be truly called ’everlasting’, and that was the Gods.

"Brother, are you not upset?" Nizam then asked, his tone still cold.

"No, I’m not. mimicry is the highest form of flattery after all" I answered lightly with a harmless smile, one that alarmed those who were more familiar with my methods, and merciless personality, that I tried to keep as hidden as possible in front of my family.

"But brother they are obviously challenging, and not flattering you." Nizam argued, his tone tense.

A dark laugh, one that sounded like a devil’s hymn, hauntingly beautiful in it’s chime, as it seduced you to your own demise, then seeped from my lips, as I amusedly said. "Let them call themselves whatever they want, even if they elevated their grand labels even more than this, and blasphemed against the Gods, by calling themselves the Radiant, Everlasting or Celestial God, I wouldn’t care and if anything I would welcome it." A silent gasp passed through them at that moment, but I still continued; a sadistic smile slowly stretching across my lips, as my words resonated with the chilling certainty of a calamitous prophecy. "Because everyone knows that these grand labels are nothing but hollow words, an absurd joke. Something none of their prides could ever accept, and so they will strive to prove themselves worthy again and again, risking more and more with every desperate try, until they are crushed by the unbearable weight of the expectations placed upon them."

And though it was not my intention, a dreadful silence then settled on the pervious merry hall after the culmination of my eerie words, like a suffocating miasma, it constricted around everyone’s throats, making the food suddenly start to taste like ash in their mouths, while even the Dionysian Ambrosia in Valdour’s hands seemed to turn sour and poisonous, burning it’s way down his throat like noxious acid.

This uncomfortable hush remained for a few more seconds, until my uncle sarcastically raised his cup in toast and smirkingly said "In honour of the new fledgling dragons. May they forever strive to live up to their names."

A laugh passed along the lips of all those present, as they followed my uncle’s lead and raised their glasses as well, the previous joy of the banquet returning in full swing, dispelling the earlier seriousness, as everyone continued enjoying themselves for the rest of the night.