Translator: AnubisTL
"No corpse."
Garos's gaze swept across the wreckage of the colossus, finding no trace of flesh or blood.
"This doesn't make sense."
"He was struck head-on by my destruction dragon breath. How could this goblin alchemist have survived? And where did his body go?"
The red-iron dragon flicked his tail thoughtfully.
The grand artificer was indeed formidable, but that didn't change the fact that he was an alchemist—physically frail and utterly vulnerable without the protection of his golem.
"I saw it clearly. He was engulfed by my destruction dragon breath."
"Moreover, this alchemical colossus... I nearly dismantled it completely, yet found no sign of a cockpit."
The alchemical colossus, reconstructed from the ruins and now standing tall, appeared to be not the mech golem favored by the goblins, but an autonomous, intelligent golem capable of operating without a pilot.
"The Gold Tooth Tribe's chief... this situation is highly unusual."
Garos glanced at the battlefield, where the scales of victory had already tipped decisively. "No matter. Once we finish here, we'll lead our forces straight to the Gold Tooth Tribe's headquarters in the southeastern Black Iron Plains. Whatever the goblin chief's condition, it won't change the outcome."
The Gold Tooth Tribe was formidable.
In fact, none of the Four Great Tribes of the Frontierlands were weak.
Though referred to as tribes, this was due to the Frontierlands' impoverished conditions and relatively backward social structures, where vestiges of primitive ignorance still lingered. However, in terms of combat prowess, their combined strength rivaled that of small city-states.
Regardless of their past achievements, with the alchemical legion annihilated, the Gold Tooth Tribe was destined to become a relic of the past.
Garos did not participate in the subsequent mop-up operations. Instead, he circled high above, his gaze sweeping over the scorched earth and raging fires below. His dragon wings, vast as the sky, stretched wide, infusing his familiars with seemingly boundless morale.
"Kill—!"
The ogres swung their wolf-toothed clubs, splattered with gore and flesh, smashing fleeing or stubbornly resisting goblins—armor and all—into flattened, bloody pancakes, their maniacal laughter mingling with the sickening crunch of shattered bones.
Bipedal flying dragons swooped low, raining acidic liquid like water, creating steaming, corrosive zones that devoured the fleeing goblin ranks.
Giant wolves howled with bloodlust, transforming into streaks of gray death as they weaved through the routed enemy lines. Each swipe of their clawed paws unleashed a spray of warm blood, precisely severing goblin throats or tearing open their chests.
The true dragon, a living natural disaster, plowed through the battlefield's edge, utterly annihilating any large groups of goblins attempting to regroup or flee.
This was a completely one-sided slaughter.
The steel jungle had become a meat grinder. The once-formidable alchemy golems were now twisted scrap metal scattered across the battlefield, burned by flames, corroded by acidic liquid, and crushed under immense force.
The goblins' wails, pleas for mercy, and curses rose and fell in waves, but were quickly silenced by the whistling of weapons and the tearing of flesh.
Even the sunlight seemed stained by the thick, bloody stench. The wind whipped up gunpowder smoke and ashes, carrying with it the acrid tang of rust, the stench of burning flesh, and the reek of death.
The Ironforged Tribe warriors mopped up the last pockets of resistance.
Soon, all those who stubbornly resisted were slain. Only weaponless, prostrate survivors remained, begging for mercy.
The earth-shattering roars gradually subsided, replaced by triumphant howls and heavy panting. As the battle waned, exhaustion washed over the monsters like a tide, yet their eyes burned with fanatical fervor.
Victory! The Ironforged Tribe had taken the most crucial step toward claiming the title of King of the Crossroads!
The era of the Ironforged Tribe would dawn amidst gunpowder smoke and bloodshed!
Garos noticed the frenzied warriors.
Now was the perfect time to strengthen the tribe's unity.
"Where the dragon wing soars—"
The red-iron dragon spoke, his deep, majestic voice booming across the battlefield like rolling thunder. "—all shall be the king's domain!"
Garos would never normally make such an arrogant declaration, but here, surrounded only by his own people, indulging in a little boast to satisfy his vanity seemed harmless enough.
Of course, the most important thing was to further unite the Ironforged Tribe and solidify their loyalty.
Everything else was secondary.
After a moment of stunned silence,
ROAR—!!!
The dragon's roar, the beasts' howls, the centaurs' neighs, the wyverns' shrieks... all converged into a thunderous torrent of sound, proclaiming victory and power as it surged skyward.
"Rest in place. The war isn't over yet. We're still one step away from complete victory."
As the order went out, the monsters, exhausted from the fierce battle, began to rest where they stood.
Wounded? Unless it was a severed limb, it was just a minor injury. A handful of mud to stop the bleeding, followed by a warlock shaman's healing spell, and they'd be as good as new.
Hungry?
The ground was littered with food.
Goblins—delicious!
The Ironforged Tribe's warriors required minimal logistics.
Meanwhile, in the southwest, at Dragon Valley, a group of serpentmen slowly emerged from the horizon, gradually approaching the valley.
They possessed the lower bodies of giant snakes and humanoid torsos. The males were muscular and imposing, their green faces and fangs twisted into ferocious expressions, while the females were alluring and beautiful, their refined features rivaling even those of elves.
