Translator: AnubisTL
Garos's dragon wings whipped up a gale as he descended, the clouds above Crescent Moon Valley churning like boiling water.
The moment his shadow swept across the campfire at the valley floor, the entire wolf pack erupted in a frenzy, like an oil pool ignited.
"Dragon Lord! It's the Dragon Lord himself!"
An old werewolf, its ear torn in half, suddenly rose to its hind legs, pounding its chest with its forepaws in a rhythmic, drum-like thud.
The sound seemed to open a floodgate. More and more werewolves surged forth, some still gnawing on bones, others too rushed to remove their sleeping paw guards.
The wolf cubs, dozing in their dens, were startled awake.
Uncomprehending why their elders were rushing out to let out near-whimpering howls at the sky, they followed out of sheer curiosity.
Amidst the wolves' cacophony, Garos folded his wings and landed in a clearing at the center of the Crescent Moon Clan.
He noticed several newly adult cubs pressed to the front, their eyes wide with wonder.
The young ones clearly hadn't seen him before, straining on tiptoe to get a glimpse of the legendary dragon lord. One particularly bold cub even tried to climb onto the roof, only to be swatted back into the den by the mother werewolf.
"Six years, four months!" Russell's voice boomed.
The chieftain's mane was now streaked with gray, but he moved with the same agility as ever. Weaving through the wolf pack, he was the first to reach Garos, kneeling before him. "I knew you would return," he said. "The Howling Moon Clan has awaited your return."
At the same time, the old shaman, supported by Frostfang, emerged from the stone house, approaching with unsteady steps.
Garos looked at the old werewolf, whose fur was almost entirely white and whose mouth held only a few remaining teeth, and was momentarily taken aback.
He remembered the first time he had met the old shaman. Though aged, the werewolf had still possessed steady steps and vibrant energy. Now, he appeared frail, as if he might pass away at any moment.
These six years...
For dragonkind, it was but a blink of an eye, the duration of a single slumber.
But for a species with a lifespan of only fifty or sixty years, this was an eternity.
"You have grown stronger," the old shaman said respectfully. "One day, your dragon wings will encompass the entire Sierre Wilderness, making you the peerless giant dragon of the world."
It struggled free from Frostfang's support, its body trembling and its movements sluggish, as it tried to kneel and show its loyalty.
Garos lowered his gaze to the old shaman. His massive dragon wings unfurled with surprising agility, bracing against the creature's frail form.
"There is no need to kneel," he said bluntly. "You seem to be dying."
"Thank you for your compassion," the old shaman said, its eyes narrowing. "Werewolf lives are short. Please understand."
After a pause, it continued, "I can no longer serve you, but I have chosen a suitable successor. It is intelligent and will use the shaman's knowledge to serve you in my place. The Howling Moon Clan will follow you for generations to come."
For dragonkind, if neither Garos nor the Howling Moon Clan met an untimely end, their loyalty would endure through the ages.
Under Garos' dragon wings, the Howling Moon Clan would rise and fall for generations.
Frostfang, the young female werewolf shaman, showed no fear. Instead, her ears and eyes, accustomed to tales of dragons, were filled with curiosity and reverence.
She knelt in place of the elder.
She pressed her forehead deeply against Garos' dragon claw, expressing her loyalty and awe.
"By the ancestral spirits, we swear that the Howling Moon Clan will be your claws and fangs beneath your dragon wings for generations to come. Your enemies will be torn asunder by us, and your territory will be guarded by us until the last cub draws breath."
Garos nodded slightly. "I accept your loyalty. Rise."
Frostfang stood and carefully helped the old shaman to his feet.
Seeing the old shaman's state, Garos suddenly thought that though dragons are long-lived, they are not immortal. The day would come when even they reached the end of their lives.
Only by growing immensely powerful over millennia—through a leap in life that transforms it into immortality—could they escape the shackles of mortality.
And that was one of Garos' goals.
He didn't want to end up like the old shaman.
Due to their unique physiology, dragons don't weaken with age. Instead, when they reach a certain age, they inevitably enter the "Twilight" state.
This is similar to how dragons become exceptionally drowsy during their dragon sleep.
Twilight dragons feel a soul-deep weariness, a desire to sleep and be done with it all. If they truly succumb to this sleep, they will never awaken again.
Eternal slumber is the normal death of a dragon.
It's worth noting that if an ancient dragon can resist the effects of the Twilight period and engage in a "battle with itself," it can continue to live on, evolving further into an Ancient Dragon. This transition allows them to transcend the Twilight period, becoming immortal beings who embark on the path of immortality, free from the constraints of lifespan.
Each Ancient Dragon represents the pinnacle of existence in the mortal world.
Below the divine spirits, no creature surpasses the might of an Ancient Dragon.
Every dragon aspires to become an Ancient Dragon as their ultimate goal.
As for rivaling a dragon god, that remains an impossibly distant aspiration—even the proudest and most arrogant dragons wouldn't set such an unattainable goal.
Garos suppressed his emotions and surveyed the werewolf pack.
Frostfang's oath still echoed in the air, and a sudden commotion erupted among the wolves.
Manefire shoved aside the werewolves blocking his path and strode to the center of the clearing, flanked by several trusted confidantes. His fiery mane blazed against the night, like a wildfire that refused to be extinguished.
"Dragon Lord!" Manefire's voice rose. "Since you have returned, I ask you to bear witness—"
He whirled toward Russell, baring his fangs. "I challenge this old man's chieftain position!"
The commotion in the pack intensified.
The old shaman's claws tightened around his Bone Staff, his knuckles turning white. Frostfang's ears pricked up alertly, her neck fur bristling slightly.
Garos narrowed his eyes, calmly assessing the unfamiliar young werewolf.
Though Manefire had addressed him as "Dragon Lord," his gaze lacked genuine reverence.
Instead of kneeling respectfully, Manefire stood tall and proud, his chest puffed out, his tail held high in a posture of unwavering confidence.
"You must not be disrespectful in the presence of the dragon lord! Manefire, kneel!"
Russell's eyes blazed with anger as he spoke in a deep voice. He then turned to Garos, bowing respectfully. "Please forgive this reckless werewolf. It is young and crude, lacking understanding of respect and reverence."
Manefire grinned, speaking for Garos. "The dragon lord cares nothing for such trivialities."
"Russell, stop your hypocrisy. Are you afraid to accept my challenge? Then admit defeat and yield the chieftain position to me."
Its fangs bared, gleaming with cold light.
"By tradition, challenges must be issued on the night of the full moon," Russell said, glancing at Garos. Seeing no objection, he continued.
"To hell with tradition!" Manefire interrupted rudely. "Don't you always say the dragon lord's will is paramount?"
Turning to Garos, it flashed an exaggerated smile. "Great dragon lord, you must surely wish to see who is the true strongman?"
It addressed Garos with a respectful title, yet he felt no awe from it.
Moreover, it presumptuously tried to guess his thoughts and speak for him. This displeased Garos.
Have you ever been a dragon? To just assume like that.
Garos stared at the young werewolf. He spoke slowly, deliberately, "Are you saying you're a true powerhouse?"
"Of course!" Manefire puffed out his chest.
How arrogant.
Powerhouse? Garos rarely considered himself a powerhouse. He had always seen himself as weak, which prevented him from becoming arrogant or overconfident. This caution allowed him to navigate events more carefully and avoid risks.
Now, a mere werewolf stood before Garos and boldly declared himself a powerhouse.
The sight struck Garos as both amusing and puzzling.
Where did this confidence come from? No dragonkind blood, yet dragonkind arrogance?
Perhaps it has some hidden backing or confidence.
(End of the Chapter)
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