Translator: AnubisTL
Nick lost track of time.
Just as he felt himself about to faint, the centaur finally stopped, bringing him to a grassy plain—the Centaur Camp.
Dazed and disoriented, Nick stumbled off the centaur's back, his mind still hazy. Then, a deep, resonant voice, like that of a colossal creature, boomed in his ear.
"I hear you wished to see me."
The words jolted Nick awake like a splash of ice water, instantly clearing his mind.
He snapped his head up and beheld a giant beast beyond imagination.
Moonlight shattered into ten million silver shards across its scales. The thorn spikes along its spine resembled a forest of rebellious spears, rising and falling with each breath.
Most terrifying was the sheer sense of overwhelming power. Even motionless, the coiled muscles beneath its scales pulsed with explosive force. Its impossibly robust body seemed forged from tempered steel, each scale like a fire-hardened shield.
The two stood mere inches apart.
Nick could almost see his own reflection, distorted into an ant-like black speck within the dragon's pupil.
He involuntarily dropped to his knees, prostrating himself on the ground, the juvenile dragon's infamous titles in the Duchy of Raymond flooding his mind.
"Great Sky-Rending Wing, Harbinger of Death."
"Your loyal and humble servant is finally blessed to behold your true form."
At the Centaur Camp, Garos observed the merchant prostrating before him.
After a few moments of scrutiny, a faint smile curved the red-iron dragon's lips. "Sky-Rending Wing, Harbinger of Death—is that how humans refer to me?"
Nick replied, "These titles originated from the Duchy of Raymond. A bounty has been placed on your head."
Hearing that the Duchy of Raymond considered him an enemy, Garos felt no anger at this predictable development.
Instead, he nodded in satisfaction, finding the titles quite impressive.
Among the Ironforged Clan, the chosen often praised Garos as the Lord of the Crimson Wings. However, such titles, originating from his own clans, carried little weight.
For dragonkind, only titles bestowed by formidable enemies held true significance, as these would spread far and wide.
Yet such titles were often beyond control, potentially becoming objects of ridicule.
For instance, when Garos first slaughtered intelligent creatures, annihilating an entire goblin clan, such a feat might have earned him the moniker "Goblin Slayer."
A title associated with inferior beings.
To the dragon, such titles were as distasteful as swallowing dung.
Garos didn't care much for titles or empty fame, but a more dignified name would certainly be preferable to something like "Gnome Slayer."
"Sky-Rending Wing isn't bad," he thought. "But Ominous Star of Death sounds far too sinister."
He then asked, "Are there any other titles?"
Nick pondered for a moment, hesitated slightly, and then whispered, "There's Vein Raider, Golem Ripper, and others of that sort."
These sounded quite ordinary.
Disappointed by the lack of impressive titles, Garos shifted his gaze to the merchant.
"Humans are always filled with either hostility or terror toward me. Yet you seek to stand before me. What is your purpose? Don't tell me it's to demonstrate your loyalty or reverence."
As he spoke, the red-iron dragon's massive, majestic form leaned forward slightly, casting an overwhelming shadow over the human before him.
Feeling the oppressive weight, Nick took a deep breath, then lifted his head, his smile unwavering. "Those fools fear your flames, but I see the future in you."
In a tone of reverent admiration, he declared, "I have never seen, never heard of a juvenile dragon like you."
"You understand the importance of trade, not reckless plunder. You know when to sheathe your claws, not flaunt them arrogantly. You grasp when to bare your fangs, not retreat blindly."
Garos listened quietly.
The Ironforged Clan's familiars often flattered him, but most only praised his strength and power. Nick, however, flattered his wisdom, which Garos found novel and intriguing.
Of course, Nick was no Solgorn or Samantha.
These honeyed words pleased Garos, but they couldn't sway his resolve.
"I am a merchant," Nick declared.
"I see immeasurable value in you. I firmly believe that following you will be the greatest opportunity of my life."
