Translator: AnubisTL
Viscount Ironthorn stood on the scorched earth of Needleleaf Valley, fine rain trickling down his armor and dripping into the mud. His gaze was icy and resolute, as if he had cast aside all hesitation.
"Begin," he commanded.
The spellcaster nodded, withdrawing a jet-black bone dagger from his robes. Twisted runes covered the blade, glowing with a faint crimson light in the rain. The other members scattered, creating an open space.
The spellcaster gestured for the viscount to extend his wrist. Without hesitation, Viscount Ironthorn removed his gauntlet, revealing an arm with veins bulging like cords.
The spellcaster chanted an obscure spell in a low voice, the dagger trembling slightly in his fingers, as if a living thing craving blood. With a swift motion, he slashed the viscount's wrist. Blood surged forth, but instead of dripping, it was drawn upward by an invisible force, forming a rotating crimson orb suspended in mid-air, steadily absorbing the viscount's lifeblood.
"With blood as the catalyst, and hatred as the flame..."
The spellcaster's voice grew hoarse. The surrounding air seemed to solidify, raindrops froze in mid-air, and even the wind fell silent.
The blood bead began to boil, its surface cracking into a fine network of fissures, as if something were struggling within.
Suddenly, it exploded, transforming into a crimson, arrowhead-shaped mark.
"Only you can see the tracking mark," the spellcaster asked. "Where does it point?"
Viscount Ironthorn, his face pale, retrieved a blood-restoring potion from his breast pocket. He tilted his head back and drank it down, a faint flush gradually returning to his cheeks. Then, he gazed intently northward.
"We now have a general direction."
"But the wilderness is vast and fraught with peril. Tracing the target's exact location will undoubtedly involve further complications."
The spellcaster suggested, "Perhaps we should request military assistance."
Viscount Ironthorn shook his head. "The Duchy of Raymond's Wilderness Garrison is severely limited, and my influence within the duchy's military lies primarily along the border. The garrison here won't heed my orders, and the Federal Garrison certainly won't prioritize my concerns."
The garrisons stationed at various strongholds across the Sierre Wilderness, as well as those guarding the trade routes, were tasked with defending their respective positions. They rarely ventured far from their bases, especially the Federal Garrison, which only mobilized for large-scale operations during major incidents. Deploying them would be no easy feat.
At least for now, the three juvenile dragons hadn't yet reached the level of being considered a grave threat by the Federal Garrison, requiring immediate elimination.
Admittedly, causing mass casualties and raiding the mine camps had crossed a red line. However, Garos hadn't engaged in indiscriminate slaughter; only the Duchy of Raymond had been targeted.
Under these circumstances, while the Federal Garrison had issued warrants for the juvenile dragons, they didn't prioritize the matter.
The Duchy of Raymond's Wilderness Garrison wouldn't let this go unpunished. If word spread that their mines could be plundered with impunity, more dragons or other intelligent demonic beasts would come to raid them.
But for now, they needed to assess their losses, secure their bases, answer to their superiors, and await reinforcements.
The hunt for the juvenile dragons couldn't begin immediately.
Viscount Ironthorn, however, couldn't wait.
Regardless of when the garrison mobilized, he first relayed news of the juvenile dragons' northern movements. Then, he prepared to lead his dragon hunting group ahead of the main force, hoping to personally exact revenge.
"Then we'll need to be even more patient and cautious," the spellcaster said. "Don't underestimate the dangers of the wilderness."
Meanwhile, north of Gravel Beach:
"Garos, aren't you overestimating those humans?"
In the drizzling rain, the red dragon flapped its wings and asked, "We should be far enough away at the Quenching Highlands by now. Why are we still heading north?"
This far north bordered the Permafrost Tundra.
The further north they went, the colder the air became, a chill the red dragon found increasingly unpleasant.
Garos didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the ground below.
Ogres, Hyena-Men, kobolds—his familiars moved across the land like ants, forming long, thin streams. The young ones were clustered in the center, while the strong, battle-ready units guarded the flanks and rear.
