Reborn As A Evil Dragon

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*****

Lyanna knew clearly that what she had just said about her close relationship with the Black Dragon Lord, and how much he adored her—was a complete lie.

But once spoken, the lie had to become reality.

She also knew very well that the possibility of persuading the Black Dragon Lord to join their Naga Empire was extremely slim. Over the years of interacting with him, her impression of him was that of a mutant dragon who practiced asceticism. Judging from the actions of his followers, the Black Dragon Lord's personality was clearly domineering.

She didn't believe that a black dragon with such a nature would willingly bow to the Naga Empire.

However, even if she couldn't win him over directly, that wasn't a problem. Lanna could take a more indirect route—by bearing the Black Dragon Lord's heir.

If he were an evil dragon, then the idea of an heir would naturally be ridiculous and pointless. But this was a mutant dragon. Although his behavior was sometimes evil, based on the actions of the Black Wing Lair, it could be seen that the Black Dragon Lord had principles.

For someone with principles, their descendants would naturally carry weight—and perhaps even greater influence.

As for how she would bear the Black Dragon Lord's heir?

Lanna was very confident—or more accurately, extremely confident—in her beauty and her bloodline.

Dragon nature is inherently lustful, and rumors of the Black Dragon Lord's tens of thousands of maids had spread over the years. Therefore, it was impossible for the Black Dragon Lord to reject her when she came to him personally. Lanna's reputation for beauty was widely known throughout the vast Naga Empire. Among the Naga, she ranked in the top three.

One must know that Naga are high-order beings combining beauty and charm, comparable to elves. To rank among the top three in beauty among tens of billions of Naga women speaks to how astonishingly beautiful she was.

Among the group of legendary powerhouses that Third Princess Lanna had attracted, at least two-thirds were followers ensnared by her beauty—and there were even more among those who had not yet reached legend.

With such breathtaking beauty, combined with the top royal bloodline among the six-armed Naga, there were probably few beings in all of Tal who could resist such a beauty coming to their door.

In response to her third daughter Lanna's answer, Naga Queen Beya pondered for a moment, then nodded slightly.

"What you said makes sense. A powerhouse like the Black Dragon Lord will definitely break through the boundaries of the Tal plane in the end. Our Naga Empire truly cannot bind him." Queen Beya frowned. "Then what do you propose?"

"I cannot bind him to us, no," Lanna murmured, brushing her fingers through her soft curls. "But I can offer him something no one else can… a future."

She leaned closer to her mother, her voice a sultry whisper.

"I will bear his child."

Queen Beya's eyes widened a fraction. "You are certain?"

Lanna smiled. "As certain as I am of my beauty."

Indeed, she had reason to be confident. Her sensual appeal had ensnared emperors and heroes alike. Among the billions of Naga women in the oceanic depths, Lanna's beauty was spoken of in sacred halls and sailor's myths. Her curves could stir tidal waves. Her voice could bend wills. And her scent—enhanced by enchantments brewed in the harem halls—was said to be able to drive even dragons into a mating frenzy.

She was no ordinary beauty. She was the embodiment of divine seduction.

"I know his type," Lanna said, her voice thick with certainty. "He may cloak himself in power and detachment, but his instincts will always be that of a dragon. Lustful. Proud. Dominant. He has tens of thousands of maids already—his castle is a sea of breasts and hips that dance only for him. But unlike them, I am not just flesh. I am bloodline. I am royalty."

She paused, then said more quietly, "Even if I must lie down in his lair, bathe in dragonfire, or seduce him atop a mountain of bones—I will conceive his child."

Queen Beya considered her daughter long and hard. She saw the ambition behind the sensual veneer. The fire behind the silk.

Finally, the Queen spoke with measured conviction. "Then I will prepare the royal womb-temple. The moment his seed quickens within you, Lanna, you will be crowned as the true heir to my throne. A child born of the Black Dragon's line... will be the Empire's greatest hope."

