Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

After the dust settled from the battle in the No-Light Forest, 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

the Beholder was completely destroyed, while the phoenix and the holy spirit deer, granted enfeoffed lordships, formally submitted to the powerful Molten Iron Tribe.

With that, the short-lived strife among the regional Map Kings drew to a close.

Among the vast wilderness regions, compared to other areas, the northwest was the first to produce a truly legitimate regional ruler — the Lord of Molten Iron.

Had this victory fallen to other hotheaded young dragons, they might have ridden the high of triumph, convinced their strength now dominated the wasteland, and rushed to declare war across the whole wilderness, unleashing a new wave of conquest.

But the Lord of Molten Iron did not let victory cloud his judgement.

He calmly chose a very different path.

Deep inside, Garoth knew very well that this victory and the accompanying regional title were essentially hollow honors.

He could subdue every Map King in the northwest because of his own strength, but to a large degree it was also luck, the seizing of a fleeting, perfect opportunity.

Other vast regions might likewise hide deeply powerful beings.

They had simply acted more slowly and had not yet completed their consolidation.

Take the Mad King entrenched in the central region, the red dragon Gorthax.

He had long carried a fearsome reputation in the center; his brutality and destructive power made others tremble at the mention of his name.

Rather than invest effort into consolidating territory, Gorthax clearly preferred the pure thrill of destruction and annihilation,

and would sometimes, on a whim, rampage into neighbors’ lands and leave them drenched in blood and smoke.

Then there was the fungal king in the southeast who had never shown his face.

It advanced inch by inch, carpeting the earth with its unique fungal mats, gradually transforming the surrounding ecology.

This kind of gnawing, gradual expansion takes far longer than the steady, methodical approach the Molten Iron Tribe had used.

So,

even if a similar chance appeared in the southeast, the fungus king’s expansion pattern would make it impossible for him to snatch it up as nimbly as Garoth did.

With such powerful beings existing, it would be difficult for the Molten Iron Tribe to expand beyond the northwest.

If they faced other regional king candidates who emerged from fierce competition, and could not finish fights quickly, the whole tribe could be dragged into a protracted war, squandering the gains they had painstakingly accumulated.

Besides,

the rich resources the northwest already provided were more than enough to meet Garoth’s needs and those of his brood — in fact, they were abundant.

Taking all this into account, Garoth ultimately decided to halt external expansion.

After rounds of intense, high-intensity warfare, his followers began to retract their claws and fangs, turning their attention inward.

Led by experienced lieutenants, they spread through the northwest to mine and harvest rare resources.

They established solid outposts and sentries at key strategic sites and transportation nodes,

and put energy into maintaining the stability and flow of important trade routes.

...Through this series of meticulous, pragmatic measures, the tribe steadily consolidated control of the northwest.

Still, given the current size of the Molten Iron Tribe, fully mastering such an enormous map remained a stretch.

The tribe urgently needed more population; it needed its influence to permeate every inch of the realm, so the Molten Iron banner would truly fly over every corner of the northwest and firmly root their rule.

Only once that base was solid could the tribe realistically contemplate further expansion into other regions.

For now, the immediate task was to focus on extracting precious resources from the newly conquered land and to fully process and enjoy the rich fruits of victory.

As time quietly flowed, the changes in the northwest began to ripple across the wilderness.

The birth of a new regional king unquestionably raised vigilance and wariness among many Map Kings;

even though the Lord of Molten Iron publicly declared his pause in expansion, his mere presence unsettled and intimidated many powerful creatures across the wasteland.

Imagine it:

other regions had just finished brutal contests and produced new masters, each at the critical moment of harvesting their fruits of victory.

Could the Lord of Molten Iron really resist the blazing ambition to expand further once he had integrated and exploited northwest resources to his advantage?

Even if Garoth solemnly announced to the whole wilderness that he was content with the northwest’s broad lands and had no designs on other territories,

that would be hard to convince the other wilderness denizens.

On the other hand,

the reason Map Kings erupted into such fierce wars was because the Federation’s control over the wilderness had visibly weakened, so various forces rushed to seize dominance.

Most participants in that contest were below the legendary tier.

Many, including Garoth, hoped to use the wilderness’s abundant resources to quickly break into the crucial legendary realm.

If the Federation had restored its former stability and power beforehand,

all the efforts and sacrifices made in the wilderness would have been in vain.

Non-legendary beings would have to hide again if Federation strongmen returned to reclaim the wasteland.

Only by stepping into the legendary realm could one gain the right to negotiate with the Federation.