The iron dragon explained, "There's bound to be a crackdown soon. We should lie low and stay far away from the Thousand Serpents' Trace."
While the Federal Garrison was unlikely to pursue them this far, they wouldn't tolerate monster clans resurfacing along the trade routes. Once they detected any signs of activity, they would inevitably strike, unlike before when they'd only bother to intervene if trouble brewed.
This was the price of overturning the table.
"Then there's no need to venture so deep into the north," Samantha said. "Finding a new territory in the wilderness and lying low for a while would be better than entering unfamiliar lands."
Garos shook his head. "Lying low means limited resources. Our growth would slow down."
He said earnestly, "Remember, weakness is the greatest risk."
A small fairy dragon, trailing behind the juvenile dragons, blinked in confusion. "Garos, didn't you say time was on our side?"
Garos nodded calmly. "Yes, but we can't simply retreat into our shells. We can't remain weak for too long."
Growth and development versus hibernation and patience.
Finding the balance between these two required careful consideration and trade-offs.
We couldn't lean too heavily toward either extreme.
To prioritize hibernation and patience, Garos had abandoned their previous territory. To prioritize growth and development, he had chosen to head north.
This wasn't a random decision.
After thorough discussions with Solgorn and meticulous planning, they had ultimately selected the border region north of the Estonian Great River as their revival ground.
This area combined the savagery of the wilderness with the lawlessness of the tundra.
While the Estonian Great River couldn't match the prosperity of the Thousand Serpents' Trace, as a vast waterway connecting and dividing the wilderness and tundra, it still saw countless merchant ships passing through each year. Moreover, the Federal Garrison's forces were primarily concentrated at dam gates and other strategic points, operating under a different system than the garrison stationed at the Thousand Serpents' Trace.
Arriving at the borderlands, they became active along the waterways.
The dragons' Sin Values had been reset. Unless they attacked key strategic locations like dams and sluice gates, they wouldn't need to worry much about threats from the Federal Garrison.
Further north along the Great River, the borderlands were primarily the territory of monster clans, with no civilized nations' legions stationed there.
The juvenile dragons no longer needed to keep their claws and fangs hidden and could now openly display their presence.
The only drawback was the borderlands' barren nature. Unlike the wilderness, which teemed with countless mineral resources, they first needed to find a sustainable source of wealth to establish normal trade and acquire resources for growth.
After some time communicating, Samantha understood the reasons for their move, but she still preferred the dry, scorching wilderness—except for the damned rainy season, of course.
"Will we ever return to the wilderness?" she asked.
"We will," the red-iron dragon replied, his gaze deep and resolute. "When our wings are fully grown, we will reclaim the wilderness and remind those self-proclaimed civilized fools of the terror dragonkind once commanded."
"Yes, yes! Let them know the might of the Ignis Brothers!" the fairy dragon shouted, hands on its hips, as if it were one of the Ignis Brothers itself.
Next, because the familiars' marching speed was slow and they occasionally encountered attacks from ferocious beasts, Garos ordered the red dragon and iron dragon to advance ahead and clear the path, using their dragon might to intimidate the beasts and demonic creatures.
The Ironforged Clan's familiars had already proven their worth over time.
Their existence greatly simplified the lives of dragonkind, and thanks to the influence of Monarch Theory, their loyalty was guaranteed.
Reacquiring new familiars would require time for training and cultivation.
Unless absolutely necessary, juvenile dragons would never easily abandon these familiars, for they were their wealth.
Garos circled high in the sky, using his wide field of vision to scan the surroundings.
If a legion were to pursue them, he needed to detect the threat immediately and decide whether to flee or fight.
As he glided leisurely through the clouds, Garos turned his gaze south toward the Lothurn Federation.
It's a pity, he thought to himself. Viscount Ironthorn, who shattered my peaceful life, forced me to migrate, and prevented me from focusing on my training, is within the federation's territory to the south. I likely won't be able to deal with him anytime soon.
(End of the Chapter)
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