Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

The night was thick as ink, sparse starlight scattering over the dragon’s darkened scales, highlighting that formidable, awe-inspiring body.

The Heroic Spirit Mien looked up at the Red Iron Dragon Emperor, whose coiled form loomed like a small mountain. After a few seconds of hesitation, he finally lowered his voice and asked.

“Your Majesty, if Balor refuses to cooperate, do you… really intend to bypass the Emerald Ridge Mountains and raid those villages and towns?”

“I mean, against civilians who cannot take up arms.”

In his view, civilians and soldiers were completely different.

A soldier lifts a sword and dons armor, which means they have accepted a destiny of dancing with death.

Armor clanged in the charge, blood-stained banners snapping in the wind.

Their end might be glorious or humble, but regardless, they once had a choice—whether out of loyalty to the kingdom, pursuit of knightly honor, or simply to survive in chaotic times.

Civilians, however…

They are the silent foundation, the soil and streams that allow civilization to endure.

They sow and harvest, build and raise children, forming the kingdom’s lowest but vital pulse. Yet when war surges across the border like a flood, they are often the first to be swallowed and crushed.

Cries are drowned by the sounds of battle, homes turn to charred soil in flames, and they may not even understand why war began.

Mien was a watchful paladin who had vowed his life to protect the kingdom and its people.

Now that he had become a Heroic Spirit and pledged to the Red Iron Dragon Emperor before him, that ingrained instinct to protect still sent sharp pangs through him at the thought of innocents caught by war.

The Red Iron Dragon turned his massive head slightly, his gaze dropping to fix on the paladin Heroic Spirit.

“When my back faces an abyss with no route of retreat, I might fling caution to the wind, rend the land, and clear every obstacle before me, no matter what it is.”

The dragon’s voice was low and slow, rippling through the night and the mountains.

He paused briefly, his vast eyelids half-closing for an instant.

“As for now, I do not take pleasure in needlessly ravaging civilians.”

At those words, the tight string in the paladin’s chest relaxed a little.

He dropped to one knee, his luminous form assuming a half-kneel, head bowed. “Your Majesty, I know you are not truly an evil dragon. You still hold pity for the weak in your heart.”

The Red Iron Dragon shook his head.

“It has nothing to do with pity.”

“For lives that will not resist and cannot offer sufficient value, I have no interest.”

There was no warmth in the dragon’s tone.

Yet Mien felt this might simply be the Red Iron Dragon’s nature—an iron-blood emperor’s restraint unwilling to admit any trace of compassion.

The paladin said nothing further, lowering his head even more.

He complied: “You are right, Your Majesty. My perspective was too narrow.”

Garoth’s pupils contracted slightly, his gaze lingering on the Heroic Spirit for a moment.

He sensed the paladin held a strange interpretation of him, but he did not care to explore or correct it.

Subjects harboring noble fantasies about their ruler is not always a bad thing.

As for the earlier veiled threats concerning the Theo legendary warrior Balor, it was essentially intimidation.

The born-and-labeled evil identity of the Red Iron Dragon had indeed drawn many premature prejudices, unwarranted hostility, and sudden troubles his way.

But undeniably, that identity could sometimes be turned into a unique advantage.

It acted like a blurring fog that made enemies unable to see his true intentions and bottom line, making them all the more susceptible to being cowed or deceived by whatever cruelty or might he displayed.

Mass slaughter of civilians?

That would deeply violate the unspoken limits of the nations and provoke the most intense public outrage and unified intervention. But if a truly evil dragon—like Red Dragon Gorthax—existed, such an atrocity would be possible.

In the eyes of the Theo people, he would be a monstrous villain.

In reality, Garoth was not Gorthax the barbaric war-dragon.

He had background, followers, and the kingdom of Aola as his foundation.

And he understood clearly that Aola’s foothold on the Romanian Plains owed much to raising the banner of dragondom.

Otherwise, a kingdom purely ruled by malicious dragons would make all neighboring intelligent realms restless and threatened.

