Translator: AnubisTL
An invisible hand seemed to stir the dark, churning sky, whipping up layers of forest waves as bean-sized raindrops poured down, wailing through the mountains and wilderness, and raising a pale curtain of rain.
Garos stood unyielding in the storm, his body forged from steel and iron.
Beside him, the iron dragon and red dragon spread their wings, straightening their bodies, their dragon faces alight with excitement, revealing sharp dragon fangs.
"Crush those pathetic vermin!" Samantha snarled, sparks erupting from her nostrils.
"They will pay in blood for their arrogance!" Solgorn's hard dragon scales clanged.
The Ignis Brothers knew Garos well enough. When they saw the change in his expression and gaze, they understood his intentions without needing to ask.
Unlike Garos, the red dragon and iron dragon had always harbored murderous intent, eager to flay and dismember the humans who dared to extort them. Only Garos's restraint had forced them to endure.
But now, Garos himself had been provoked.
He had already yielded ground, yet his opponents continued to press relentlessly.
From the human perspective, their actions were perfectly justifiable.
If a monster clan was weak, they would simply subdue it with their private armies and take complete control. If, however, the clan was strong enough to inspire fear and launched a frenzied attack, that would be even better. They could request garrison troops to suppress the rebellion, crush the clan thoroughly, and then offer clemency to secure their submission.
The nobles weren't interested in genuine cooperation.
They sought a hierarchical master-servant relationship with absolute control.
But for Garos, this was utterly unacceptable.
The nobles' probing and provocations were pushing him to his breaking point.
He sensed imminent danger.
Fear, apprehension, and a surging, boiling killing intent rose within him.
Yet now was not the time for direct action.
In such situations, calm and rationality were paramount. He needed to carefully consider the consequences and plan his escape routes.
Garos took a deep breath, drawing the wind and rain into his lungs, and slowly exhaled.
"Solgorn, instruct the familiar bosses of each battle group to prepare for combat. Order the familiar bosses remaining in the territory to gather their belongings and immediately retreat to the Quenching Highlands."
"Samantha, clear out Needleleaf Valley. Take everything you can carry and destroy everything you can't."
The meaning was clear: Garos was abandoning this territory.
He was decisive. Having decided to overturn the table, he immediately began preparing for migration, leaving no opportunity for retaliation.
Upon hearing this, Samantha hesitated.
She couldn't bear to abandon the territory she had cultivated for so long, nor the wealth it brought.
"Wait, Garos, are we really giving up our territory?"
"Not giving up, just temporarily withdrawing. We'll return sooner or later."
"Why? A viscount's army can't possibly defeat us! We could slaughter them all and continue to dominate this place!"
In the human world, a viscount was hardly a high-ranking noble.
Samantha remained as arrogant as ever, believing only great nobles or lords were worthy of her retreat.
Glancing at Garos's calm expression, the iron dragon sneered, suppressing his surging emotions. "Foolish. Do you think the Lothurn Federation would tolerate three evil dragons nesting near their trade routes? Would they sit idly by while we grow stronger?"
"The viscount is no threat, but when we bare our claws and fangs, we'll inevitably draw greater attention."
"If we remain here when stronger forces arrive to besiege and destroy us, we'll be doomed."
"Given the nobility and value of dragonkind, we might even attract a legendary being."
"If a legendary powerhouse comparable to an ancient dragon arrives while we're still here, we won't even have a chance to escape."
"And we don't even need a legendary foe. High-life-grade powerhouses alone pose a significant threat to us."
When the iron dragon could suppress its emotions and think calmly, its intellect far surpassed Samantha's.
Its words echoed Garos's own thoughts.
Every legendary figure was a pillar of their nation, a cornerstone of their race and kingdom. The viscount couldn't possibly have a legendary backer; otherwise, he wouldn't be a mere viscount scavenging for scraps in the wilderness alongside monsters.
Yet the vast Lothurn Federation harbored legendary powerhouses, and the garrison stationed in the Sierre Wilderness included such a being. Without a legendary presence, they couldn't possibly contain the ferocious beasts and demonic creatures of the wilderness.
By ambushing and killing the viscount's envoys—including a noble heir—
This would undoubtedly be seen as a provocation against the Lothurn Federation.
To the garrison stationed in the Sierre Wilderness, the Ironforged Clan would no longer be considered an ordinary clan. They would perceive the few evil dragons as a threat to the federation, demanding a swift and decisive response.
If they continued to occupy the Scaly Earth Rift Road, the ensuing scenario was predictable.
First, the viscount would dispatch troops for revenge, only to be crushed by the dragonkind. Then, a more formal legion would arrive. If even that failed to subdue the dragons, the strongest warriors among the garrison would personally intervene.
Alternatively, there might be no such drawn-out process.
Upon discovering the dragons, a legendary powerhouse, eager for the hunt, might strike preemptively, bypassing the viscount's orders or requests for reinforcements, and claim the glory and rewards for themselves.
