Translator: AnubisTL
In the royal capital of the Kingdom of Lothurn, located in the southern part of the Atlantis Continent.
"Gordon, what has provoked you this time?"
Princess Elena, wearing a golden-white crown and a moon-white gown, pushed open the door. She saw the fat iron dragon, who was unusually rolling and pushing himself up in a desperate attempt to exercise.
"How can a noble dragon rely on external aids? I must be able to fly on my own at the very least."
Gordon recalled the red-iron dragon's enviable physique and posture. He slowly rolled over again, his massive, heavy body pressing down on the ground so hard that magic runes even lit up beneath him.
"You're quite cute and chubby like this. There's no need to force yourself to lose weight," Princess Elena said as she walked forward and patted the iron dragon's plump belly.
In her eyes, a dragon with a normal physique looked slightly fierce. Iron Dragon Gordon's current appearance was just right—he looked completely harmless and adorable.
"Fine, then."
Feeling his body ache and hearing Elena's words, Gordon deflated and flopped onto the ground.
"My mission is to please Elena and make her happy. She likes me the way I am now, so I must maintain this form. Yes, I am carrying this heavy burden for the sake of the sacred and glorious cause of dragonkind. It's not that I lack the resolve to lose weight."
He thought to himself.
Eileen leaned skillfully against the Iron Dragon, feeling the cold, metallic touch of its scales as she quietly began reading a magic book.
Gordon, serving as her living chair, did not disturb the princess.
However, before long, the Iron Dragon Gordon noticed that the princess was distracted. She had unconsciously torn a corner of the magic book.
"Eileen, is something on your mind?"
The Iron Dragon sensed the princess's anxiety and asked thoughtfully.
"The kingdom is in a time of turmoil. I want to do my part for Lothurn, but I'm being protected like a porcelain doll."
Eileen extended her palm, and with a mere whisper, a scorching flame ignited.
"The people might see me as a weak, helpless princess who needs protection."
"But that's not the case. The blood of the great Holy King flows in my veins. I am a high-level spellcaster, a master of the Shaping System, which represents destruction and annihilation."
"The magic I construct and cast could instantly end small-scale conflicts, sparing our soldiers from shedding so much blood."
She flipped her hand, extinguishing the magical flame, and murmured, "But what's the point? I'm still treated like a decorative vase, like my father's cherished canary, not even allowed to lose a single feather."
My naive princess.
When you go to the battlefield, see the ground covered with severed limbs and blood flowing like rivers, hear the sky-piercing cries of slaughter and the wails of ten thousand people, you will probably tremble all over, unable to concentrate, and won't be able to construct a single spell.
Gordon thought this in his heart but said nothing, just listening quietly.
He knew very well that Eileen needed a listener right now.
And after Eileen finished her story and her mood improved, Gordon fell silent for a moment, then suddenly asked: "Eileen, if you don't need to show up in person, but your support alone can reduce the bloodshed of your kingdom's soldiers and strike other enemy nations, would you be willing to pay the price for it?"
"Of course."
The princess said decisively, without any hesitation.
Immediately after, she stared at the iron dragon and said: "Why do you suddenly ask this? Do you have a good idea?"
Thinking of the red-iron dragon's instructions, Gordon smiled dryly: "Just asking casually."
The fat on his cheeks covered the iron dragon's change of expression.
Eileen didn't think much of it, just rose lightly with a wave of magical fluctuation, then lay on the iron dragon's cold and broad back, and looked at the magic book again lying on her back.
Frontierlands, northeast, Swamp of the Dead.
The sunlight that could illuminate Dragon Valley and shine on Garos could not penetrate the dense miasma and the dense forests growing in the swampy land here.
Even at the outskirts, a dark, foul, and chillingly cold scent wafted through the air, radiating a sense of lethal danger.
Fortunately, Iron Dragon Solgorn was no frail human. As his talons crushed several dry branches and he landed on the marsh's edge, he began to advance with steady, composed strides.
"Dragon, halt! You are entering the territory of the Venomtail Tribe."
With a rustle of movement, pairs of vertical, icy serpent eyes ignited within the murky swamp.
The serpentman guards tightened their grip on their swords, while the warlock shamans' bone staffs crackled with magic energy, spells ready to be unleashed.