After all, the Federation itself was not monolithic; internal political struggles were complex.

For these deep reasons, the speed of kings rising in other regions clearly accelerated, and the ferocity of wars rose with it.

Across the wilderness, except for the relatively calm northwest, smoke and flames spread.

Thus time passed, and months slipped by.

One regrettable update was that exploration progress in Marnes Dungeon was painfully slow.

Within that vast, ruin-like underground complex, the Molten Iron Tribe’s elite searched for months without finding any trace of legendary artifacts.

As lord of the Ximu Domain, Shire had to temporarily set aside exploration to return and handle long-pending affairs.

An elite exploration team from the tribe remained in the dungeon, standing guard day and night, ceaselessly searching for clues.

At this time, the long, damp rains of the wilderness were finally drawing to a close.

Though the sky remained overcast, the heavy clouds had thinned; only sparse, icy drizzle fell, adding to the wasteland’s bleakness.

In a deeply hidden cavern,

a black cat, all muscle and coiled power, walked with stable, forceful steps, flanked by two giant dragons, one black and one green, who accompanied him with respectful vigilance as if they were escorting their sovereign on an inspection.

This black cat was Garoth in a Transformation.

Trailing him were the black dragon Seraphina and the green dragon Ludwig.

Though in transformed form, Garoth still exuded waves of potent dragon might.

This invisible pressure spread like something tangible, causing the undead sentries with their blue soul-fires stationed along the cavern passages to tremble, their soul-fires wildly flickering.

Shouldn’t a transformed dragon’s might be noticeably weakened?

Seraphina and Ludwig exchanged composed glances and read identical surprise and doubt in each other’s eyes.

They could clearly feel that the leader’s dragon might now rival, if not surpass, what they had sensed from his true body the last time they met.

It seemed their leader had grown stronger.

In fact,

Garoth had not just seemed to grow; he had genuinely become noticeably more powerful.

“The resources in the wilderness are far richer than at the borderlands. Even the northwest under my control is fertile enough for me to gorge myself,” Garoth mused as he padded along on cat feet.

Life was much better than before.

As the territory stabilized and the tribe’s operations became more efficient,

the Molten Iron Tribe had harvested a massive amount of valuable resources from the northwest.

Dazzling magic gems, a wide variety of rare precious metals, high-grade magical plants with special effects, and enormous reserves of black oil.

Garoth consumed these resources almost daily as if they were common food.

And he did not nibble or sample — he devoured them like a glutton, without restraint.

During this relative peace, the Amethyst Dragon, the holy spirit deer, and the phoenix frequently acted as Garoth’s sparring partners.

They took turns attacking, testing how Garoth’s body held up and measuring his resistance to different damage types.

The holy spirit deer also healed Garoth’s injuries, making him more enduring.

This high-intensity training helped him efficiently digest what he consumed.

The two factors worked together, making Garoth, though now a Young Adult dragon, grow almost as quickly as a Young Dragon.

If this trend continued for a few more years,

Garoth could reach level 18 without enduring a long dormant phase, and after a normal adult-phase sleep evolution,

hitting level 20 just as he entered adulthood would not be an unattainable goal.

As for level 21 — the legendary realm — that was a massive watershed and extremely hard to break through.

Ordinary level-20 dragons often need at least two centuries to take that step into the legendary halls.

Garoth was far from ordinary.

His talent, resource stockpile, and training regimen were destined to dramatically shorten that time.

Yet even with such advantages, without special opportunities, Garoth did not feel fully certain he could become legendary by adulthood — such breakthroughs were very rare in the records.

A few minutes later,

after traversing a deep, dark corridor and passing an unmarked door, Garoth stepped into the core of the undead cavern.

He faced an astonishing sight:

countless runes densely arranged to the point of dazzling the eyes.

The darkly glowing runes were not random; they were carefully categorized and gathered.

Like chains, they extended from an ancient altar at the spatial center, densely covering the entire vast chamber.

The floor, surrounding walls, and even the high dome overhead were occupied by these mysteriously gleaming rune chains.

At the very center where all the rune chains converged, on an altar carved of some black rock, lay a human.

A male human.

His skin was slack, wrinkled deeply, his face gaunt and haggard, yet Garoth could still make out familiar facial contours.

He was Nick, the former leader of the Gem Merchant Consortium and one of Garoth’s earliest followers.

Decades had made Garoth more powerful, but they had reduced this human to a near-rotten state.

Early in the undead lair’s remodeling project, under Garoth’s orders, Nick had left his merchant group and come to Ximu Town to wait patiently.

