----------
🎉 GIVEAWAY LIVE! Ends Tomorrow! (Ends Aug 13)
Total Seats: 6
Entrants: 5
Win Probability: 100%
----------
Translator: AnubisTL
At dawn, Garos, battered but with eyes burning bright with vitality, returned to Dragon Valley.
"Such severe injuries! Who dared to do this to you?!"
Deborah, who had remained in Dragon Valley, gasped in shock at the sight, her scales bristling and a fierce, icy aura radiating from her body.
"It's nothing," Garos replied, landing gracefully. A faint smile touched his lips. "The enemy suffered far worse. From this day forward, the Frontierlands belong to me."
Noticing that while the red-iron dragon's qi was somewhat diminished, he was otherwise unharmed, Deborah's anger gradually subsided.
"What happened last night?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.
Garos calmly recounted how he had been ambushed, but had ultimately annihilated the enemy's leadership.
"Those barbarians truly courted death," Deborah muttered.
"Thank the gods you are so strong. The consequences would have been unimaginable otherwise."
The red-silver dragon gazed at Garos's rugged, muscular form, her eyes lingering on the scars that marked his body.
To dragonkind, these scars were not marks of ugliness, but symbols of merit and glory. With each battle, a dragon's scales shattered and healed, growing thicker and harder. Over time, this process left behind faint, intricate cracks—almost imperceptible unless one looked closely—that marked their many battles. These were known as the Battle-Scarred Patterns.
The Cold Exploding Scales on Garos's surface were meant to shatter, yet they bore no such marks.
However, his lower layer of black-red dragon scales already displayed some Battle-Scarred Patterns.
The appearance of these patterns indicated that he had endured numerous and intense battles, a trait rarely seen in juvenile dragons, or even in mature white dragons like Treacy.
"Battle-Scarred Patterns, Garos," the red-silver dragon said. "When I was in the Boiling Sea Dragon Domain, I never saw a single juvenile dragon with Battle-Scarred Patterns."
"Only adult, mature, and elder dragons possess them."
The red-silver dragon couldn't resist stepping closer. She gently stroked the fresh, still-bleeding Battle-Scarred Patterns on Garos's chest.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.
"I'm used to it," the red-iron dragon replied indifferently. He stepped back and glanced down at the so-called Battle-Scarred Patterns, a pleased expression spreading across his face. "The inheritance says that once these patterns cover the entire body, they form special meridians that accelerate energy flow. This will also enhance my dragon qi. When they're fully developed, I'll gain another skill."
The full body coverage of Battle-Scarred Patterns was a trait typically seen only in ancient dragons.
Even an ancient dragon, if it spent its life in seclusion, avoiding conflict, might not develop full Battle-Scarred Patterns.
By then, the enhancement it could provide might not be significant for the ancient dragon, but its very existence would signify its power, deterring others from provoking it.
The red-silver dragon, however, had different thoughts.
"Such severe injuries, yet he remains so composed, as if it's nothing. If it were me, I'd be screaming and wailing by now."
"Garos has endured so much suffering since childhood."
Deborah felt a pang of sympathy and pity.
Before her, the strong and ferocious hybrid dragon transformed in her eyes into a small beast in need of care.
Pitiful, weak, and helpless.
The red-silver dragon quickly retrieved something from between her neck scales—a substance that resembled both a red crystal and a pill, glistening and translucent.
"This is a magic potion my father brewed using his own dragon blood. It rapidly heals injuries. Take it."
Garos's eyes lit up. "Give it to me later. My injuries aren't that serious now. I can save it for when I really need it." He believed he could recover from his injuries gradually on his own.
Such a precious magic potion, he thought, would be better used in battle.
"Eat it now, or I'm not giving it to you."
The red-silver dragon guessed Garos's thoughts and stuffed the magic potion directly into his mouth.
Sensing his body's instinctive craving for the potion and the red-silver dragon's resolve, Garos gently bit her claw. His tongue wrapped around the potion, and he swallowed it whole.
The moment it reached his stomach, it dissolved instantly.
It transformed into a stream of icy water that flowed gently through Garos's body. With every pass, comfort spread through him. His ruptured blood vessels and damaged organs immediately felt much better, and even his scales tingled with the sensation of ants lightly biting, indicating accelerated regeneration.
"Truly a remarkable thing," Garos murmured, stretching his body and finding no pain. He felt a lingering sense of wanting more.
"Here's another one," the red-silver dragon said, producing a potion made from the blood of an adult silver dragon. "Keep this one, Garos."
"How many more do you have?" Garos asked.
"Plenty," she replied, as if anticipating his disbelief. "Don't forget, I'm a metallic dragon. I have plenty of such things."
The red-iron dragon nodded and extended his claw.
"Then give me a few more."
He shamelessly demanded more.
"Dream on, you insatiable evil dragon!" The red-silver dragon snorted, turning her head away as if offended.
After waiting for a moment and hearing no further response from the red-iron dragon, she turned back in annoyance. To her surprise, the red-iron dragon had already settled down on the ground, closed his eyes, and fallen asleep, his breath coming in warm, steady puffs.
