Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Dark, heavy clouds blanketed the sky. Fine, steady rain fell from the horizon, slanting in the howling wind and soaking every inch of the wilderness.

Centered on an abandoned mining pit, the Molten Iron Tribe had set up several makeshift watchposts.

Hard rock walls and stacked stone fences ringed the perimeter, and sentries in rain cloaks stood like statues in the downpour.

Their sharp gazes pierced the rain, scanning all directions with vigilance against any possible threat.

Suddenly,

the dim light under the clouds sank even lower, as if some colossal thing had blocked the already sparse daylight.

The sentries’ pupils shrank at once. In unison they looked up to the sky.

Under the clouds, a massive dragon silhouette circled. Rain shattered on his steel-like scales, exploding into misty droplets that scattered in all directions.

It was the Iron King, Sorog.

Once they recognized the figure, the sentries’ taut nerves eased slightly and they returned to their posts, though awe still lingered in their eyes as they glanced upward.

Meanwhile, the iron dragon Sorog circled lower.

His enormous wings churned wind and rain, whipping up roaring gusts as he descended and finally landed steadily on the rim of the abandoned pit.

He lowered his head, keen dragon eyes sweeping over the jagged mine below, showing a look of contemplation.

Sorog harbored doubts about whether a legendary item truly existed here.

After all, Garoth had obtained the map clue only by chance from a low-level adventurer. Its authenticity was questionable; it might be part of some elaborate ruse and not completely reliable.

However, with the discovery of the Marnes Dungeon ruins and the ongoing exploration, some unusual findings had gradually raised Sorog’s expectations.

The historical records claiming gray dwarves were annihilated because of a treasure they created no longer seemed baseless. The possibility that a legendary item existed grew stronger.

Moreover, the tribe had invested considerable manpower and resources in exploring the ruins and searching for precise clues to the legendary item—time and effort already sunk in. Those sunk costs made it difficult for the tribe to give up easily.

Now, at last, it was time to reap the results.

“My honored Iron King.”

A serpentfolk head slid up to the dragon, already waiting there, its slender tongue flicking and hissing occasionally.

“We explored a hidden area deep within the dungeon, but we were attacked by spiritual entities there.”

“We can be certain, hissss… those were gray dwarf spirits, and they weren’t mindless undead. They displayed considerable intelligence and coordination, even emotions.”

“They are not very numerous, but they seem capable of continuous resurrection. They are extremely troublesome.”

The serpentfolk chief reported the situation in detail.

“Marnes Dungeon originally served as one of the gray dwarves’ major settlements. Rumor says their creation of a powerful legendary item brought about their doom.”

“Now we’ve found these intelligent, resurrecting spirits—could there be a connection between the two?”

“Could the legendary item’s effect manifest here?”

Sorog’s eyes narrowed slightly as he pondered.

At the same time, the serpentfolk chief bowed his head and added, “Because of the gray dwarf spirits’ tenacious resistance, our exploration has been temporarily stalled. We require stronger backup.”

Sorog asked directly, “How did the prior battles go?”

The serpentfolk chief responded immediately, “The forces exploring the dungeon were evenly matched with those gray dwarf spirits; the fight reached a stalemate.”

“If no other unexpected factors interfere, my assessment is that sending one more elite squad will be enough to break their defense and crush them.”

Sorog nodded his great head; the heavy scales on his neck rubbed together with a dull sound.

He did not speak further. Instead he fixed his gaze on the deep pit and silently waited in the fine rain.

Minutes ticked by. Rain streamed down his scales. After roughly half an hour, a faint tremor began to run through the ground.

With noises from nearby brush, a mixed elite force of several hundred, led by the dragon-vein werewolf Russell, arrived at the abandoned pit’s watchpost through the rain.

This force comprised gnolls, kobolds, werewolves, and other races.

Their eyes were fierce, their gear well-maintained. Clearly they were not ordinary soldiers but battle-hardened elites.

“Russell, relax your mind.”

Sorog’s voice sounded directly in the werewolf’s core, as an invisible force began to form a mental link between them.

Russell offered no resistance; the link was established quickly.

“You personally lead these elites to support the exploration team inside the dungeon.”

Sorog issued the order, “I will observe everything that happens in the dungeon through your eyes.”

At first, because of the importance of the legendary item, Sorog considered entering the dungeon himself.

But dwarven-built underground spaces were usually low and narrow. His massive dragon body would struggle to maneuver and might become a burden.

Also, his previous injuries had not fully healed; if he encountered a strong enemy inside constricted spaces, he might not be effective.

After weighing these factors, he dispatched the capable and more subterranean-suited dragon-vein werewolf Russell.

