I Received System to Become Dragonborn

From the high window of the tower, Dredge and Veyna observed the battle below. The flickering lights of Magic and metal clashed in the darkness painting the courtyard with chaos. Sparks flew as steel met steel and crimson energy blasts illuminated the Elves as they fought with all they had.

Veyna's lips curled into an amused smirk. Her eyes danced over the battlefield, taking pleasure in the struggle.

"They fight well for their primitive kind, yeah?" she mused, tilting her head as she watched Aerchon narrowly evade the massive construct's blade. "But it won't be enough, though. This will be over soon."

Dredge, however, did not share her amusement. His masked face remained flat, his sharp eyes tracking every movement below.

He saw what Veyna saw. The Elves were outmatched, their strength dwindling against the relentless swarm of Laston's machines. But there was something else, something she keeps ignoring even though he had said it before.

There was one creature among them that was different. The Dragonborn. Dredge knew the truth.
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This battle was nothing more than a skirmish. A scouting team. A small effort. These Elves — skilled as they were — were not the real threat. Laston's machines could overpower them, wear them down, and crush them under sheer numbers.

The towering construct could rip through them like paper. But against a real deal? Against Him?

Dredge's fingers twitched at his side. He could still remember the raw force of the Dragonborn's blows, the weight of each attack that had nearly torn him apart. These machines and constructs… they would be nothing in the face of that.

The Dragonborn had strength beyond calculation, beyond steel, beyond even Laston's meticulous designs. He was sure of that.

Veyna finally tore her amused gaze from the battlefield and glanced at him. Her smirk remained but there was a flicker of curiosity in her golden eyes.

"You're awfully quiet," she mused. "That's rare."

Dredge didn't respond at first. His eyes stayed locked on the battlefield where the Elves struggling below. They were on the edge, barely holding their ground. They would fall soon. But that wasn't what concerned him.

Veyna leaned in slightly, her smirk widening.

"You look so stern, Dredge. What's wrong? You're not scared of this, are you?" She gestured lazily at the battle.

"You shouldn't be so relaxed," He finally spoke, his voice low and firm.

Veyna raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"There's still another danger in the Elves' forces," Dredge said.

She let out a short, amused laugh. "Ah. That." She flicked her wrist dismissively, leaning back against the shattered window frame. "You're talking about the Dragonborn again, aren't you?"

Dredge didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

Veyna rolled her eyes. "You're too stiff about this, Dredge." She tilted her head at him, her smirk never fading. "No matter how strong those Dragonborn are, they can't possibly be stronger than us."

Dredge's fingers curled slightly.

She noticed. "Oh, don't tell me this is about your arm." Her voice held a teasing lilt but beneath it was something sharper, something taunting. "He probably took it, sure. But you're still standing, aren't you? You can still upgrade yourself. Make yourself stronger. The primitive creature down there and the beast? They can't."

Dredge remained silent.

Yes, he could rebuild himself and strengthen himself. Modify himself until he was faster, harder, deadlier. That was the advantage of their kind. But… was it enough?

His mind drifted back to that battle with Erend. The sheer overwhelming force of that beast. The moment where he had realized that he was inferior in the face of true power.

He could upgrade himself a thousand times. But would it ever be enough?

Dredge's eyes gaze locked onto the battlefield below. If he truly wanted to win against the Dragonborn, he needed enhancements. He needs better armor, faster reflexes, stronger weapons.

His core systems required reinforcement, his energy output needed to exceed past limitations. More mobility, increased endurance, superior shielding.

He had already begun assembling the blueprint in his mind, piecing together the modifications he would require.

"Next time," he thought. "Next time, I will not lose."

Below, the battle had taken a dire turn.

The machine's that Aerchon faced using its massive limbs to attack and calculating his every attack. Aerchon just dodged the next attack before a pulse of crimson energy surged from the construct's core and hitting him square in the chest.

The force sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the stone wall of the courtyard. A pained grunt escaped him as he struggled to rise, his armor cracked and sparking from the impact.

Nearby, Vael nocked an arrow… only to find his quiver empty. He cursed under his breath as he reached behind him, searching for another, but there were none left. His sharp eyes darted around in frustration before he was forced to retreat evading a construct's swinging blade by mere inches.

Arlyn, drained from prolonged combat, was slowing. His movements were no longer as sharp. A mechanical warrior took advantage of his fatigue and lunging forward with a piercing strike.

He raised a trembling barrier but it shattered on impact. The blade sliced across his side, drawing a cry of pain as he staggered. Blood seeped into his armor as he fell to one knee, gasping for breath.

Sylra fared no better. Her movements had lost their earlier grace, her body weighed down by exhaustion.

A machine advanced on her, its steel fists crashing down. She barely managed to deflect the attack with her daggers but the sheer force sent her stumbling. Another attack came, this one landing squarely against her ribs, knocking her to the ground.

The Elves were failing.

Saeldir's concentration wavered. The strain of maintaining his spells had pushed him past his limit. As his concentration shattered, the towering construct, having dispatched Aerchon, lunged at him.

Cold metal fingers clamped around his throat, lifting him effortlessly. Saeldir gasped, struggling, his vision blurring from the crushing grip.

Laston watched, unbothered. "It's done," he stated, his voice calm.

With a mere gesture, he gave the order. The construct prepared to end Saeldir's life… until a blinding streak of light split the air.

A lightning spear tore through the battlefield, striking the construct's arm with precision. Sparks erupted as the massive limb was severed.

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