Now he had been brought to the lair’s core to undergo the first stage of the Dragon-Forge Modification ritual.

Curious and attentive, Garoth came in person to observe the entire ceremony.

“Great Lord of Molten Iron, everything needed for the first Dragon Scale Modification ritual is ready,”

“When would Your Majesty like the ritual to begin?”

Seraphina and Ludwig stood at the altar and asked Garoth.

Under their watchful eyes, the muscular black cat’s body began an astonishing transformation.

His frame swelled rapidly; the sleek black fur was replaced by hard scales glinting with metallic sheen.

A mighty pair of dragon horns sprouted from his head, and broad, powerful wings unfurled from his back.

In only a few breaths, the muscular cat vanished, replaced by the imposing, oppressive bulk of the red iron dragon — the true form of the Lord of Molten Iron.

This chamber was far wider than the narrow corridor before, big enough to contain Garoth’s massive body.

“Begin now.”

The red iron dragon said.

“As you command, my lord!”

Ludwig immediately replied.

He deftly curled his tail to lift a specially sealed metal bucket.

Inside the bucket was the red iron dragon blood Garoth had granted.

Garoth’s daily training had been intense and he’d fought many brutal battles, during which he had collected some dragon blood and stored it — enough to perform a dragon vein transformation ritual.

Using the nimble tip of his long tail as a brush, Ludwig dipped into the viscous, steaming dragon blood.

Then, on Nick’s body atop the altar, he traced scale-shaped outlines and patterns with the blood at specific key points.

At the same time,

Seraphina slowly closed her eyes.

A low, hoarse incantation rose rhythmically from her throat,

and as the resonant dragon chanting echoed through the cavern, the negative energy that filled the space began to boil and churn as if awakened.

On the floor, on the walls, on the dome —

...those countless rune chains that covered the chamber brightened one by one as if infused with life, emitting faint light.

They coiled around and attached to the human’s limbs and torso on the altar, linking him tightly into the entire magical array.

The red iron dragon stood quietly by the altar, watching every detail of the ritual.

While the modification ceremony unfolded deep in this undead cavern,

in the central region of the Ser Wilderness,

a huge red dragon, scales bright as blood as if freshly bathed in a pool of flame, flew wildly under a leaden, gloomy sky, radiating raw savagery, cruelty, and chaos.

Every raptor in the air and monster on the ground scattered in terror and dared not approach the sky’s overlord.

This was the Mad King, the red dragon Gorthax.

He soared aimlessly for a while, seemingly searching for some amusement.

Soon he locked onto a nearby human principality outpost.

A cruel, excited grin split his dragon face as he emitted a deafening, insane laugh.

Then, like a meteor wrapped in flame and the stench of death, the red dragon dove down.

Shortly after,

the poor human outpost was engulfed and consumed by scorching, sky-rending fire.

The once lively camp instantaneously became a blackened hellscape.

The ground cracked and melted under the heat of his breath.

All guards who tried to resist were crushed and burned like ants under Gorthax’s absolute might; none survived.

Gorthax strolled among the freshly charred ruins and scorched earth.

Sensing the desolation and ruin in the air, a satisfied pleasure flickered across his face; his urge to slaughter was temporarily quelled.

But the satisfaction didn’t last long.

As if reminded of some vexing issue, the spiked dragon face of Gorthax quickly turned sour and gloomy.

“That so-called regional master in the northwest has become quite famous lately. I’ve even heard the name reach my ears.”

He roared low, his voice full of disdain and aggravation.

The Lord of Molten Iron, ruler of the northwest — a dragon like himself.

And according to those rumors, his renown might even be eclipsing Gorthax’s?

That made the red dragon deeply dissatisfied, as if his own dignity had been challenged.

“I hear it’s a hybrid of a red dragon and an iron dragon?”

“Heh, a rash, insolent mongrel! Let him strut for a few days, and I’ll personally gut him, twist his head off, and kick it around like a ball.”

Gorthax emitted a malicious growl.

Red dragon and iron dragon mixed blood —

the description stirred a faint, fleeting hint of recognition within Gorthax, but he was violent by nature and too lazy to probe the source of that slight familiarity.

On the contrary,

the news that the other’s blood also ran red dragon blood did not inspire kinship; it inflamed his twisted excitement and urge to burn and destroy.

However, Gorthax did not set out for the northwest immediately.

He acted on whims.

For now, the Mad King planned to go and see his beloved Leticia, and to personally verify whether the reports of frenzied flame reappearing in the Sky Pit were true.