Sorog remained perched above the pit, holding a high position so he could respond promptly if anything unexpected occurred below.

“Understood.”

Russell replied in a low voice.

He let out a low roar and led the elite soldiers along the passage the tribe had previously opened into the pit, filing into the darkness and heading deeper to aid the exploration team.

Sorog settled down on the rim. His huge body lay along the pit’s edge.

He closed his eyes slightly, using the link with Russell to sense conditions below, patiently waiting.

Hours slipped away quietly amid wind and rain.

Suddenly Sorog felt a jolt through the mental link.

Through Russell’s vision, after traversing a long, gloomy corridor, a vast abandoned subterranean city ruin revealed itself in the underground world.

This was an immense underground cavern.

Above, thick rock layers hung like an inverted canopy, with countless stalactites jutting and interweaving like fangs in a giant beast’s maw.

Below, irregular ground hosted ancient, rugged buildings. Hammer and furnace reliefs—symbols of gray dwarf civilization—were still faintly visible on stone walls, though now overgrown with fungi and strange subterranean flora, giving the place a desolate, dilapidated air.

Notably, despite age-worn cracks and weathering, the buildings’ overall structures remained surprisingly intact.

They did not appear to have suffered war or catastrophic destruction, but rather seemed to have been abandoned by their inhabitants in an instant.

The vast enclosed cavern was extremely dark, lit only by a few fungi that gave off pale blue or sickly green glows.

Beyond that were pairs of shining eyes in the dark.

Russell and most of the creatures he brought had naturally good dark-vision, allowing them to make out the surroundings.

“Maintain combat formation and follow me!”

Russell growled low, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall.

He checked directions, then led his elites swiftly toward the location where the exploration team had previously signaled.

They did not advance unimpeded.

This forgotten dungeon still harbored many subterranean predators and magical beasts—huge cave lizards, screeching winged beasts, and aimless wandering skeletons and corpses.

However, these creatures’ life levels were generally low.

For Russell’s elite force, they were quite weak and posed no real obstacle, and were cleared out quickly.

After marching for some time, the fast-moving detachment halted.

They had arrived before the entrance to an especially grand underground hall.

Though the interior was full of decay and dust, the massive pillars and dome remained largely uncollapsed, preserving the hall’s silhouette—testament to gray dwarven architectural skill.

Hundreds of Molten Iron followers who had previously fought here were resting outside the hall.

Most bore wounds, with the bodies of recently fallen comrades strewn about.

When Russell led the reinforcements up, the exhausted followers immediately brightened and rushed forward to greet them.

“Lord Russell, deep inside that hall is likely the core area where the legendary item is stored.”

A kobold officer responsible for operations here hurried forward and pointed at the hall entrance. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

“Whenever we attempt to approach the hall, a group of fully armed gray dwarf spirits emerges and attacks.”

“We have seen many spirits we tore apart, only for them to re-form not long after and surge out of the hall again. They seem capable of endless resurrection!”

“Now that you have come personally, based on the number and levels of those spirits, they shouldn’t be able to stop us.”

Russell nodded slightly, then issued orders in a resonant voice that carried through the ranks: “All warriors, prepare to fight with me!”

He drew a deep breath of the dungeon’s cold air, then planted his powerful legs and began marching steadily toward the silent, mysterious hall. The other warriors followed closely, weapons drawn with metallic clangs.

As expected, once they crossed an invisible boundary, the situation changed abruptly.

The once-dead hall immediately erupted with roars of anger and resolve.

“Invaders! Get out!”

“We will protect our sacred site, even unto death!”

“For Marnes’ honor! For the dwarves’ honor!”

Spirits wearing heavy ethereal armor and wielding knives, axes, war hammers, and other weapons rapidly coalesced out of the air, roaring as they charged the Molten Iron fighters.

Although only spirits, their charging momentum felt like countless armies.

Russell watched as these figures took solid form—highly condensed spirits emitting pale glows, each around a meter tall.

With their stocky builds, thick beards, and facial features, they were unmistakably gray dwarves.

In an instant, close combat erupted.

Rend!

Russell’s claws ripped through the air with a shrill sonic slice, blasting the head off the first charging dwarf spirit.

He had aimed to tear it in half, but their small stature made the blow land on the head instead.

The spirit’s body exploded into countless tiny points of light and dissipated.

“Do not stop! Advance! Destroy them!”

Russell roared and barreled into the enemy like an unstoppable war chariot.

His claws moved like lightning, each strike carrying tremendous force that could easily shatter a dwarf spirit. But he soon realized those dispersed points of light did not truly vanish; as if drawn by a lure, they quickly drifted back toward the hall’s depths.

