Translator: AnubisTL
Twilight draped the valley in a veil of dark blue. The giant wolf knights lowered their bodies, hugging the cliff walls as they advanced slowly through the narrow entrance, emerging into the valley's unexpectedly vast interior.
Leading the pack was Russell, a werewolf.
Once the chieftain of the Howling Moon Clan, Russell had risen to become the Warband Leader of the Crimson Iron Cavalry Legion after the clan was reorganized into a battle group. His telepathic bond with his giant wolf mount, a creature transformed from a former mate, surpassed the skills of the Hyena-Man and lizardfolk knights, securing his position as Warband Leader.
Compared to a few years ago, Russell's gray fur had grown thicker, and his face now bore more white whiskers.
Werewolves have short lifespans, and Russell had already passed his prime. His condition was gradually declining, making his position as Warband Leader of the Crimson Iron Cavalry Legion increasingly precarious.
The mission to scout the unknown valley was fraught with danger.
Yet Russell had volunteered to lead the expedition.
His motives were simple: to prove his worth, accumulate merit points, and earn the chance for dragon blood transformation. Becoming a dragon blood creature would dramatically extend his lifespan, freeing him from the anxieties of aging and declining health.
Garos collected dragon blood openly, making no attempt to conceal his actions.
The monsters knew their chance for dragon blood transformation had arrived, and their recent enthusiasm had surged dramatically. They began competing openly and covertly, vying for attention and opportunity.
Russell gently patted the giant wolf's neck.
The silver-gray giant wolf immediately understood, its padded paws treading silently across the ground, its lupine eyes glowing with an eerie green light in the dim twilight.
The valley's interior proved far more abundant than expected.
The central lake's surface rippled with lead-gray waves, its shores littered with animal bones. Yet fresh tracks indicated that reindeer herds frequently came here to drink.
Russell crouched down, his fingertip tracing a hoofprint in the muddy ground. The still-damp earth confirmed the herd had left only recently.
Beneath the eastern cliff face grew dense stands of white-leaved pines. These hardy trees' oil-rich needles made excellent torch material. Even more exciting for the werewolf knight, they discovered abundant red berry bushes at the forest's edge. These berries could stave off hunger and, when ground into a magic potion, treat minor injuries.
The giant wolf knights slowly explored the valley.
Suddenly, Russell's ears perked up. He growled, "Alert!"
He had heard an unusual sound.
The wind carried a rustling sound, like leather scraping against rock, and the already dim twilight was further darkened by a colossal shadow.
The giant wolf knights looked up, their pupils constricting.
Ten dragons!
Their hides were deep brown, the smallest among them still exceeding eight meters in length. Their wingspans were even more immense, nearly twenty meters, blotting out the sky when spread and casting vast shadows across the ground. Their thick, tapering tails ended in sharp, venomous barbs.
Hiss!
Roar!
They emerged from caves in the western cliff face, hissing like snakes and emitting guttural roars from deep within their throats, before swooping down into the twilight.
The dragons' sudden appearance threw the giant wolf knights into disarray.
Against other ferocious beasts, they wouldn't have panicked so easily. After all, they knew the mighty dragon lord and his brothers were circling overhead, providing a formidable rearguard.
But these were dragons.
So many dragons changed everything!
Only Russell reacted instantly, shouting, "Don't panic! They're not true dragons! Just wyverns!"
Having studied the clan's ancient texts extensively, Russell possessed a far deeper understanding of dragonkind than his peers.
He recognized these creatures for what they were—bipedal flying dragon.
These monsters were not true dragons. They possessed only a trace of diluted dragon bloodline, classifying them as subdragon—stronger than ordinary ferocious beasts and demonic creatures, but far weaker than true dragons.
The giant wolf knights' panicked hearts found a sliver of relief.
"circle formation!" Russell roared again.
The giant wolf knights instantly contracted into a defensive formation, their steel spears angled skyward.
But the wyvern swarm cunningly dispersed.
Three wyverns feigned a frontal assault, while the rest flanked the knights from the sides.
The lead bipedal flying dragon was a massive specimen, its faceplate scarred with savage marks. Measuring approximately thirteen meters in length, it dwarfed the other wyverns in both size and strength. Its hind legs were encased in coarse, scaled armor, and its claws were honed to razor sharpness, as if forged through years of grinding and tempering. Its tail was thick and exceptionally long.
The flying dragon leader's malevolent gaze locked onto Russell.
With a whip-like flick of its tail, it struck with lightning speed.
Russell barely caught a glimpse of the afterimage. He thrust his spear forward, but missed. A searing pain erupted in his chest as the dragon's blow sent him flying through the air.
The remaining wyverns scattered the knightly formation, preparing to slaughter the survivors.
Just then, the entire valley plunged into darkness.
A deafening sonic boom shattered the air, as if distant thunder had been dragged into their midst.
The entire wyvern swarm shuddered, halting their pursuit of the giant wolf knights. They tilted their heads skyward, their eyes wary.
A crimson meteor tore through the twilight sky, plummeting earthward at breakneck speed. Just a hundred meters above the ground, it abruptly flared its wings.
