At the break of dawn, the first light of day began to seep through the horizon, yet deep within the volcanic cavern, a persistent haze of grayish-white mist clung to the air.
This mist was not entirely stagnant; it moved as if alive, drifting languidly through the folds and shadows of the cave, sometimes gathering, sometimes dispersing, like the lingering breath of a slumbering dragon.
Through the crevices in the rocky walls, faint tendrils of morning light struggled to penetrate, filtered layer by layer by the mist. The once-sharp rays became soft and dim, leaving only a trace of desolation to spread across the damp stone surfaces.
In this dimness, Serathus slowly opened his draconic eyes. Within his amber, slit pupils, the fine dust particles floating in the air were reflected, as was the weariness deep in his gaze—a weariness beneath which lay a will as unyielding as molten lava.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting toward the deeper recesses of the cave.
In the shadows of the morning mist, two small figures could be seen nestled together—his younger brother, Agnas, and his sister, Catilia.
Even in their sleep, the young dragons displayed starkly different postures. Agnas, somewhat clumsily, rested his chin on his sister's scales, as if seeking a comforting warmth, yet inadvertently pressing Catilia tighter.
Catilia, on the other hand, curled herself into a tense ball, like a young creature starved of security. Her tiny claws scratched restlessly at the ground, though a sly smile lingered at the corner of her mouth, as if even her dreams were a stage for her cunning schemes.
In contrast, Agnas seemed carefree, his breathing steady and deep. His front claws were clenched into fists, as if he were still locked in a fierce struggle with an imaginary foe, refusing to yield.
Serathus felt as though an invisible force had gripped his throat, his breath catching, his claws instinctively tightening, their sharp tips digging into the rocky ground.
The memory of the brutal fight between brothers a week ago surged into his mind, burning like molten lava, scalding and painful.
In a moment of impulse, he had accepted Agnas's challenge, thinking it would be a simple sparring match. Instead, it had turned into a near-death struggle.
Claws tore through the air, fangs ripped into flesh, and blood splattered across their scales, blooming like crimson flowers on the gray stone, a sight both horrifying and mesmerizing.
Worse than the physical wounds was the burning in his soul—a black flame born of resentment and anger, a flame that could consume even the strongest bonds of kinship.
In the end, Serathus had narrowly won, his superior stamina forcing his proud brother to lower his head in defeat.
Now, the scales on Agnas's body, once torn by claws, were slowly and painfully regrowing. The new flesh was an almost unnatural shade of red, like blood frozen in midair or a series of crimson warning lights silently questioning Serathus: *Physical wounds may heal, but how do you mend the cracks in the soul?*
Serathus silently vowed, "From now on, I will no longer rely on meat to replenish my strength. Though it restores me quickly, it only increases my karmic debt."
He knew that while this karmic debt seemed insignificant, the yellow-tier skill book *Manifestation of Karmic Retribution* in his system had already caught his attention. Its power both tempted and terrified him; using it recklessly could lead to his downfall.
After much deliberation, Serathus decided to focus on doing good deeds, clearing his karmic debt, and preventing the value on his system panel from rising further.
He rose to his feet, his massive form casting a long shadow in the dim light.
As he stepped out of the cave, he couldn't help but glance back, his gaze lingering on the mountain of gold coins and the dragon mother, who sat atop it like a silent statue.
The gold still gleamed blindingly, and the dragon mother's presence remained imposing, yet there was an undeniable air of loneliness and detachment, as if she were out of place in her surroundings.
"How strange," Serathus murmured in his heart, his confusion deepening. "Why would such a powerful dragon mother be alone? According to the ancient traditions of the dragon race, every red dragon, upon reaching adulthood, should establish their own lair, gather followers, and expand their influence. That is the way of the red dragon. Kobolds, orcs, dwarves—countless lesser races yearn to serve a mighty red dragon, to become their claws and wings. Yet this dragon mother seems utterly disinterested, content to guard this cold pile of wealth day after day."
He shook his head gently, pushing the thought aside for now. "Enough. The dragon mother's affairs are not my concern. For now, I must focus on my planting task."
The task was clear: plant ten crops and wait for the harvest.
To speed up the growth, Serathus decided to use the primary elemental energy fertilizer gifted by the system.
He tore open the simply packaged fertilizer bag, and a faint earthy scent wafted out. The granules felt smooth and cool between his fingers.
"The taste is bland, but the energy is pure. Most importantly, it won't increase that troublesome karmic debt."
Serathus chewed the granules thoughtfully, as if savoring a delicacy. They dissolved instantly, like a clear spring, spreading a gentle yet potent energy throughout his body, revitalizing his slightly weary form and preparing him for the work ahead.
Next, he summoned the Sunshroom he had cultivated earlier from his system space.
The mushroom was large and plump, its surface glowing softly, as if brimming with vitality.