Lanna smiled, her eyes alight with cunning and desire.

Then she turned back to the magic mirror where the Black Dragon Lord's body shimmered in radiant darkness, a divine, untouchable predator, standing against armies and fate itself.

And she whispered, lips curling like poison and perfume,

"You will not escape me."

The Naga Empire thrived under the rule of a powerful matriarchal dynasty—where femininity was not bound by modesty or restraint, but celebrated as a force of nature. Naga women, especially those born into noble or royal lineages, were fierce, proud, and untamed. Passionate by nature and instinctively drawn to strength, they did not shy away from desire. In fact, among the Naga, to pursue powerful mates was not just a tradition—it was a sacred duty.

In the ancient dominion of the deep, beneath layers of crushed coral and glowing abyssal stone, the Naga Empire ruled not only through sorcery and steel, but through an intoxicating blend of seduction, legacy, and supremacy. Sensuality was not a taboo—it was a sacred current that coursed through their society, binding bloodlines and bolstering the Empire's claim to dominion over sea and soul alike.

Among the Naga, the act of mating transcended mere biological impulse. It was exalted, ritualized—a divine rite that intertwined flesh with magic, lust with lineage. Every touch had purpose. Every cry of ecstasy echoed through the currents as a hymn to ancestry and ascendance. Their culture did not see sensual pleasure as indulgence, but as offering—a sacrifice upon the altar of genetic destiny.

To the Naga royals, especially, bloodline was both currency and crown.

Their daughters—resplendent sirens born in the opal chambers of the Coral Courts and raised in the lap of ancient decadence—were worshipped as avatars of fertility, elemental majesty, and unspeakable allure. With curves sculpted by divine favor and voices laced with enchantment, each princess possessed an aura that could drive mortal kings to madness and cause elder beasts of the deep to offer their treasures in tribute. Yet they were not passive flowers waiting to be plucked. Each was a predator behind a lover's mask, choosing her suitors with ruthless discernment.

Virginity, in their court, was not prized for chastity—it was weaponized as a symbol of inviolable authority. To lie with a royal Naga was to be judged worthy of her inner flame. And once that flame was ignited—once her womb

had been claimed by power—

Once a royal Naga woman had borne a powerful heir—or once her chosen partner left her to seek greater power—she was free to explore again

There was no limit to her freedom. She would roam across the planes, seeking new carnal partners, new bloodlines to test, new pleasures to unravel. Their passions were tidal and timeless, refusing to be contained by the moral shackles of lesser empires.

Indeed, some princesses had shared their silken thighs with elemental lords, storm giants, and even beings from beyond the current stars—each encounter a gamble to birth the next generation of hybrid demi-lagends. Their offspring were never mere children, but living spells, walking weapons—many born already wreathed in magic, with scales of shimmering aurora or serpentine beauty so profound that reality seemed to bend around them.

The Empire treasured these hybrids, weaving them into its future like gems set into a crown. The daughters of the court were expected, even encouraged, to become both lovers and legacy-bearers. They did not shy from lust—they wielded it. To be chosen by a Naga princess was to be ensnared by a current stronger than any tide, drawn into a dance of flesh and fate.

But such freedom came with an iron law: every royal Naga woman bore the weight of her House like a golden yoke—radiant, but unrelenting. Her body was her temple, her weapon, her promise. Every moan, every gasp, every night spent tangled in another's limbs was watched by the invisible eyes of court politics. Even amid orgiastic revelries in moonlit groves of glowing kelp, the Empire judged.

Thus, when Third Princess Lanna's calculated lie—her claim of being the Black Dragon Lord's favored consort—reached the ears of the royal court, it ignited more than whispers. It stirred a hunger, a fire, a frenzy.

The Black Dragon Lord. A being of night and storm, a colossus whose wings cast shadows across entire kingdoms. His reputation as a recluse, ascetic in behavior yet surrounded by rumored harems of thousands, only made him more enticing. The thought that such a godlike creature might have laid with Lanna—and planted his potent seed in her royal womb—was enough to send tremors through the palace.

