Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Scorchsteel Fortress, fourth tier.

Under the brilliant afternoon sunlight, the red iron dragon stood quietly at the rugged, sturdy edge of the lookout platform.

He lowered his head slightly, eyes looking down toward Dragon Valley, where the wide training ground was mottled with claw marks and charred black scars.

There, a confrontation of wildly uneven strength was unfolding.

The white dragon Trixie—her body massive and cold like an ice mound—was using her absolute power advantage to dominate two young dragons who, though several sizes larger than hatchlings, still appeared puny before her.

Pitch-black Seraphina and scale-green Ludwig.

A fierce training battle proceeded under the red iron dragon’s watchful gaze.

Energy surged across the field; dragon shadows darted and twisted.

Biting, icy winds like dagger-blades howled and sliced the air, trailing frost.

Poisonous magical vines burst from the ground like living things, writhing and cutting with corrosive green light.

An invisible Weakness Curse gnawed like bone maggots, trying to erode the white dragon’s will and defenses.

And most primal and direct of all, dragon melee—glinting razor claws ripping fiercely, massive bodies clad in heavy scales colliding with overwhelming force—sent teeth-aching metallic scrapes and heavy, muffled thuds through the air.

Attack after attack erupted in endless variety, hammering at that immovable, towering pale form like a furious storm,

yet.

This seemingly ferocious onslaught did not last long.

Trixie the white dragon issued a roar full of raw power. Relying on a substantial age advantage and the massive body and strength that came with it, she forced her way through the black dragon’s curse and the green dragon’s strangling poisonous vines.

Her great claws, encrusted with heavy frost and swung like siege hammers, tore through the young dragons’ apparently tight defenses with an unmatched, brutal arrogance.

In the end.

With a dull, thunderous crash, she slammed one great claw down to clamp tightly around Ludwig the green dragon’s neck while the other crushing claw pinned Seraphina the black dragon’s spine like a mountain.

The enormous power, combined with the ice-cold chill pouring from beneath her claws—cold enough to freeze steel—instantly ate into the young dragons’ muscles and joints, pressing them flat against the cold, hard ground like nailed specimens, unable to move.

“Green-skinned brat and black-scaled brat.”

Trixie lifted her proud head, eyes sweeping with the smug satisfaction of a victor as she looked down at the two thoroughly subdued “kids,” her voice loud and mocking.

“Pathetic. You’re just pathetic. Even after you’ve endured dragon sleep and successfully entered the Young Dragon stage, gaining more power, your pitiful assaults still can’t draw a single, insignificant drop of blood from my noble Pale Wing.”

Ludwig the green dragon and Seraphina the black dragon were indeed no longer the tiny hatchlings of old.

After years of dragon sleep, like a cocoon-to-butterfly transformation, they were now over sixteen years old—officially in the phase where life force surged and strength began to rise noticeably—each having grown several whole size tiers since before their slumber.

Yet.

In front of Trixie—the white dragon in her prime, with no lack of talent—their growth was negligible and could not erase the gap.

As for the other two youngsters in the tribe.

Blue dragon Heriam and red dragon Kahir, both slightly older and stronger youths, had just entered their crucial dragon sleep phase to accumulate strength.

When they next woke from the deep slumber, their life levels would leap forward...most likely ascending to the next tier as Young Adults with greater strength and size.

Trixie relished the feeling of thoroughly dominating her opponents.

With a cruel sense of amusement she pressed and rolled her frost-covered claws over the immobilized black and green dragons,

only releasing them when she could no longer sense the slightest resistance under her claws, when even the young dragons’ unwilling roars were gone and only heavy, suppressed gasps remained—then she was satisfactorily done.

Freed from the unbearable pressure, the young green and black dragons’ chests heaved like bellows; they greedily inhaled the thin, cold air.

They struggled and slowly got up from the cold ground.

The sight of their bodies was shocking.

Scales cracked and curled back in large patches like metal sheets struck by ice lightning; hot dragon blood seeped from their wounds, spreading dark red stains across the frozen earth; once-glossy armor was smeared with filth, gravel, and training-ground dust, making them look wretched.

But in stark contrast to their disheveled appearance was their present demeanor—

unexpectedly calm.

They did not lose control in the face of total defeat and Trixie’s blatant humiliation; they did not roar in blind fury. Instead, deep in their eyes settled a restraint and forbearance far beyond what ordinary young dragons of their age should possess.

The reason...was actually simple.

Scenes like this were not new in training.

After being repeatedly crushed and humiliated by cutting words countless times...

the black dragon—born naturally inclined to endure and scheming—and the greener, more cunning and situationally aware green dragon had long learned, through endless painful trials, how to forcibly suppress and deeply bury the boiling rage and fierce humiliation in their hearts.

They had grown used to such restraint and treated it as a necessary course for survival and growth.

“Good performance.”

Trixie kept her high, domineering posture, her tone tinged with condescending praise.

“Looks like after so many ‘friendly’ exchanges, you two little brats have finally recognized your meek ecological niche in this valley—beneath the greatness of the Pale Wing.”