On the day of founding the kingdom, the first thing awaiting him would likely not be congratulatory gifts, but a coalition army gathered for immediate punishment.

Not to mention the reactions of other nations.

Even within the dragons, especially those factions that took order-keeping and punishing evil as their duty, they would never sit idly by.

Garoth had no doubt about that.

If he were to truly go mad and slaughter innocents now, the Bronze Dragon King’s lineage and those radical Purification Faction giants would probably surge at him with the fury of judgment before dawn; even the Inclusion Faction among the Metal Dragons might come, joining forces with the Purifiers to strike him down as a tyrant.

Ovis, a Gold Dragon who had once been on reasonably good terms with him, would likely be at the front.

“How are the two of you holding up?”

The Red Iron Dragon reined in his wandering thoughts. “Continue training with me.”

“With respect to your command, Your Majesty.”

The two Heroic Spirits replied in unison, their light-forged weapons reconsolidating in their hands.

So under the deepening night, the mighty dragon emperor again immersed himself in tedious, fierce training.

Only when the eastern sky lightened to pale white, then to golden red as the sun rose and the mountain chill scattered, did Garoth finally cease his motion. He slowly lowered his bulk, calming the surging dragon might.

“Go back and rest.”

He said, his voice betraying little fatigue.

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

The legendary Heroic Spirits folded into two streams of light and returned to the Hall of Heroic Spirits.

After they left, Garoth stood quietly for a moment, feeling the faint warmth of the dawn on his scales.

Then he used his mental link to contact his kin.

“Sorog, convene an internal dragon conclave.”

“Understood.”

A prompt reply came from the other side, steady and dependable.

Iron Dragon Sorog used himself as the hub, spanning distant spatial gaps to temporarily link scattered kin’s consciousnesses, constructing a private mental communication domain.

In an instant, the connection was firmly established.

Garoth sank his awareness into the mental space.

His thought naturally condensed and took shape into the image of a coiled Red Iron Dragon consciousness occupying the center of the space.

One by one, three other consciousnesses arrived.

The first to coalesce was Iron Dragon Sorog.

His mental outline was clear, lines hard and precise, indistinguishable from his physical form, his whole presence a deep matte black iron hue, radiating sturdy, steady, and calm mental waves.

“Samantha and Gordon have linked in.”

Almost the moment Sorog’s words fell, a burning scarlet flame appeared in the mental space.

The fire rolled and billowed, swelling and contracting, giving off the scent of sulfur and molten rock, even faint illusory sounds of explosions, though contained in a small area until it resolved into a red dragon form.

This was Samantha’s consciousness—aggressive and destructive but controlled.

“I’m currently mixing the key catalyst for the seventh-generation smelting-core bomb, Sorog. You’d better have something important to say, or I’ll set the next field test of my new formula right on that hard skull of yours!”

Samantha’s mental waves came through, irritated by being disturbed.

“The meeting was convened by Garoth.”

The Iron Dragon spoke calmly.

“Huh?”

Samantha’s raging flame froze mid-flicker, then noticed the Red Iron Dragon consciousness. Instantly, her agitation and annoyance ebbed like a tide, replaced by a blend of delight, closeness, and reverence.

“It’s my dear brother Garoth—never mind then.”

She grinned.

At that moment, the third consciousness arrived.

Beneath his sturdy scales and skin showed subtly bulging muscle textures; his dragon scales gleamed beautifully—this was Iron Dragon Gordon.

“Aha, the link comes just in time… or perhaps not?”

Gordon said, “I’m at the royal springtime open-air banquet, the goblet was just lifted when Sorog’s mental summon hit—nearly spilled honeywine onto a marquise’s dress. By the way, I’ve ducked into a corner of the banquet terrace now. Hope no one noticed me suddenly freezing with a blank stare.”

“A banquet?”

Samantha’s flame leapt higher. “We are fighting on the front lines, plotting how to smash the enemy’s last shell, and you’re in the royal court sipping honeywine, eating roast meat, admiring human noblewomen’s hems?”

