"—They awoke because of this, and so we had a frank conversation on the Forbidden Isolated Island, fully exchanged opinions, and deepened our mutual understanding…."
The process omitted details, only emphasizing the result: Dracthyr had been unsealed and was now under his command.
As Nefarian narrated, he couldn't help but recall the agonizing, chaotic experience of the past few months—
The first thing he had to deal with were the three Blue Dragon guardians still on the Forbidden Isolated Island.
He first tried to persuade the three Blue Dragons to accept the fact that Dracthyr was free, and invited them to witness Dracthyr's future together.
Although two of the Blue Dragons were full of doubts, under Nefarian's might and promises, they were cooperative enough.
Only Rabisargos, his prejudice against Dracthyr was deeply rooted, viewing it as a "monster created by a traitor" that must be eliminated.
Verbal persuasion was ineffective.
Finally, under Nefarian's witness, a team of five Dracthyr elites "farmed" that Blue Dragon like a BOSS, which forced him to submit.
Under Nefarian's mediation, primarily not wanting to hurt the feelings between the five-colored dragons, the Dracthyr did not execute Rabisargos,
Instead, they demoted him to "Magic Consultant and Laborer" for the Dracthyr Legion, with a term of five thousand years.
The Blue Dragon issue was barely resolved, but Dracthyr's own problems were far from over!
These soldiers, who had been sealed in slumber for over thirteen thousand years, awoke to find that their creator, Neltharion, had long since fallen and become the world-destroyer Deathwing.
They simply could not accept this fact.
This plunged them into a huge collapse of faith and an identity crisis.
If it weren't for the genuine Black Dragon bloodline in Nefarian, and his timely display of power, plus his proposal to find a new path for Dracthyr and save his father, who knows how long these confused yet powerful warriors would have lingered on the Forbidden Isolated Island, causing how much trouble.
After all, his mentor—the great Emberglow Dragon Obsidian—had given a death order:
Nefarian must thoroughly resolve the chaotic situation caused by his release of Raszageth before he could leave.
Of course, the great Dragon God was not without promises of benefits.
Obsidian clearly stated: As long as Nefarian could successfully subdue this Dracthyr Legion, then they would become the first batch of direct troops under his command, Nefarian!
This arrangement was reasonable and logical.
Dracthyr was originally Deathwing's creation, and it was both reasonable and natural for his bloodline successor, Nefarian, to manage them.
It wasn't that Obsidian didn't want the Dracthyr's faith,
It was just that considering Neltharion's profound influence on them, and their complex and twisted feelings towards their creator, it would probably be as difficult as ascending to heaven to make them devoutly convert to the Emberglow Dragon like the Proto-Dragon or Ice Trolls in a short time.
This would require a long time to subtly change and win them over.
Before that, having Nefarian, who also flowed with Black Dragon blood, was powerful, and was also Neltharion's "son," act as a proxy to command this force was undoubtedly the best choice.
Furthermore, judging from Nefarian's "performance" in the game, managing Blackrock Mountain and commanding the Black Dragon Legion and the Chromatic Dragonkin Legion, his management ability and methods of controlling subordinates were indeed quite outstanding; not using him to manage this ready-made powerful force would be a real waste.
"In short, we reached an agreement in this way and formed the'Save Neltharion' Alliance."
Nefarian's lengthy speech finally ended, and even the short-tempered Vandal was tired of listening.
"Ah, oh… I see." The Archdruid looked as if he had just woken from a dream, then suddenly remembered their previous topic. "Then what are you doing here?!"
Regarding the new World Tree, Vandal had to remain vigilant.
Nefarian impatiently glared at Vandal: "That's your fault. If you hadn't forcefully interrupted, I would have explained my purpose long ago."
He cleared his throat and continued: "By the command of the great Emberglow Dragon and Lin Mo—", "The Dracthyr Legion will rotate garrison duty here in units of two battalions. The Steel-Eyed Battalion and the Dark-Scaled Battalion have arrived this time."
As he spoke, he raised a claw and pointed to the Black-Scaled Dracthyr: "The Scale-Lord of the Steel-Eyed Battalion, Ambrosa."
That Dracthyr deftly stepped out of the formation and gave a crisp bow to everyone present, with a decisive posture.
"The Scale-Lord of the Dark-Scaled Battalion, Sakares."
As his voice fell, the bronze-scaled Dracthyr stepped out from the other side.
He sharply scanned the entire scene with an aloofness that kept others at bay, then returned to his original position.
"Hmm—he's a bit arrogant." Nefarian paused, his tone slightly awkward, "Not good at socializing. You'll get used to it."
In fact, if Sakares hadn't insisted on coming, Nefarian wouldn't have had to make this trip himself.
His original intention was to stay on the Forbidden Isolated Island and continue researching the "relics" left by his father.
But among the several Scale-Lords, Sakares was the most "special" one.
In his mentor's words: This guy's "chunibyo" (middle school syndrome) was a bit severe—he was constantly immersed in the glorious dreams of Neltharion's past, occasionally shouting about the glory and resurgence of the Black Dragons, as if living in an unending epic.
Nefarian could only shake his head and smile wryly at this.
He himself had similar fantasies, and had not yet fully let them go.
However, his current thoughts were more pragmatic than Sakares's.
He knew that if he truly wanted to revive the Black Dragon Legion, the first step was to reclaim his father from NZoth's corruption.
But now was not the time to think about these things; his mentor had promised a time. He collected his thoughts, his gaze sweeping over the elves and trolls before him, his tone returning to calmness: "They will be stationed here permanently for the next 50 years, under my direct command."
Vandal's brow hadn't unfurrowed since Nefarian began speaking.
After listening to this "formal and perfunctory" speech, the Night Elf Archdruid's face had become extremely grim.
"So," he said in a low voice, "you brought a group of—monsters, whose sentience I can't even confirm, to our sacred tree, claiming to 'rotate garrison duty'?"
His fists were clenched tightly, knuckles white.
Even though the conflict had just ceased, the hostility on his body had not dissipated at all.
Nefarian signaled the Dracthyr to remain calm.
Because several of them were already adjusting their stances, claws twitching slightly, clearly on the verge of being enraged by constantly being called "monsters."
"If you insist on continuing to use the word 'monster'—,"
Nefarian slowly began, his tone turning cold, "—then I can only return the favor by calling you 'wild monkeys in the forest.'"
At these words, the slightly eased atmosphere instantly became tense again.
Toka felt that just one more spark would cause the situation to immediately spiral out of control again, yet with his strength, he couldn't interject at all.
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