"Regardless," Garos said, his gaze sharp, "we can't stay in the Scaly Earth Rift Road any longer. We must withdraw. But before we do, I'll make those humans pay dearly."
In truth, the most rational course would have been to tuck tail, gather his chosen, and retreat without harming the humans.
But Garos was not a creature of absolute rationality.
He had his own ambitions, his own desires.
Had he walked on thin ice, surviving and growing stronger, only to cower and flee at every sign of danger?
No.
It was so that even if he had to retreat in such a situation, he would make his enemies pay for disrupting his peaceful life, ensuring they understood the consequences of provoking him.
It was so that in future encounters, he would never have to endure such humiliation again.
The first time Garos abandoned his territory due to the threat of the Blackrock Dwarves, he lacked the strength to resist. He fled overnight, like a homeless dog.
But this time, he would make his enemies remember the pain.
If there were a next time, it might not be him who would be forced to flee.
Immediately, through the message stone, a flurry of orders were issued.
The combat units led by Karu didn't return to the territory to collect taxes. Instead, under the cover of the torrential rain and the sorcerer's magic, they slowly and silently approached the noble's son's encampment.
The bosses of the Ironforged Clan's various territories also received orders, mobilizing their people to pack up their belongings and head toward the Quenching Highlands.
In the blink of an eye, four days had passed.
The rain had intensified and waned over the past few days, but today it was pouring relentlessly. Bean-sized raindrops hammered against the leather tents, creating a crisp, crackling sound.
Inside the largest tent, a decadent mix of perfume and roasted meat filled the air.
Edmund reclined in his lounge chair, idly twirling a crystal orb in his hand.
His relaxed demeanor suggested he was on vacation rather than a wilderness expedition.
"Young Master, do you really think those monsters will honestly pay their taxes?" Brent asked obsequiously, offering him a chilled glass of wine.
"If you ask me, we should just storm their lairs directly."
Edmund glanced at the tax official. "And you know where their lairs are?"
"Uh, not at the moment," Brent stammered, forcing a sheepish smile.
Edmund took a sip of wine, his pale blue eyes reflecting the defensive line arrayed outside the tent.
Five alchemy golems formed a circular perimeter, while thorn knights trained in the downpour. Further out, a spell-controlled frost giant stood motionless, its empty eye sockets staring blankly into the distance.
"Patience," Edmund said dismissively. "Beasts are beasts. Their primitive minds are incapable of strategy."
He genuinely despised the wilderness monsters.
Or perhaps all intelligent creatures living in civilized lands harbored deep-seated prejudices against the crude, primitive monsters of the wilds.
For example, the goblin kingdom within the Lothurn Federation refused to acknowledge any kinship with the goblin clans of the wilderness, dismissing them as "pseudo-gnome" monsters with superficial similarities.
Edmund swirled his wineglass, then drained the crimson liquid in a single gulp.
"Perhaps they initially harbored resentment, trying to cheat when paying taxes," he mused, "but before our wisdom and civilization, the schemes of beasts are merely laughable."
"The current taxes are just the beginning," Edmund continued casually. "Next, I'll probe their limits, gradually increasing the pressure, squeezing out every last bit of wealth until I have them completely under my thumb."
Magic studies were notoriously expensive. To secure his position at the Celestial Academy in the future, Edmund had no qualms about draining the pond to catch the fish—acquiring a massive fortune now.
In his eyes, these excessive demands were a mere trifle. Once he mastered his studies and became a high-level mage, wealth and glory would be effortlessly within his grasp.
Brent nodded obsequiously, his face wreathed in a fawning smile.
This young master was a true prodigy, his noble birth ironically limiting him. His future achievements would undoubtedly surpass his father's. If he were fortunate enough to become a legendary spellcaster, his name would resound throughout the Duchy of Raymond, making him a pillar of the nation.
The atmosphere inside the tent was relaxed.
Edmund sipped his fine wine, gracefully carving roasted meat with his knife and fork.
Beneath the calm surface, however, undercurrents stirred.
In the shadows, Martial Monk Bane suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils contracting.
"Something is approaching," he said solemnly.
"Uncle Bane, aren't you being too cautious?" Edmund dismissed his concern, noting the magical alarms outside the camp remained silent.
Then, boom!
A deep, unnatural thunderclap echoed across the sky, growing louder as it approached.
The frost giant was the first to detect the anomaly.
This puppet, forged through alchemy and necromancy, suddenly let out a piercing howl.
The surrounding knights looked up, following the giant's pointing finger.
The torrential rain-soaked sky was abruptly torn open.
A crimson, malevolent star pierced through the clouds, its fiery tail leaving a vacuum in its wake. Raindrops vaporized into pale mist before they could fall, and the light was not the orange-red of a typical meteor, but a dark crimson more akin to biological blood—as if the heavens themselves had been slashed open, leaving a deep, gaping wound.
(End of the Chapter)
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