It was then that the silence fractured.

"Mother!" cried Second Princess Yan, her voice rich with heated urgency, her blue-gold scales shivering with arousal and indignation. "I too will offer myself to the Black Dragon Lord! I will carry his heir, even if I must surrender my body before the court and prove myself in every way he desires!"

Naga Queen Beya arched a sculpted brow, her lips curling in amusement. Her daughters rarely showed such unfiltered desperation. But today, the scent of legacy had stirred something primal.

"And I," came the measured, melodic voice of Princess Pela, the green-haired enchantress whose beauty rivaled Lanna's own. "I will offer not only myself... but my daughter as well. We shall present him a feast of flesh and bloodline, together." She smiled, unshaken, her sea-glass eyes glowing with confidence.

The hall grew humid with heat—sensual and dangerous—as the sisters stared one another down. Every flick of a tongue, every subtle shift of hip or chest was a threat, a declaration of intent. The water shimmered around them, charged with magic and lust.

Queen Beya, radiant and commanding in her flowing robe of jellyfish silk and opal shoulder crests, clapped her hands with a sound like thunder breaking over the ocean's surface.

"Very well," she said, her voice velvet wrapped in steel. "Then let it be a competition. A royal proving of flesh and flame. Whichever of you can entice the Black Dragon Lord to spill his seed and birth the heir of greatest potential shall be declared the primary heir of the Naga Empire."

Lanna, still basking in the afterglow of what she thought was triumph, now felt the waters shift around her. The tides of fate—once still—had begun to churn violently.

Her sisters were no fools. They were deadly, beautiful, and equally ambitious. And now they had been given permission to pursue the Dragon Lord not just as a prize, but as a means to power.

A ripple of unease curled in Lanna's stomach.

She had spoken a lie, yes—but now, she would have to make it truth.

Even if it meant surrendering herself entirely to the dragon's hunger. Even if it meant crawling to him, naked and humbled, and begging to be filled with the child of night and flame.

The game was no longer hers alone.

The Empire had declared open season on the Black Dragon Lord's seed.

And the daughters of the sea would stop at nothing to claim it.

---

In front of Black Castle

Tens of thousands of meters in the air.

The stretching white frost froze the entire space for dozens of miles.

The Frost Sky Sword fell and struck the Black Dragon Lord's dragon body. Under Snow Demon Mello's confident gaze, it only cut its scales.

"What a terrifying body," Mello's heart sank slightly.

Its Frost Heavenly Sword is enough to severely injure or even kill an ordinary legendary fifth-level strongman. If it is replaced with a legendary item, it is also enough to cut off lower-level legendary items.

However, such a terrible blow only left a negligible injury on the Black Dragon Lord.

"My lord, I'm afraid you have underestimated the strength of this black dragon," Snow Demon Mello thought to himself.

However, he was not afraid of the black dragon in front of it, because—

"Ice Mark!"

A dazzling white flash centered on Snow Demon Mello's chest and spread toward its body and limbs. In an instant, Snow Demon Mello was covered with a set of white-blue ice armor that enveloped its entire body.

The white and blue ice armor, called "Ice Trace," possessed four ice-attribute legendary properties. According to classification, it was the best among intermediate legendary items.

Blue Ice Flowers, Ice Energy, Ice Armor, Space Freezing.

Among the four legendary characteristics above, Blue Ice Flowers added a special ice power to Snow Demon Mello that was extremely capable of destroying flesh. Ice Energy provided it with a massive energy reserve. The Ice Armor trait could remove 90% of energy and material attacks (as long as they did not exceed the endurance limit of the ice armor), and the final Space Freezing could push the power of Mello's space-freezing move to a whole new level.

On the opposite side, I watched the white-haired demon finish its attack and then begin to change its equipment, maximizing its strength, which could be considered extremely cautious.