“Gordon, aren’t you living a little too comfortably? Need me to work out your muscles next time?”

Gordon’s consciousness reflexively drew in its neck.

The memory of being beaten “offline” by Samantha last time was still fresh.

He quickly adjusted his tone: “My dear, powerful sister Samantha, don’t you know me?

Those honeywines taste bland, those roasted meats are waxy to chew! Every scale on my body and every drop of my blood yearns to stand shoulder to shoulder with you on the battlefield, to bathe in blood and fire, to seize the glory and renown that belong to us great dragons! Not to be in Lothrian, a pampered mascot fawned over by human nobles while doing nothing.”

His words ended with a trace of melancholy and envy.

The Red Emperor’s feat of capturing the war satellite during the Twin-Ao War had spread across the Romanian Plains like wind, and his renown was reaching ever farther regions.

Gordon had heard every detail and it made his scales itch with envy.

He often imagined that if he had been on the battlefield, even if unable to do earth-shattering acts like Garoth, he could at least dazzle in a fierce skirmish and win some praise and reverence of his own, instead of only imagining those grand scenes from rumors and reports.

“All right.”

Garoth’s mental voice rose, quieting the other noises in the mental space.

“Now, the meeting begins.”

At that, Sorog projected a map into the mental space, showing the location and general outline of Norton Pass.

“The Sky Eye is now in the Dragon Treasure Vault. Theo’s defeated forces have retreated to the Emerald Ridge Mountains, relying on Norton Pass’s natural peril and the Dragonbreaker Gate for defense.”

“This is our last obstacle. Break it, and Theo’s interior will be left undefended.”

“Speak your thoughts on this.”

Garoth finished and scanned his kin.

Samantha’s flame hopped excitedly, crackling first.

She was the first to speak with eager burst: “My dear brother, my research on the seventh-generation smelting-core bomb is progressing well.

Give me enough time to prepare the yield and I can blow Norton Pass, cliffs and all, to dust! Send them sinking into the earth!”

“All those stubborn guards hiding behind rocks will turn to ash in the blasts and flames! This will be the most splendid salute to our final victory!”

Sorog’s consciousness explained calmly: “The foundation of Norton Pass directly connects to the main earth vein and is solidified by legendary spells and numerous formations. Conventional explosive methods are ineffective.”

“Moreover, a steadfast shield stands watch.”

“Based on known intelligence, this legendary is adept at using his own Domain to fortify the pass’s defenses; he will substantially increase the stability of the fortifications.”

Samantha’s flame flickered a few times. This time she did not immediately retort to Sorog.

Though she had a penchant for explosive artistry lately, she was not without tactical sense; she understood that Theo’s last perilous defense would not collapse like an ordinary wall under a single blast.

Still, the destructive fire in her heart burned on as she muttered:

“In any case, my smelting-core bomb must be used—there will be a chance to blow something up…”

The Red Iron Dragon turned his attention to Sorog: “Give me your analysis and plan.”

These so-called kin meetings were often really discussions between Garoth and Sorog.

Samantha and Gordon’s involvement mainly offered emotional viewpoints and ensured basic consensus on strategic direction.

“There are only three natural passes running north-south through the Emerald Ridge Mountains. Two have been permanently sealed by Theo; the only open one is Norton Pass, which has Dragonbreaker Gate atop it.”

“A frontal assault will be difficult to capture.”

At this point, the Iron Dragon shifted tone and said in a deep voice, “But precisely because of that, we must assault it head-on and crush it!”

Samantha showed surprise.

In her impression, Sorog often behaved like a fussy human—worrying about this and that, unable to fight with abandon—so this plan pleased her.

A powerful dragon must smash all who oppose it directly!

Burn the enemy to ash!

Trample the enemy into pulp!

“Sorog, your idea this time suits me perfectly! Progress.”

Samantha gave rare praise, satisfied.

Gordon nodded instinctively and bobbed his head.

“This really sounds like the magnificent dominance a dragon should have.”

