Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

The banquet in the Verdant Home Grove continued without pause, day and night.

Garoth, unusually relaxed, let the pleasure—magnified several times by the plane’s properties—wash over him.

He did not display his mountain-sized majestic form, instead maintaining a body roughly ten meters long, a size that blended into this fey settlement without looking out of place while still preserving a dragon’s dignity.

He kept his imposing three heads and six arms, but at this moment that form had nothing to do with battle.

Six dragon claws, covered in dark red scales and strong enough to crush steel, were each lifting huge barrels the size of fey houses.

The barrels were brimming with joyous honeywine.

The fey had brewed this delicacy from the sweetest morning dewdrops and the most joy-laden fruits. The liquid shimmered in dreamlike rainbow gradients and gave off a heady, intoxicating fruit aroma.

Garoth’s three dragon heads had likewise set aside their usual solemnity and contemplation.

They drooped in perfect unison, their muzzles dipping into their respective barrels.

“Glug... glug... glug...”

A deep, satisfying sound of drinking rose up, the wine continually flowing down dragon throats.

The Red Iron Dragon drank without restraint, even swaying his head in contentment.

Suddenly, the middle head stilled slightly; a muffled whimper rose in its throat, and then—“phht”—it spat out a small, wet figure.

It was the Faerie Dragon Vira.

She looked like a rehydrated berry, dripping wine from head to tail, her wings limp.

Earlier she had taken advantage of Garoth’s distraction and jumped into the barrel he was drinking from to swim. She had long since gotten gloriously drunk, floating in the rich honeywine, oblivious to the world.

The fey’s honeywine intoxicated with joy; as long as someone harbored no resistance, even a legendary creature’s consciousness could be submerged.

Vira had evidently opened her heart fully to enjoy it.

“Whee... why is the sky spinning... the floor’s spinning too...”

The Faerie Dragon mumbled drowsily, her wings fluttering weakly. She flew a crooked arc and nearly crashed into the cap of a glowing mushroom.

Several fey hurried over to catch her, bustling about with seven or eight helping hands to dry the wine off her.

After spitting out that bothersome little creature, the Red Iron Dragon drained the remaining wine in his barrel.

In high spirits, he suddenly raised one head and, toward the starlit sky, breathed a blaze as gorgeous as a grand festival’s fireworks.

“Wow—! The Red Emperor is breathing fire!”

“How beautiful! So pretty!”

“Do another! Do another!”

The little fey’s eyes widened like saucers as they erupted in a wave of cheers. Some braver ones even flew closer, their faces reddening from the heat.

Hearing this, the Red Iron Dragon laughed heartily, the sound like rolling thunder.

“Bad! Let them see how much fire you can really spit!”

All three of his heads lifted, neck muscles bulging, muzzles yawning open.

Scarlet flames and dancing lightning intertwined, spiraling upward, detonating high in the firmament into a rain of fire and sparkling motes that lit the Verdant Home Grove like daylight and illuminated every astonished face below.

“Again! Again!”

The fey cheered.

They hopped and sang around the drinking, fire-breathing giant, scattering even more brilliant pollen and light dust. Some small fey boldly landed on Garoth’s horns or shoulders and swayed in time with his drinking and fire-breathing.

Garoth felt the sweetness and burn of the honeywine in his throat, the warmth rising in his belly.

Here, on a plane where emotions were amplified, he could perceive the air practically boiling with joy, and felt the fey’s unreserved worship and closeness.

It was a pure emotional torrent that washed away the years of tension braided into his nerves.

So the Red Iron Dragon raised his six arms, set an empty barrel aside, and let his three heads turn in different directions, eyes reflecting little bonfires and dancing lights as they accepted cheers from all around.

“For delight!” the middle head boomed.

“For merriment!” the left head chimed instantly.

“For... tonight we won’t sleep,” the right head slurred after taking a drink, then continued, “For tonight, no sleeping!”

The fey burst into louder laughter.

At that moment, diligent little flower spirits and tree sprites, together with several docile beetle-like creatures, buzzed in while dragging new huge barrels.

Garoth reached out with a claw to accept them and resumed drinking with unrestrained vigor.

As time passed and the revelry rolled on, representatives from other fey settlements who had been invited to the Verdant Home Grove gradually arrived.

They were mostly guardians or respected elders from their homes, varied in form.

There were taciturn treants like oak trees; giant eagles with resplendent plumage surrounded by gentle breezes; even gem spirits shimmering with internal light...

In total, eight arrived.

Only one among them was a fey guardian with butterfly wings on its back.

When these outsiders first arrived, their eyes bore varying degrees of observation and caution.

But when they noticed the unpretentious Red Iron Dragon, wholly immersed in joy, their wariness began to waver.

They also saw Holis seated cross-legged on a giant lotus leaf, holding a wooden cup in one hand and gesturing with the other while telling stories to a circle of fey.

The fey listened enthralled, occasionally exclaiming in wonder.

This human guardian looked relaxed; his robes were dusted with grass and pollen, his staff carelessly leaned on his shoulder, clearly participating by choice rather than compulsion.

Skepticism began to melt away.

Without much further prompting, these guardians eagerly joined the festivities.