Seraphina the black dragon extended a dark red tongue and slowly licked the deep, bone-searing wound on her forearm where dragon blood bled.

She lifted her deep, dark dragon pupils and looked toward the white dragon.

“When Heriam and Kahir wake from their dragon sleep and gain further strength,” her hoarse voice paused slightly before continuing, “noble Pale Wing, I hope you’ll still be so enthusiastic then to personally step into the field and spar with us.”

She enunciated the last two words particularly clearly.

The threat and challenge implicit in her words were plain to see.

Four young dragons, all having completed dragon sleep and grown a tier stronger, joining forces would indeed change the situation dramatically.

There would be Kahir the Wild Dragon—the red dragon—with his tenacious body taking hits up front.

There would be Ludwig the green dragon in the back providing continuous healing and life support.

There would be Heriam the blue dragon pouring out destructive lightning and hurricane-level output.

And Seraphina the black dragon manipulating curses and souls to constrain and interrupt.

With such cooperation and layered power,

even the adult white dragon Trixie could not claim guaranteed victory; at best she might win, but it would be hard-fought—not the effortless domination she enjoyed now.

Clearly,

Trixie’s seemingly crude but actually sharp nerves immediately picked up on the antagonistic undertone in Seraphina’s words.

She emitted a disdainful cold snort; her icy breath crystallized into tiny ice shards in the air.

“Hmph. That’s something to worry about later.”

“Right now, black-scaled brat, instead of fretting about some distant future...”

Her gaze jabbed at the black dragon.

“...you should worry about your present situation.”

A four-dragon alliance could drastically raise their ecological tier.

Trixie knew this obvious truth perfectly well.

She didn’t need Seraphina’s “kind” reminder; the possibility had long been on her mind.

But—

she didn’t care at all. In fact, she already had a plan.

Her solution was simple.

One-on-one combat: even if they rose into Young Adults, for a long time none could individually match a prime white dragon.

Then she could, by individual absolute advantage, teach and subdue them one by one.

As for some more distant future where the little dragons might completely surpass her?

She had thought of that too.

Trixie’s plan for that outcome was extremely blunt.

She would simply lie down and accept defeat—beg, yield, and be beaten and insulted as they pleased.

Let them vent; let them have their revenge.

To her, those were merely a few frosts on her dragon-life road.

Trixie couldn't care less.

After grasping ecological niche theory, she felt enlightened, almost philosophical, and strangely magnanimous.

No matter what,

no matter how strong and arrogant those little dragons might later become...they would never change this ironclad truth etched in history:

they had all been soundly beaten by Trixie.

And not just once.

That honor and record were enough for her to hold her head high at any moment and then carry on training new hatchlings.

“Remember.”

Trixie’s voice, like a winter gale, said, “Do not try any presumptuous tricks before those who occupy a higher ecological niche than you, otherwise...”

Her gaze swept across Seraphina.

“...you will bear the consequences!”

The final warning landed like a hammer.

Ludwig the green dragon’s sharp instincts already smelled the heavy malice directed at Seraphina in the air.

He quietly stepped back a few paces.

“Like right now! Black-scaled brat, you shall pay!”

Trixie’s huge, freezing bulk lunged forward in a step that made the solid ground tremble.

With a heavy, space-splitting whoosh,

her thick, ice-encrusted tail slashed in a vicious arc and smashed into the side of Seraphina the black dragon before she could fully react.

Crack!

With a tremendous sound, Seraphina’s heavy body flew up like a stone hurled from a catapult, tumbling through the air and slamming down hundreds of meters away at the training ground’s edge, kicking up clouds of dust.

“Black-scaled brat.”

“You still haven’t learned, so we...will do extra one-on-one training.”

Trixie snarled and then lunged.

Before they fully matured, she intended to keep teaching and humiliating them repeatedly.

Even if the debt had to be repaid later,

this bargain would not be a loss for Trixie.

On the lookout platform, Garoth withdrew his eyes from the training ground.

He slowly raised his head and gazed toward the south—the vast Ser Wilderness full of opportunity and danger.

His vision passed over the rolling mountains of the convergence lands and finally fixed on that boundless, storm-tossed wilderness sky.

A strong gust of air swept by with a faint metallic rasp.

The brass-silver dragon Deborah’s elegant form feathered briefly above the lookout and then folded her wings with precise grace to land beside the red iron dragon.

She adjusted her posture and sat with noble poise, four feet neatly tucked, beside the red iron dragon.

“What are you looking at?”

Deborah turned her long neck slightly, eyes on Garoth.

She carefully avoided those blade-like protruding spikes along his body and prodded his broad, solid shoulder with the tip of her nimble, refined tail.

“The future.”

Garoth’s answer was succinct; his gaze remained locked on the southern skyline.

Deborah followed his line of sight toward the distant southern wasteland, then quickly withdrew her eyes and refocused on the red iron dragon beside her.

“So you’re ready to return to the Ser Wilderness.”

She knew Garoth’s past—how circumstance forced him to retreat to this wild, barren borderland.