"I want to build my own grand merchant guild, elevate my family's status, and ensure a higher standing for my descendants. To achieve this dream, I must have a patron—I must cling tightly to your coattails."
"Even death cannot shake my resolve."
With that, he presented a mithril-plated ring. "This is a spatial artifact crafted by a dwarf alchemist. It can change size and hold vast quantities. It's my gift to you. I hope you like it."
Garos accepted the ring.
He didn't put it on immediately, but simply took it.
Garos gazed at Nick, his gaze seeming to pierce through his very soul, and said calmly, "For your family and descendants? Is that all?"
Tonight was a pivotal night for Nick.
Garos sought an insider within the Southern Kingdoms—someone who could provide intelligence, relay messages, and establish a power base in human territory before his arrival, rather than merely facilitate trade.
For now, Nick seemed like a suitable candidate.
If he passed Garos's scrutiny, he would receive greater support.
But if his motives were purely for his family or descendants, he would be deemed unreliable.
Should Garos deem him unsuitable, Nick's extensive knowledge would make him a permanent resident of this place.
Under Garos's unwavering gaze, Nick's heart skipped a beat.
After a few seconds of deep contemplation, he slowly exhaled and said, "Most importantly, it's for myself."
Lifting his increasingly wrinkled face, he sighed, "You know, compared to immortal beings like you, human lives are as fleeting as fireflies. I yearn for a longer life."
He paused, then pressed his forehead to the ground, speaking earnestly, "When my body grows frail with age, I hope to receive your mercy and grace, to be granted the opportunity for dragon blood transformation."
Garos scrutinized the human before him.
"Your chances of surviving the dragon blood transformation are slim," he stated bluntly.
Nick gritted his teeth and replied, "No matter what, there's always a sliver of hope. I'll find ways to improve my chances of success, and I'm not rushing into the transformation."
"Even if I fail, my unborn child and the family I've built will remain loyal to you."
As the human finished speaking, the red-iron dragon suddenly raised his head, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the sky.
A chill permeated the air, as if a cold front had swept in.
More importantly, he sensed the presence of dragonkind—an aura as frigid and savage as a polar glacier.
A white dragon shadow streaked across the night sky, its body churning with icy qi as it drew closer, causing a stir among the centaurs.
"It's Pale Wing! She's back!" Silvermane exclaimed, his expression darkening.
Pale Wing was the evil dragon driven back by the White Mane Clan twenty years ago.
The centaurs had nearly killed her by feigning surrender before ambushing her, but Pale Wing had made them pay dearly.
The previous clan chief of the White Mane Clan had suffered grievous wounds in the battle against Pale Wing. The lingering aftereffects gradually weakened his body, ultimately leading to his death.
The younger generation of centaur warriors had only heard tales of their clan's glory in hunting down the white dragon, unaware of the price paid for that victory.
"That's the white dragon the White Mane Clan drove back years ago," Garos said, having heard of its existence.
The sixteen-meter-long white dragon circled in the sky, its icy eyes scanning the land below. When it spotted the red-iron dragon in the Centaur Camp, its gaze sharpened.
"White Scale? What brings you here?" Garos called out, instinctively using the name due to his red dragon and iron dragon bloodline.
Hearing this, Treacy, the white dragon who had initially planned to inquire about the situation, instantly darkened. The icy qi around her intensified, solidifying into a tangible presence. Her eyes burned with fury as she glared down at the red-iron dragon.
Her original purpose had been to seek revenge against the centaurs.
But now, she had completely forgotten about them.
Damn it! Arrogant hybrid dragon!
A mere juvenile dragon dares to show such contempt for the great Pale Wing!
Treacy, the white dragon, was enraged.
Meanwhile, realizing he had been influenced by stereotypes, Garos quickly corrected himself with polite formality.
"Oh, no—I meant white dragon. My apologies, I misspoke just now."
(End of the Chapter)
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