I originally thought about trying to lure it over with weak tactics and then suddenly burst out with strength, severely damaging it and planting Void Seeds. Now it seems that—

"If that's the case, then I'm too lazy to pretend." I looked indifferent, feeling the prying eyes from all around, and smiled ferociously.

The Snow Demon Mello, the Dark Frost Giant Thorn on the Frost Floating Island, the ancient gold dragon Ignis who also controlled a floating island in a hidden space, the Crimson Mother Alexrilla, the three royal families of the deep sea—under the watchful eyes of the defeated alliance powerhouses from the mainland—

The skies groaned beneath the weight of something ancient and unspeakable. And then, the heavens shattered.

From within the tumultuous sea of clouds, a monstrous silhouette loomed—far larger than even the titanic Crimson Mother, whose wings had once darkened the world. The Black Dragon Lord, an abyssal god incarnate, unfurled his massive wings with an agonizing slowness, every movement like a continent groaning into motion. His scales shimmered with obsidian luster, darker than a starless void, devouring all light around him. His claws cracked space itself. And then—

He opened his jaws.

The air itself froze—not with cold, but with reverence. And then the roar came.

"SURRENDER ALL TO YOUR LORD! GIVE EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING YOU ARE! EVERYTHING YOU WILL EVER BE—TO ME!'"

His voice was not a sound—it was a commandment, a natural law, a divine proclamation born of power. It didn't just echo—it tore through thw world. The clouds scattered like frightened birds, unraveling in spirals of white smoke. Mountains trembled in their roots. The sun, for one fleeting, insane moment, seemed to flare brighter, spilling golden light across the lands like a baptism of fire.

Across the distant battlefield, from the charred ruins of Monster City to the frost-bound towers of Castle Black, all creatures bearing the mark of the Black Wing—his devoted familiars—froze mid-fight.

Over thirty million of them. Warriors. Mages. Beast-riders. Sky-bourne furies. Shadow dancers. Flamebound assassins. They stopped. And in that stillness, they all turned their gaze upward, toward the apocalyptic figure high above.

Even as demons shredded into them, even as their hearts were pierced or their flesh burned, they did not look away. Their blood gushed freely, but their devotion was eternal. In their eyes, there was no regret. No doubt. Only reverence. Adoration. Obedience.

And then they began to burn.

Without a cry, without resistance, without fear—they gave themselves. Millions of Black Winged Familiars ignited with invisible fire. Their bodies crumbled into soot and cinder, their essence drawn upward in glistening streams of soul-light, pulled into the waiting maw of their lord like rivers flowing to the ocean.

Legendary warriors, veteran commanders, beast-kin savants, ancient seers—entire bloodlines, entire armies, were reduced to nothingness in a heartbeat.

But it was not death. It was offering.

"Yesss…" rumbled the Black Dragon, his voice now silk-smooth and low, thick with pleasure and wicked joy.

"Power. This strong power really makes me feel physically and mentally satisfied."

He closed his eyes, and let their essence flood into him—a feast of devotion and power.

From every corner of the body, power surged into his colossal body. His scales gleamed brighter than ever, pulsing with ancient lines long forgotten by mortal scholars. His aura ballooned outward like a collapsing star—dense, crushing, eternal.

Boom.

The fourth legendary tier shattered beneath his feet, as if it had never been an obstacle at all.

Boom.

The middle stage, the late stage, even the pinnacle—crumbled like rotten wood.

Boom!

The fifth legendary tier rose before him—and he devoured it.

Still, he rose higher.

Hundreds of legendary-level familiars.

Thousands of master-class elites.

Tens of thousands of high-ranked warriors.

Millions of intermediate cultivators.

All gone. All fed to their god.

Black Wing Lair, once a bastion of might that had threatened empires, seas, and the very main continent of Tal, was now a ghost.

A willing sacrifice.

*****

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