"Hmm, this Sunshroom has grown well," Serathus murmured, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. But then he frowned. "It's a shame eating it raw feels incomplete. If only I could roast it, the aroma would be... divine."
The temptation of roasted mushrooms flashed through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. "No, the fields are too exposed. The smell of roasting would surely attract greedy beasts, and if they ruined my crops, it would be a disaster."
After weighing his options, Serathus decided to forgo the roasted mushrooms for now, carefully storing the Sunshroom in the shadows for a safer, more opportune time. Then he turned his attention to the fields, making final preparations.
He divided the plot into sections for carrots and Sunshrooms, marking them clearly.
Since the task required planting ten crops, he decided to use the system's fertilizer to accelerate their growth.
He picked up the bag of primary elemental energy fertilizer—its logo, a sprout, a testament to its quality—and carefully tore it open. He sprinkled a handful evenly over the Sunshroom section, while dividing the carrot area into two groups: one fertilized, one not, for comparison.
Each granule that fell on the damp soil carried a glimmer of hope, promising a bountiful harvest.
Serathus stood at the edge of the field, gazing down at the freshly sown seeds and the tiny Sunshroom sprouts peeking through the soil.
The morning light filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across the furrows. A gentle breeze carried the scent of earth and grass, filling the air with life and hope, and Serathus's heart swelled with anticipation.
"Well, the morning's work is done," he muttered, straightening his massive frame. "Now, back to the cave."
With that, he turned and strode toward the volcanic cavern.
Just a few minutes later, Serathus was perched at the cave's entrance, his eyes fixed on a plump Sunshroom.
The mushroom was round and full, its surface glowing with a soft, nurturing light, as if infused with the essence of the earth. It was tempting to take a bite.
Serathus mused, "This Sunshroom, a product of the system, truly exudes an irresistible aroma. If roasted, its flavor would be even more exquisite. But as a red dragon, how can I skewer it for roasting?"
After a moment of thought, an idea struck him: why not use nearby branches as skewers?
Without hesitation, he left the scorching cave, carefully moving the precious Sunshroom to a safer area outside.
Serathus embarked on a small "hunt" for materials.
Around the volcano's rim, he meticulously examined every hanging branch, searching for those that were long, thin, and resilient enough to withstand the flames briefly.
After a quarter of an hour, he had gathered a pile of ideal materials: dry branches for fuel and moist, slender twigs perfect for skewers.
With the materials ready, he carefully carried them back to the cave's entrance and returned inside to retrieve the Sunshroom.
Now only two Sunshrooms remained in the cave. Serathus thought, "Rather than selling them for points, I might as well savor the essence of life myself."
He divided the branches into two piles: one dry for fuel, one moist for skewers.
Serathus knew that, as a red dragon, a single breath could reduce anything to ash. Without caution, the Sunshroom would be charred in an instant.
Carefully, he skewered the Sunshroom on the moist twigs.
The act was both deliberate and ceremonial—each twig carefully selected, thin enough to pierce the mushroom yet sturdy enough to briefly endure the heat.
With everything prepared, Serathus took a deep breath, the fire within his chest roaring to life.
He opened his jaws, and a stream of searing dragonfire erupted, igniting the pile of dry branches.
As the flames crackled and danced, a faint aroma of burning wood filled the air, a melancholic whisper of the trees' demise, yet also a harbinger of the feast to come.
The fire quickly grew, and under Serathus's precise control, it formed a steady, warm blaze. The orange glow flickered across his hardened scales, casting shifting patterns.
The flames embraced the Sunshroom, their tongues dancing lightly across its surface, roasting the gift of nature to perfection.
Serathus carefully adjusted the Sunshroom's position, suspending one on a branch for even heating while securing the other on the ground at an optimal distance from the flames.
To ensure thorough cooking, he didn't skewer the entire mushroom. Instead, he tore the thick cap into two equal halves, each skewered separately.
This way, the heat could penetrate evenly, cooking the mushroom without charring it, preserving its precious essence.
As the flames continued their work, an intoxicating aroma began to fill the air.
It was a complex, indescribable scent—earthy like mushrooms, smoky from the flames, yet also warm, like sunlight. These fragrances blended into a symphony of temptation.
The roasted Sunshroom glowed a golden hue, its surface sizzling with released oils, the aroma growing richer, as if calling out to the senses.
Serathus inhaled deeply, letting the scent overwhelm him. His mouth watered, his hunger fully awakened, and he longed to devour the roasted mushroom.
But he restrained himself, knowing that patience would reward him with a greater feast.
As the fire crackled, the enticing aroma drifted into the volcanic cavern.
Inside, Agnas and Catilia, roused from their slumber, emerged with a mix of curiosity and hunger, their eyes drawn to the small fire and Serathus roasting the Sunshroom.
