Translator: AnubisTL
Resin crackled in the fire pit as a scout burst into the White Mane Clan's camp, bringing with him a gust of cold wind and hard-packed mud clinging to his hooves.
The creature, over three meters tall, had a human-like upper body and the lower body of a horse, panting heavily.
"Iron Dragon! An iron dragon has appeared at the gray magnetite vein we just discovered!" the centaur scout reported.
Iron Dragon Solgorn wasn't the only one who had noticed the gray magnetite. In fact, the centaurs of the White Mane Clan had discovered the vein half a month earlier. However, due to internal clan issues, they hadn't yet begun mining operations, only sending scouts to monitor the iron ore's status.
That's how they discovered the iron dragon's presence.
"Iron dragon? What size?"
"Nearly thirteen meters long. Not fully grown, probably a juvenile or adolescent dragon."
"Is it still at the gray magnetite vein?"
"No, it's already left, but it mined the ore and discovered the vein. It'll definitely return."
After a brief exchange, the White Mane Clan's shaman slowly rose from the shadows.
The old centaur, draped in a Raven Feather Cloak, furrowed his brow. His withered right hand gripped a bone staff inlaid with a frost giant's tooth, the three bells hanging from its tip trembling silently.
In the shaman's eyes, this was an omen of impending danger.
"This iron dragon wasn't a chance encounter," the old centaur said slowly. "It will bring peril to our clan."
Beside the fire pit, Ironhoof, commander of the charge brigade, abruptly rose to his feet.
The nearly four-meter-tall centaur giant was clad in heavy chainmail armor. Bone necklaces were woven through his dark brown mane, their rattling collisions sending chilling clicks through the air with each movement.
As he stood, he knocked over the fire pit, scattering burning pine resin onto his iron-gray hooves. Yet he didn't even flinch.
He hefted his nearby war spear, its keen blade notched from countless battles.
"Thirty heavy archer teams, plus my charge brigade," he said, grinning. "We'll set an ambush near the gray magnetite mine. When it returns, we'll use its skull as a drinking bowl!"
To them, a juvenile dragon was merely a stronger type of ferocious beast.
The clans bordering the Ice Plains were generally more formidable than those of the Sierre Wilderness. The White Mane Clan had once repelled a white dragon attempting to conquer them, and its fallen dragon scale still hung in their camp as a symbol of glory.
They knew iron dragons were stronger than white dragons.
But the white dragon they had repelled was far larger than the iron dragon the scouts had seen.
On the other side of the camp, Silvermane leisurely wiped the mud from his horse's hooves.
As the warrior commander in charge of the hunting party, he exuded a rare fragrance of pine resin and amber. His silvery-white mane flowed smoothly in the wind, and sparks flew each time his fine steel horseshoes struck the ground.
"Why waste our warriors' lives?" he said slowly, glancing at Ironhoof. "First, we need to understand the iron dragon's movement patterns. Then we can set traps, use poison, or whatever it takes. Direct confrontation is the most foolish approach."
Ironhoof glared at Silvermane.
"A centaur's honor lies in the spear and arrow, in the frontal charge. Such vile tactics would shame our ancestors."
Silvermane retorted, "Don't confuse recklessness and stupidity with honor."
A year had passed since the death of the White Mane Clan's previous clan chief, yet they had still not chosen a successor.
The two centaurs known as Ironhoof and Silvermane were both strong contenders, locked in a bitter rivalry, neither willing to yield.
The gray magnetite mine remained unexploited, primarily due to the ongoing dispute over its ownership.
There were three candidates vying for the position.
Elvie, her massive feathered wings sprouting from her back, shifted from a reclining position to standing.
This half-elf heteromorph female was more slender than the other centaurs. Her snow-white wings shimmered with a pearlescent luster in the firelight, while her pure white mane and skin glowed faintly with each movement.
When she spread her wings, the entire tent darkened, as if all the light had converged upon her.
After taking a swig of strong liquor and hanging the flask from her waist, a flush rose to Elvie's elf-like face, yet her gaze remained calm and clear.