The silver dragon's magic potions could only alleviate pain and heal wounds, with limited effect on restoring physical stamina or spirit. After the intense battle, the red-iron dragon's spirit had relaxed, and after taking the potion, he couldn't resist the overwhelming urge to sleep.
Not long after, news of the near-total annihilation of the Dawn Tribe and Ironblood Tribe leaders at the Raging Waves River battle spread like wildfire, causing the Ironforged Tribe's morale to soar. The fact that they had been ambushed yet annihilated all their enemies only further solidified the Lord of the Crimson Wings' reputation as invincible.
In stark contrast, the Two Great Tribes were plunged into despair, their morale completely shattered. Humans and orcs no longer resisted stubbornly, but showed no inclination to surrender or submit. Instead, they scattered into small groups and fled toward the deeper, snow-covered, frost-bitten Permafrost Tundra.
Following this, the Ironforged Tribe's legion of servants advanced unstoppable, crushing everything in their path as they advanced northward, seizing and consolidating control over the strongholds that had once belonged to the Dawn and Ironblood Tribes.
Unlike the Gold Tooth Tribe before them, these two Great Tribes revered honor and combat. Even after their leaders had fallen, their fleeing tribesmen fought with extraordinary ferocity when cornered. Those who couldn't escape died in place, refusing to retreat, with only a handful choosing to surrender.
Time flowed onward.
About a month later, at the end of the year 249 of the New Era, as the intelligent creatures of the Southern Federation prepared for their New Year celebrations, the Frontierlands welcomed its uncrowned king.
By this time, the Frontierlands were nearly all adorned with the banners of the Ironforged Tribe.
With the exception of the Venomtail Tribe, all land and resources now belonged to the Ignis Dragon Clan and its leader, Garos.
"The mopping-up operations are nearly complete," Solgorn's voice echoed in Garos's mind. "Only the Venomtail Tribe and us remain in the Frontierlands. Should we wait for them to surrender, or should I go and recruit them?"
The red-iron dragon paused his rigorous training of his dragon wings, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The serpentmen are watching from the sidelines, hoping to seize the greatest benefits. They're still trying to play hard to get. Heh, they're being too naive."
After a moment's thought, Garos replied, "Ignore them for now. I want to see how long they'll hold out before they come to pledge their loyalty."
Five days later.
The Venomtail Tribe, having waited in vain for a dragon to recruit them, finally lost patience. They dispatched envoys to Dragon Valley, expressing their desire to pledge allegiance and submit.
But Garos refused.
"Solgorn, muster the legion and march on the Venomtail Tribe. Crush every outpost along the way and encircle the Swamp of the Dead."
"Then, we'll decide based on their attitude. If they resist or try to be clever again, we'll flatten the Swamp of the Dead, slaughter all who fight, and enslave the rest."
The Ironforged Legion, at its zenith, bared its fangs once more, sinking its teeth into the serpentmen who had taken root in the northeast.
Such fickle opportunists couldn't be trusted to be absorbed whole without risk. Though this brutal approach would waste potential familiars or slaves, it was necessary.
Meanwhile...
As the King of the Crossroads issued his command for retribution against the treacherous Venomtail serpentmen,
The twilight at the edge of the Sierre Wilderness bled crimson.
In the ruins of a crumbling ducal outpost, the last wisps of black smoke twisted skyward.
The dragon slowly folded its sky-shrouding wings, its massive twenty-eight-meter body casting a terrifying shadow across the ground. Its blood-red scales were etched with Battle-Scarred Patterns, like countless burning wounds.
This was a mature red dragon.
The red dragon's foreclaw playfully pressed down on the last struggling guard, savoring the sensation of human bones gradually shattering beneath its claw.
The guard's agonized wails were music to his ears, and the dragon's fang-filled maw stretched into a smile of pure delight.
"What a exquisite sensation, what a melodious sound..."
His cruel, guttural murmur echoed through the ruins. He deliberately slowed the crushing of the guard's chest, prolonging the symphony of death.
As time passed...
When the final scream faded into the evening breeze, Gorsas took a deep, satisfied breath.
Years of exile had made the scent of his homeland even sweeter—a fragrance mingled with fear, blood, and scorched earth.
As he inhaled the wilderness air, the muscles beneath his scales quivered with excitement. The hatred and savagery that had festered for years finally found an outlet.
Then, he unfurled his sky-shadowing dragon wings and threw his head back, letting out a roar that shook the heavens and earth.
An invisible, scorching wave of dragon might surged across the ruins.
"Now, the Sierre Wilderness will remember its true master!"
"Insects, prepare to tremble in dragon flame and turn to ash!"
The red dragon's thorn spikes stood erect along its spine, and the fiery breath from its nostrils ignited the nearby ruins. Then, surrounded by countless flames, it flapped its wings and soared into the sky, vanishing into the horizon before the federation's reinforcements could arrive.
(End of the Chapter)
---------------------------
📖 You are reading [224] Chapters behind.
🔥 Read up to Chapter [488] now, only on 𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝕞.
📚 Read upto [12,000+] Chapters on Site with [9,900+] Free Chapters!
🚫 Also get FREE lifetime ad-free and join the giveaway by joining our Discord!
---------------------------