"This is it," the serpentman boss hissed, flicking his forked tongue. "The dragons' nesting grounds."
"The Ironforged Tribe's dragon is leading monsters in battle against the Gold Tooth goblins."
"We have a magic contract with the goblins, preventing us from attacking them directly. But the Ironforged Tribe's rear is undefended—a perfect opportunity."
The Venomtail Tribe's territory lay primarily in the northeastern Frontierlands, bordering the Gold Tooth Tribe.
In exchange for resources ceded by the Gold Tooth Tribe, they had signed a magic contract to suppress mutual conflict. However, the Venomtail Tribe never ceased monitoring the Gold Tooth Tribe's movements.
The alchemical legion's massive deployment hadn't escaped their notice.
The serpentmen quickly grasped the situation.
They believed the Ironforged Tribe stood no chance against the Gold Tooth Goblins. Moreover, while they had a non-aggression pact with the Gold Tooth Tribe, no such agreement existed with the Ironforged Tribe.
And so, the serpentman tribe made a swift decision: to exploit the full-scale war between the Gold Tooth Tribe and the Ironforged Tribe by launching a surprise attack on the Ironforged Tribe's rear lines and seizing the spoils of victory.
Now, the elite warriors of the Venomtail Tribe had arrived at Dragon Valley.
The serpentmen twisted their serpentine bodies, silently and stealthily approaching.
As they neared Dragon Valley's easily defended entrance, a deafening roar suddenly echoed through the narrow passage.
ROAR—!
A white shadow leaped forth.
The ferocious species glared at the serpentmen with predatory intensity, its limbs crouched low, muscles bulging beneath its fur, and razor-sharp claws tearing into the ground, poised to strike.
The formidable white tiger startled the serpentmen.
Then, a gale swept through the valley as another figure soared into the sky, its dragon scales gleaming like interwoven copper and silver under the sunlight.
Red Copper Dragon Deborah gracefully folded her wings and landed atop a nearby cliff.
"Hey, serpentmen," she called out. "It's puzzle time!"
The red-silver dragon tilted her head, gazing down at the serpentmen with a playful, mocking tone. "Harm one of my scales, face my entire kin's wrath. The most united avengers, who might they be?"
At the mention of "metallic dragon," the serpentmen fell silent.
"Metallic dragon," a serpentman sorcerer boss finally said.
"Correct! As a reward, I'll allow you to retreat the way you came," the red-silver dragon said cheerfully.
The serpentman boss said nothing, hurriedly leading his troops away from Dragon Valley as if the path ahead were not their intended destination but some forbidden realm of death.
During their retreat, a young warrior, unwilling to accept defeat, asked the experienced boss, "We've been sneaking and marching all this way, wasting so much time. Why are we turning back so easily?"
The old serpentman shaman's eyes narrowed to slits.
"In the Frontierlands, the strong don't die, and even the weak have a chance to survive. Only the ignorant and arrogant fools deserve to perish," he rebuked in a hoarse voice. "Attacking a metallic dragon? Do you want to bring destruction upon our tribe? That dragon's riddle wasn't just a casual remark."
As he spoke, the shaman felt a flicker of doubt.
Intelligence reports had indicated that the ruler here was an evil dragon with no backing. So why had a hybrid metallic dragon suddenly appeared?
Refusing to dwell on unanswerable questions, the serpentmen retreated the way they had come, though their hearts remained uneasy.
"Serpentmen? Probably the Venomtail Tribe. Hmm, I see."
Garos put away the message stone, having learned about the events in Dragon Valley through a brief conversation with the red-silver dragon.
He wasn't particularly surprised.
After all, the Frontierlands weren't under the control of a single power. With the Ironforged Tribe's war against the Gold Tooth Tribe causing such a commotion, it was only natural for other tribes to take notice, and equally natural for some to try and fish in troubled waters.
He had stationed the powerful ferocious tiger and the red-silver dragon in Dragon Valley.
While the ferocious tiger was useful, the primary reason was to leverage the red-silver dragon's status to create a "fox borrowing the tiger's might" effect. Garos didn't need the dragon to actually fight for him; simply having her show her face was enough.
"Once the war with the Gold Tooth Tribe is completely over, I'll reward her with an afternoon of puzzle time," Garos mused, planning to further improve the red-silver dragon's favor.
As the Ironforged Tribe continued to grow, they could acquire more resources, but maintaining a strategy of complete seclusion and patience was becoming increasingly unrealistic. Sooner or later, they would come to the attention of the adult silver dragon.
Even if they couldn't gain the adult silver dragon's support, at the very least, they needed to avoid provoking her hostility.
Garos didn't let a few victories inflate his ego or cloud his judgment. He understood that matters concerning mature dragons required utmost caution.
Except for White Scale, the white dragon.
After resting for most of the day, the resilient Ironforged Warriors resumed their advance, striking out toward the Black Iron Plains.
This time, they abandoned multi-pronged attacks, instead charging forward like a sharp blade, tearing through all resistance. They advanced unimpeded, reaching the Black Iron Plains and arriving at the Gold Tooth Tribe's main stronghold.
(End of the Chapter)
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