"Fools! Are slaughter and poison all you see?" Elvie declared. "You haven't even determined how many familiars the iron dragon has or why it came here, yet you rush to hunt it? Your recklessness will only bring harm to the Clan."
Ironhoof and Silvermane exchanged a glance.
Then, in perfect unison, they swiveled their gun barrels toward Elvie.
Ironhoof sneered, "Half-breed! Your mixed bloodline makes you indecisive."
Silvermane was gentler but made no attempt to conceal his disapproval. "A juvenile dragon couldn't possibly gather a powerful familiar. Your worries are unfounded. It's your elven blood that makes you so timid."
In ancient times, the centaurs had established a magnificent kingdom.
They roamed the wilderness and tundra, drank strong liquor, and reveled in the wild winds that whipped through their manes.
But as the centuries passed, the centaur kingdom crumbled, splintering into fragments and fading into ordinary monster clans.
Yet they never forgot their former glory, taking pride in their pure bloodline.
Originally, as a pegasus heteromorph born with wings, Elvie should have been revered and cherished by her kin. However, the elven blood in her veins, which gave her an exquisite appearance distinct from other centaurs, instead subjected her to discrimination and prejudice. The centaurs favored rugged features and robust physiques.
Her mother was a warrior of the White Mane Clan.
Her father was an elven ranger who had passed through the Borderlands.
The centaur mother yearned for the worlds the elven ranger had seen, while the ranger admired her fierce spirit and sincerity. Their mutual admiration sparked into love, and Elvie was born.
This should have been a beautiful tale of interspecies romance.
But Elvie's pegasus wings set her apart from birth, and her very existence brought death to her mother.
After her mother's death, Elvie's elf father left the grieving land, leaving the young girl behind with the White Mane Clan.
Though born into a world of prejudice and scorn, Elvie's exceptional talent and unwavering will allowed her to break through the barriers. She now serves as the captain of the White Mane Clan's guard and is a contender for the position of clan chief, earning the envy of Ironhoof and Silvermane, who often conspire against her.
She had already proven her worth.
Yet the centaurs' obsession with pure blood still placed her at a disadvantage in the competition.
"Your ambition for the clan chief's position has clouded your judgment," Elvie retorted sharply. "You lack the necessary rationality and composure, focusing only on personal glory while neglecting the clan's future, which should be our paramount concern."
Meanwhile, the old centaur's gaze shifted restlessly.
As a shaman who had witnessed the passing of two clan chief, he held immense prestige within the White Mane Clan. His opinion would significantly influence the selection of the next leader.
"Silence!"
His eyes, now clear and piercing, struck the ground with his bone staff as he spoke in a raspy voice. "Danger and opportunity coexist. I sense that the emergence of this iron dragon is of vital importance to our clan—perhaps a pivotal moment in our history."
Shamans spent their lives listening to the voices of all things.
The closer a shaman approached the end of their life, the more their intuition sharpened beyond ordinary limits.
From the moment the centaur scouts brought news of the iron dragon, the Old Centaur felt a strange sensation, as if standing on the edge of an abyss while simultaneously floating among the clouds.
"What do you think we should do?" Elvie asked, turning to the Old Centaur.
The Old Centaur's gaze swept over the three centaur commanders. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he finally spoke: "I am old now, and my thoughts are no longer as clear as they once were. The earth and wind belong to you young centaurs. Your ideas matter more than mine."
He paused, then added, "Whoever handles the iron dragon incident properly will earn my future support."
The pine resin in the Fire Pit crackled, sending sparks flying upward, illuminating the three centaur commanders' starkly different expressions.
This was the first time the Old Centaur had publicly and formally declared his support for a candidate. Given his immense prestige, his endorsement would almost certainly determine the next Clan Chief.
The iron dragon's emergence had become the touchstone by which their leadership ambitions would be tested.
(End of the Chapter)
------------------------------------------------------
- Read ahead up to Ch279 (DRAGON) on AnubisTL; free chapters up to Ch184.
- No sign-up required. Find CinderTL via Google search.
------------------------------------------------------