A tangible shockwave of qi surged outward, ripping up earth and stone, snapping branches and toppling treetops, and sending the wyvern swarm reeling.
The red-iron dragon didn't immediately attack. Instead, it hovered a hundred meters above the ground, its gaze sweeping across the wyvern swarm.
After this display of power, it declared tersely, "Inferior breeds! Kneel!"
A crushing wave of dragon might descended.
One by one, the wyverns tucked their tails, lowered their heads, retracted their wings, and landed. They then spread their wings flat against the ground, their entire bodies pressed against the earth in a posture of submission and awe.
Faced with a true dragon far more powerful than themselves, nearly all subdragon, bound by their innate bloodline suppression, felt no urge to resist and immediately yielded.
But "nearly all" didn't mean "all." There were exceptions.
In every species, there exist individuals of exceptional courage and defiance.
The Scarface Flying Dragon let out a defiant shriek, uttering words in the dragon language:
"The strong are not defined by bloodline! I bow only to those who prove their superiority through strength!"
Bipedal flying dragon were intelligent beings with human-like intellect, though they rarely bothered with complex language when dealing with weaker creatures.
Its voice was sharp and bright, and its physical characteristics were feminine. Yet its strength and ferocity were exceptional, and it dared to bare its teeth before a true dragon, utterly defiant.
Garos's length was similar to its own, but his formidable, muscular physique inspired caution.
In its eyes, however, this was merely one factor determining victory. The mature wyvern, over two hundred years old, believed that its battle-hardened combat and hunting skills would prove superior to those of the juvenile dragon before it.
Without hesitation, the Scarface Flying Dragon advanced rather than retreated, launching a ferocious assault on Garos.
Garos remained calm and composed, patiently awaiting the attack.
He intended to subdue the wyvern, and the simplest, most direct method was to shatter its pride and confidence head-on.
The Scarface Flying Dragon's strike carried the precision honed through years of hunting.
As it closed within ten meters of Garos, it suddenly flipped its body, its powerful talons tearing toward the dragon.
Bipedal flying dragon stand solely on their hind legs, their naturally robust legs and dexterous talons making them formidable combatants.
The left talon aimed for the joint of Garos's wing membrane, while the right talon targeted his dragon eyes. The entire sequence flowed seamlessly, a lethal maneuver refined through countless life-or-death struggles.
Garos didn't dodge. Instead, he reached out a claw to meet the wyvern's attack head-on.
His claw strike seemed slow and simple, yet it precisely pierced through the wyvern's legs. Moving faster than the eye could follow, it landed squarely on the flying dragon leader's chest, making it the first to test his martial arts skills.
Previously, Garos had relied solely on brute strength in combat.
Now, he combined strength with technique, harnessing both power and speed with greater efficiency.
Boom!
The flying dragon leader recoiled as if struck by lightning, its body crashing against the mountain wall like a kite with a severed string. The impact left a deep dent and spiderweb-like cracks in the rock.
The Scarface Flying Dragon coughed up a mouthful of acidic blood, yet still roared and lunged forward again.
This time, it swept its thick tail horizontally, the massive appendage tearing through the air as it aimed for Garos's neck. The venomous stinger at the tail's tip darted toward Garos's eye.
But just inches from its target, the stinger froze, unable to advance further.
Garos had seized the wyvern's tail in his grip. The tail writhed like a giant serpent, yet it couldn't escape the red-iron dragon's ironclad claws.
The flying dragon leader tried to kick at Garos with its legs, but its body had become unresponsive.
Garos seized the Scarface Flying Dragon by its tail and swung it in a wide arc.
After a dozen rotations, he abruptly released the dragon, hurling it against the mountain wall.
With a thunderous crash, the impact carved a deep crater into the rock face, embedding the Scarface Flying Dragon like a mural in the shattered stone.
As it struggled to claw its way out, its vision was filled by the looming, ferocious presence of the red-iron dragon, its crimson scales gleaming menacingly.
"Submit, or die," Garos stated flatly, his voice calm but leaving no room for negotiation.
Across from him, the Scarface Flying Dragon's chest heaved violently with rapid breaths. The searing pain of being slammed into the rock wall had left its thoughts scattered.
When its senses finally cleared, it saw its right claw twisted at an unnatural angle.
The hunting weapon it had once prided itself on now hung limply, dark blue blood seeping from the gaps between its scales. Its vaunted combat skills proved utterly worthless against Garos, and its physical attributes were clearly inferior. Despite their similar size, it stood no chance against the red-iron dragon's overwhelming power.
This crushing defeat shattered its pride.
"I..." The wyvern rasped, its voice hoarse.
"My name is Tasha."
"I offer my flesh and blood to forge your throne, and my bones to pave your path of conquest."
Finally, it lowered its head, exposing the vulnerable scales on its neck to Garos's claws—a gesture of complete submission from the subdragon.
With the wyvern swarm's surrender, this valley officially came under the control of the Ignis Brothers.
(End of the Chapter)
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