Though he had carved out a vast domain here and become the Convergence Lands King,

in Deborah’s view there remained a flame in Garoth’s heart that had never gone out.

Whether to cleanse the shame of being forced from his homeland or to reclaim the richer, more tempting resources and endless possibilities the wilderness offered—his desire to return was understandable and inevitable.

The brass-silver dragon cocked her head, curious:

“So...what exactly triggered your final decision to return now? What event pushed you to choose this moment?”

She wanted to know the straw that had broken the camel’s back.

Garoth didn’t turn; he simply and briefly recounted his contact with the Crystal Princess Elina.

“Lothrian Federation?”

Deborah’s eyes flashed with obvious surprise and concern.

“You want to entangle yourself in that behemoth’s internal affairs? Garoth, isn’t that too risky?”

“That federation is a colossus composed of multiple powerful kingdoms with deep strength and resources; its political depths could drown a dragon—even a legendary one—trying to shake the Lothrian Kingdom-level problems.”

Garoth shook his head.

“Deborah, you misunderstand one thing.”

He slowly turned to look at the brass-silver dragon and corrected her misconception.

“Our potential partner in cooperation has never been the entire Lothrian Federation, and not even the Lothrian Kingdom itself.”

“The one who spoke to me was just a princess named Elina.”

He paused slightly, then said, “And Princess Elina, absorbed in magical research in her youth and not actively involved in the court’s cruel power games...does not occupy a position within the Lothrian Kingdom’s tangled power network that allows her to directly control kingdom-level decisions.”

“However.”

“The resources she controls—especially that rich vein of magic crystal ore—are of a scale and value far beyond what ordinary noble lords possess. That is precisely what we need most.”

“More importantly,”

“so far, the true pinnacles of power representing the federation’s core—the Lothrian and Rybos kingdoms—have not personally taken the field.”

“Right now the fighting on the border is being stoked and fought by their subordinate duchies acting as proxies—especially the Duchy of Harthale and the Duchy of Abbe, who are at the forefront of the clash.”

“If we partner with the Crystal Princess, our role and influence would likely be limited to the duchy-level theater of war.”

Garoth’s iron dragon blood granted him exceptional strategic vision and a clear read on the current situation.

The Lothrian Federation now had two internal camps.

One camp clung to orthodoxy, believing the Lothrian Kingdom would not fall easily and continuing to support its leadership; the other camp, dissatisfied with the current order and resource distribution and eager for a shake-up, included the ambitious Rybos Kingdom—the federation’s second strongest state.

Lothrian and Rybos, the two giants, had both restrained themselves so far, like two silent volcanoes, not personally intervening.

Other kingdoms remained steady.

They chose to use their subordinate duchies as proxies to fight on the battlefield.

The outcome of these duchy wars mattered not just for the duchies themselves but also as signals of the methods, strength, and resolve of the kingdoms behind them.

Those outcomes would influence the choices of smaller kingdoms and duchies still undecided—whether to continue supporting the seemingly orthodox but waning Lothrian or to side with the dynamic, reform-hungry Rybos.

“Princess Elina is no fool.”

“She would not naively assume that a band of wild dragons who rose in the wilderness could single-handedly overturn the federation’s deeply rooted power structure.”

“But—”

“Being able to participate in and influence the duchy-level proxy wars—exerting power at that agent-war level—is entirely possible and actionable.”

For Garoth, leading the dragon host and the Molten Iron Tribe into the Ser Wilderness to seize rich land resources unavoidably meant clashing with the duchies that held them.

If he could also obtain additional funding from the Crystal Princess—whether her coveted treasures or her intelligence on the federation’s internal dynamics—that would be an invaluable boon.

As the two conversed,

they both detected a familiar aura approaching rapidly from afar almost at the same moment.

They turned simultaneously, sharp eyes lighting toward the direction of the incoming presence.

On the distant skyline,

a dragon silhouette shining pure gold rapidly grew in the field of view.

Soon Alberto appeared above Dragon Valley, then folded his wings and landed on the cliff opposite Scorchsteel Fortress.

“Garoth! I challenge you.”

For some reason, Alberto seemed restless; the moment he touched down he spoke in a deep voice tinged with barely contained urgency.

Garoth did not answer at once. His vertical pupils narrowed slightly as he steadily observed notable changes in the gold dragon’s body.

Different from a few years ago.

Alberto’s form had shifted from a lithe dragon to a more robust, burly physique; muscle shapes rose subtly beneath golden scales, his scales had grown denser and heavier, and his claws and fangs appeared sharper.

His strength now resembled that of a red dragon of similar length; his dragon might had clearly increased.

However.

There were bloodshot veins in Alberto’s eyes that should not have been there, and his tail swung constantly from side to side; his demeanor seemed agitated and irritable, mismatched with the composed dignity usually associated with gold dragons, as if he hadn’t rested for a long time.

“You seem in a hurry, but don’t be hasty.”

After a moment’s thought, Garoth said, “I’m not interested in pointless challenges without cause.”

“As the challenger, what are you willing to stake?”

“Or rather, what prize will you put forth to match the value of this challenge and make me interested in accepting it?”