In moments, the fully restored spirits again surged out as if they had never been defeated, just as the exploration team had reported.

These spirits seemed to possess some form of immortality.

Still, that did not alter the overwhelming advantage the attackers held.

A resurrected spirit swung an ethereal war hammer toward Russell’s knee, but before the attack could land, its head was smashed by Russell’s lightning-fast claws.

Around Russell, other Molten Iron warriors howled bloodlust.

Sharp blades and heavy axes flashed deadly arcs in the dark.

The tribe’s elite cut the dwarf spirits into fragments one after another.

The battle tilted decisively in their favor.

As the Molten Iron fighters pressed toward the hall entrance, the dwarf spirits grew more frantic and angry.

They launched ever wilder attacks, even attempting suicide strikes to halt the invaders, but it was futile.

Just as Russell thought victory was at hand, the scene shifted again.

The dwarf spirits suddenly all froze in place, faces twisted with extreme shock and fury.

They ignored the Molten Iron fighters within arm’s reach and, like a rising tide, retreated rapidly into the hall’s interior.

“What’s happening?”

Sorog, observing through the mental link, felt a twinge of concern and immediately ordered Russell:

“Don’t worry about why they retreated. Follow them—enter the hall at once!”

Roar!

Russell unleashed an ear-splitting roar. Muscles taut like steel, he launched forward like an arrow toward the hall entrance.

However, the instant his front paws crossed the worn stone threshold, it was as if he slammed into a solid, invisible wall.

Crack!

A dull sound echoed as Russell’s forward momentum stopped abruptly. A massive reaction force hurled his huge body backward and he crashed into the dust.

“Ugh…”

Russell shook his head to clear the daze and stood up, staring at the empty entrance with uneasy suspicion.

“What is that? It feels like an invisible barrier blocking the way.”

He and the surrounding followers approached and touched, and indeed they felt an intangible yet incredibly tough shield sealing the entire hall entrance.

Several strong Molten Iron warriors struck at it with their weapons, but only dull thuds returned; the invisible barrier did not budge.

“Stand back!”

Russell growled, signaling the warriors to fall back.

He drew a deep breath, his chest swelling like a bellows; a hot light flared in his throat.

Then he opened his jaws and expelled a burning breath mixed with thunder and flame—dragon breath born of iron dragon bloodline.

Boom!

The thunderous, fiery blast struck the invisible barrier, unleashing dazzling light and chaotic energy.

But like the physical attacks before it, this breath—powerful enough to melt rock or steel—was stopped dead at the barrier and could not even produce a ripple.

As Russell panted, preparing other measures,

“Stop. You cannot break that defense.”

Sorog’s voice resonated heavily in his mind.

From Sorog’s perspective, if he had not misjudged, the properties of the invisible barrier resembled a Domain.

That meant a legendary-grade powerhouse might already have beaten them here.

As if to confirm Sorog’s suspicion, in the next instant a gnoll warrior that had been gnawing at the invisible barrier suddenly lunged forward and collapsed, kicking up dust.

The barrier that had sealed the entrance vanished.

Under the astonished stares of the Molten Iron fighters, a person in a plain white robe stepped out of the dark, ruined hall with light, graceful steps.

She appeared to be a very young woman.

She wore no ornate jewelry. Her face was delicate as a doll’s, her eyes clear as water, and a faint, barely-there smile tugged at her lips, giving her an overall friendly, harmless air.

She emitted no strong energy fluctuations; she looked like an ordinary human who had wandered into the depths by accident.

Yet,

appearing in the perilous depths of this dungeon alone clearly marked her as anything but ordinary.

Furthermore, floating calmly in the center of her right palm was a gentle white-glowing sphere.

Inside the light orb swam countless tiny spirit-like figures—the very gray dwarf spirits they had just battled.

“Who are you?!”

Russell stepped forward with a sudden lunge, baring rows of white fangs and radiating ferocity.

His eyes locked on the orb in the woman’s hand, realizing this might indeed be the object the Dragon Lord had sent them to recover.

“Hand over the orb in your hand!”

Russell growled, fury flashing in his gaze. “That belongs to our Molten Iron Tribe!”

The woman in white remained composed amid the werewolf’s fierce demand and the hostile stares of the surrounding monster warriors.

“Hello. Please don’t be so nervous.”

She smiled faintly and met Russell’s gaze calmly, speaking with casual ease, “I am not your enemy.”

Her words seemed directed at Russell, yet at the same time they echoed clearly and unobstructed in Sorog’s mind high above the pit.

“My name is Alya. Some also call me the Luckbringer.”