Sorog ignored the praise and continued his in-depth explanation.

“Garoth’s previous seizure of the Sky Eye was masterful, an unexpected raid that broke the battlefield balance and secured early victory at the front, but the upcoming Emerald Ridge mountain campaign is of a different nature.”

He paused, organized his words, and continued.

“The Theo Kingdom suffered a crushing defeat at the front; its army’s morale was severely wounded and forced to withdraw, but in their hearts they may not truly accept or admit total defeat. Now they have fallen back to the Dragonbreaker Gate, relying on terrain and defenses honed over generations; they still harbor hopes.”

“They will think as long as they hold here, depending on the natural barrier, Aola’s monster legions still cannot surge through; Norton Pass is impassable, Dragonbreaker Gate will never fall.”

“If we now choose guile and trickery, find ways to bypass or infiltrate the pass from within—”

“Then even if we succeed, the Theo people will say they only lost to schemes, that they were felled by treachery. Aola is not invincible. They won’t dare face us head-on; with more caution they can have another chance…”

“As a result, Theo’s army might be defeated in numbers, but their will to resist will not be extinguished.”

“The Theo legions could disperse into the vast Emerald Ridge or the enemy rear plains, waging guerrilla warfare and harassment, dragging us into a quagmire.”

“Their populace will remember that their army was defeated by a cunning evil dragon using trickery rather than being beaten on an honorable battlefield, fostering grounds for rebellion.”

Sorog’s tone paused; his gaze grew razor-sharp.

“At this stage of war, it is no longer about a few cities or tracts of land.”

“We need a victory so resplendent that every onlooker trembles, every enemy concedes in body and spirit, and our own morale blazes to its zenith!”

“Then Theo’s will to fight will collapse along with Norton Pass.”

“They will choose to sue for peace and negotiate, because resistance will have lost all meaning.”

A straight assault on Norton Pass would require Aola to commit more resources and bear heavier casualties in the short term. But from a long-term perspective—destroying the enemy’s will to resist, securing a stable postwar order, and intimidating neighboring powers—a decisive frontal victory’s strategic value greatly exceeds the short-term cost.

Garoth gazed at Sorog’s projection, a look of approval in his eyes.

Sorog’s long-standing strengths were meticulousness and execution. Conversely, he had sometimes focused too much on immediate gains and losses, lacking broader strategic vision. Previously, facing a natural stronghold like Norton, he might have favored finding bypasses or cunning infiltration to lower the cost of capture.

But now, tempered by the Twin-Ao War and having led large-scale campaigns, Iron Dragon Sorog had matured.

His view had grown more far-sighted.

He had begun to step beyond single-battle thinking to consider the entire war and the postwar landscape.

Garoth then slowly rose.

His consciousness seemed to rise infinitely, filling the mental space and becoming immeasurably towering, something the others had to look up to.

“Sorog.”

“Yes.”

The Iron Dragon’s mental body inclined slightly, a sign of focused attention.

“How much time do you need?”

“Twenty days.”

Sorog’s answer was unwavering, clearly well thought out.

“Our Grand Warlord, after capturing the human legendary, has been undergoing two weeks of intense nourishment. A legendary breakthrough is imminent; the life-level transformation will be achieved soon.”

“During this period I will marshal the legions, consolidate siege engines, complete pre-battle mobilization, and stockpile sufficient supplies to support a high-intensity assault. Simultaneously I will contact allied support including Lothrian, to guard against Theo’s counterattacks or third-party interference.”

“Agreed.”

Whether Balor ultimately cooperated or not, the Red Emperor of Aola had already prepared for a frontal strike.

He would use any available means to increase his odds and reduce losses.

But he would never gamble victory on the enemy’s carelessness or a lone clever trick.

True victory must rest on one’s own unrivaled power and determination, permitting no luck.

The Red Emperor who could pluck a mortal-made star from the heavens would also, upon the earth, with iron and fire, carve through the enemy’s supposedly impassable rampart.