Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters-Chapter 117: The Royal Brats of the Dragon King.

At the middle of the high rocky mountain. Where jagged cliffs clawed into the clouds—a massive stone fortress clung stubbornly to the mountainside. Dozens of stairways carved into the rock connected different sections of the structure. Sharp towers pierced the sky, thick defensive walls wrapped around the complex, and long banners snapped violently in the cold mountain wind.

In the middle of its wide stone castle courtyard—

"MOVE! MOVE! OUT OF THE WAY!"

An old man’s voice thundered across the surrounding halls as Percieval, the kingdom’s aging Dragonguard, barreled through the courtyard. In each arm he carried a massive wooden tub, both sloshing violently with water as he ran. His white beard bounced wildly as he ran, his face red with panic.

"WHO SET IT ON FIRE THIS TIME?!"

The answer was everywhere.

As Percieval charged across the courtyard, he had to weave through a chaotic swarm of children. They weren’t ordinary children. Every single one bore the unmistakable mark of the royal bloodline—hair white as fresh fallen snow and eyes that shimmered with the pale, unsettling glow of the King’s divine lineage.

They scattered around him like mischievous spirits, laughing and shouting as the old Dragonguard thundered past.

"Hehe! Look at the old man run!"

"He’s not even wearing shoes!"

"Splash us, Grandpa! Splash us!"

"Faster, old man!"

"It’s going to melt!"

Percieval growled under his breath and pushed forward, sloshing water over the edges of the heavy tubs.

They were right.

The legendary Dragonguard of the kingdom—slayer of demigods, shield of the royal line—was sprinting barefoot across the polished courtyard stones like a madman. His greaves were nowhere to be seen, and his dignity had long since been abandoned somewhere behind him.

But none of that mattered. If he didn’t reach the flames in time... Something very historical was about to disappear.

He finally reached the center of the courtyard. There stood the proud marble statue or at least... what remained of its dignity. The statue’s head was completely on fire. Flames danced wildly from the marble crown.

Percieval didn’t hesitate.

"AH—TO HELL WITH IT!"

With one desperate swing, he hurled the entire tub upward.

SPLASH!

Water crashed over the statue’s head, steam exploding into the air as the flames hissed and died. The fire vanished. For a moment, silence fell. Then the courtyard erupted with laughter.

"LOOK AT HIS BEARD!"

"Sir Percieval drowned the hero!"

"That was amazing! Do it again!"

Percieval stood there soaked, panting, staring at the dripping statue.

"Finally done... my back is... killing me."

Through the mist, a small boy stepped forward, his eyes glowing pure white. His hair was short, with a spike jutting from the back of his head.

"Hey, Old Man! You missed a spot!"

He held a torch high, his cheeks puffed out. Before Percieval could scream, the boy blew a concentrated spark onto the statue’s foot. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

FWOOSH!

"YOU LITTLE—!"

Percieval lunged, snatched the torch, and held it high out of the boy’s reach.

"How many times must I tell you?! This statue is sacred! It is the foundation of our history, not a target for your fire breathing practice!"

The boy pouted, crossing his arms.

"What are you talking about, sacred? It’s made of freaking stone, Old Fart! I just want to see if I can melt the marble!"

"HE IS OUR NATIONAL HISTORY! Show some respect to the progenitor of your bloodline!"

"History is boring! He is boring! I want to drink the blood of Tiamat so I can replace that rock! I’m gonna be stronger than that old statue anyway—!"

A shadow fell over the boy. A firm, large hand landed gently but with undeniable weight on the child’s head.

"That is enough, Spike."

Spike froze. The bratty fire in his eyes vanished instantly. He looked up, his voice small.

"Big Brother... you’re here?"

Standing there was a young man, an adolescent of striking composure. Unlike the unruly mob of siblings that had once ravaged the castle, his white hair was neatly tied into a single long braid that reached his waist, and his posture was as straight and precise as a ceremonial blade. He looked down at the small boy, and the child immediately lowered his head in a deep bow.

"Apologize to Lord Percieval. Now."

"I... I’m sorry, Old Man Percy..."

The kid mumbled. Then, he spun around, sprinted ten paces, turned back to make a "Bleh!" face at Percieval, and vanished into the corridors.

Percieval sighed, his shoulders sagging.

"That brat... I swear, my blood pressure is going to reach the heavens before he became a Dragonborn."

The young man stepped forward, bowing deeply.

"Please forgive him, Lord Percieval. And forgive me as well for not restraining him sooner. He is still young, and the fire in his blood remains untamed just like the others. I will ensure he reflects on his actions tonight."

Percieval looked at the young man, his expression softening into one of deep, weary respect. He looked around the courtyard—at the children breaking windows, the teenagers dueling on the rooftops, and the utter chaos of the King’s sprawling.

Meanwhile, the human servants rushed around them like panicked ants.

"It’s quite alright, my prince. Ever since the King’s offspring reached... this number, the castle hasn’t known a moment of peace. They’re all unruly, wild, and half crazed with power but that is the way of the White Royals."

He sighed, shaking his head with a weary smile.

"You wouldn’t believe it, but your father was far more chaotic than all of them combined when he was their age."

Percieval paused, his weathered eyes settling on the young prince.

"But you..."

Percieval placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

"You’re different. You’re the only one who composes himself. The only one they actually listen to. They call you ’Brother’ not just by blood, but by acknowledgment. You’re the only one who follows the old ways."

The young man smiled.

"Lord Percieval, you have served this kingdom since before my father took the throne. Your age is a badge of honor, but even a veteran needs to sheath his sword. Go inside. Get some rest. Dry your feet."

The young man turned, his gaze sweeping the courtyard. The chaotic children suddenly went quiet, sensing his shift in aura.

"I will guard the Hero’s Plaza. No one will touch the statue. I give you my word as the First Prince."

Percieval felt a lump in his throat. He looked at his own shaking, bare hands, then at the sturdy, reliable back of the young man.

"You’re a good man... truly. Thank you. My old age... it really is showing its teeth today."

As the old guard limped away, the young man stood like a silent sentinel in the center.