Hiss... hiss... The low, raspy hisses echoed incessantly. As the serpentmen and the iron dragon faced off, the atmosphere grew taut with tension.
Solgorn was no longer the dragon he once was. He did not flare in anger at the serpentmen's insolence. Instead, he stopped in his tracks, stood still, and declared with steady resolve, "Inform your chief that the Iron King of the Ironforged Tribe has come to visit."
His voice rang out like forged iron striking iron, carrying the profound resonance unique to dragonkind.
"Please wait a moment."
The lead serpentman shaman's eyes glinted as he lightly tapped his bone staff on the ground.
In an instant, a translucent little snake burrowed into the marsh and slithered rapidly toward the rear.
Soon, the little snake returned and slipped into the shaman's ear.
"The chief says the Venomtail Tribe welcomes any dragon who comes with goodwill. Please, follow me."
Iron Dragon's expression remained unchanged. Led by several guards, he strode alone into the serpentmen's stronghold with steady, powerful steps.
Inside the hollowed-out skull of a giant serpent.
Seven serpentfolk elder were coiled on stone-carved thrones, both male and female among them. The serpentfolk leader, seated on the main throne, was a female of breathtaking beauty, her eyes captivating and seductive.
Her skin was delicate and as white as snow, almost glowing against the backdrop of the dark swamp.
Her lower body was exceptionally long, with a serpent tail exceeding ten meters, covered in fine, smooth, jade-like light green scales.
Most peculiar of all.
On her humanoid upper body, she had a full six arms. They were long and slender, yet the stretching of her well-proportioned muscles revealed extraordinary strength.
A six-armed serpentfolk—a high-level heteromorph among the serpentmen.
The origins of the serpentmen were a subject of much debate, but two main theories were widely accepted: one claimed they were the evil offspring left behind by the six-armed serpent demon of the Abyss when they invaded the Material Plane; the other suggested they were 'land naga,' evolved from deep sea naga after they came ashore.
But regardless of which origin was true.
The number of arms signified both strength and nobility.
If she were an offspring of serpent demons, six arms meant a resurgence of her demonic blood ancestry. If she were a Naga, six arms represented the divine spirit's favor and blessing.
The moment he saw the Six-armed Serpent Woman, Iron Dragon Solgorn froze.
His gaze swept over her long, serpentine tail, her emerald scales, her smooth, flat belly, and her stunningly human upper body. A nameless fire ignited in his lower abdomen, and his body grew slightly hot.
Solgorn had little interest in female dragons.
He preferred females who blended human and beastly traits.
The Six-armed Serpent Woman before him—with her scales, tail, breathtaking beauty, and a thick, powerful aura—intrigued him deeply.
Hah— Iron Dragon Solgorn took a deep breath, suppressing his desire to calm himself.
He was here on official business. He couldn't let lust ruin it.
Besides, the Six-armed Serpent Woman was clearly the chief of the Venomtail Tribe. Despite her lazy and casual posture, Iron Dragon Solgorn instinctively sensed her danger. He was likely no match for her.
"Dragon of Ironforged, welcome."
The Six-armed Serpent Woman, coiled upon the main throne, spoke lazily, "I am Naris—the current chief of the Venomtail Tribe."
Three pairs of arms folded across her chest like overlapping petals. She sized up the iron dragon, her expression an enigmatic half-smile. "The Venomtail Tribe's mire cannot accommodate the unfurling of a dragon's wings. I suggest you keep them folded."
Her words were laced with hidden barbs, yet her expression remained composed.
However, beneath that calm and languid facade, the mind mage dragon sensed tension and wariness. Clearly, Naris's true emotions were far from as serene as she appeared.
Good. For negotiations, it's best to deal with creatures that understand fear. Brainless brutes can only be reasoned with through claws, the iron dragon thought, a grin spreading across his face.
Even surrounded by the encircling serpentmen, the iron dragon showed no sign of folding his wings in submission.
Instead, in a blatant act of provocation, he unfurled his massive, rigid wings to their full extent. The sheer force of the movement snapped two swampwood in half, sending them crashing into the mire and splashing up murky water.
The atmosphere instantly froze, dead and silent.
The serpentmen's cold eyes locked onto the iron dragon, poised to swarm and tear him asunder in the next heartbeat.
(End of the Chapter)
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