They sang and danced, shared the special drinks and foods they had brought, and under the influence of alcohol and merriment, some even lifted giant containers appropriate to their size to share a drink with the Red Emperor.

Of course, every revelry must end.

After another week, the banquet wound down.

Before then, Garoth and the guardians had already completed discussions about cooperation in a relaxed, friendly manner.

Compared to the formal, complex treaties signed in the Material Plane, cooperation here was simple—no written contracts, just oral promises and agreements.

The Aola Kingdom would trade goods from the Material Plane—gems, textiles, musical instruments, beautiful storybooks or poetry collections, and so on—in exchange for emotion-fruits the fey could provide.

Garoth also voiced interest in the black oil.

He offered to help the fey clean up sticky residues and pay a generous reward. If they could supply locations of black oil fields, extra compensation would be provided.

As for free protection, so far only the Verdant Home Grove was willing to accept.

Guardians from other settlements were cautious, saying they did not need guards for now but would watch how the Verdant Home Grove fared; they understood such protection and trade belonged to different levels—protection required unreserved trust.

Garoth was not surprised by this outcome.

He understood their caution.

They were not foolish, merely inclined to trust intuition and emotion.

His reputation in other fey settlements had not yet reached the point where they would entrust their homes to him.

But Garoth’s strategy for developing the Serene Spirit Wilderness was deliberately long-term and gentle: cooperative win-win arrangements instead of rapacious conquest.

This was only the beginning. Over time, as trade increased and trust grew, his reputation would naturally rise.

Soon the framework was agreed upon and the banquet tapered off.

Other guardians returned to their homes with a refreshed impression of the Red Emperor.

“His Majesty Ignas, allow me one last toast.”

Holis brushed leaves from his robes, stood, and raised a cup to the Red Iron Dragon.

“I must say, you impressed me. I thought myself well-traveled and sufficiently knowledgeable about dragons, a powerful race, but now I realize I’ve still much to learn.”

Garoth emitted a low, soft chuckle and lifted a half-barrel of honeywine to salute the spellcaster from afar.

“If power never tastes a little pleasure, life would be too dry.”

He tilted his head back and drank deeply.

“Indeed.”

Holis smiled as he drained his cup; the intoxication in his eyes ebbed like a tide.

“The Verdant Forest still has many affairs that need my attention, so I will take my leave.”

“May all go well for you, and may your kingdom... remain ever joyful.”

Garoth made no effort to detain him.

Late in the banquet, the dragon and the human mage had several long conversations covering wide-ranging topics, though mainly about the customs of each other’s Material Plane.

Garoth still harbored curiosity about other Material Planes.

He had considered inviting the mage to the Aola Kingdom. A legendary arcanist with divergent magical knowledge and cross-planar experience would be invaluable.

In the end he abandoned the idea.

Holis had chosen to remain in the Serene Spirit Wilderness to seek inner peace and showed no interest in power, wealth, or worldly glory. Forcible persuasion would have been presumptuous and unlikely to succeed.

After the banquet, Garoth did not rush back to the Material Plane.

He set off again for the Sorrowful Wood, this time alone and with a clearer purpose.

He produced an Anger Fruit—the one the fey called “spicy-hot.”

“In the Serene Spirit Wilderness, emotions become more active,” he mused.

“In certain areas, the amplification of a specific emotion can be greatly heightened.”

The Red Iron Dragon pondered for a moment, then cautiously ate a single Anger Fruit in a patch thick with negative emotion.

The effect was instantaneous and far beyond expectation.

Whoosh!

Like pouring oil on a flame, the frenzied flame surged from calm into turbulence.

Garoth’s pupils narrowed to slits, bloodshot veins crawling outward; his vision took on a crimson cast, and a thousand voices seemed to roar and hiss in his ears. Rage battered at his rational defenses.

“Phew... that’s potent!”

The Red Iron Dragon murmured. Hot breath seeped from the gaps in his scales as claws gouged the earth.

He looked as if he might erupt at any second.

Yet, no matter how the fury burned, it could not break Garoth’s rational barriers—though it did ripple them, making total calm impossible.

He endured the inner turmoil, carefully monitoring every change.

He let the frenzied flame burn, then just as it neared a peak, forcibly suppressed it, repeating this cycle while striving to remain rational amid the anger.

As he grew accustomed to the state changes, Garoth ate more Anger Fruits in measured increments—one at a time, allowing his body time to adapt.

His emotional swings became more extreme, tidal like a tsunami.

He also noticed that the entire cycle—from burn to peak to forced suppression—ran dozens of times faster than in the Material Plane, and accelerated further with each fruit.

What might take hours or longer in the Material Plane could take mere minutes here.

This was an extremely dangerous experience; a single mistake could lead to drowning in self-generated fury.

Fortunately, Garoth had long contended with the frenzied flame and his mastery of willpower was honed; he did not recklessly consume too many Anger Fruits but kept the flame in a high-speed yet controllable state.

During the process, Garoth sensed something different.

The frenzied flame’s resistance seemed to weaken.

Not in raw strength, but in the instinctive opposition coming from its source.

In the Material Plane, no matter how he suppressed it, the frenzied flame had acted like an untamable beast, always ready to bite back.

But here in the Serene Spirit Wilderness, the flame appeared docile; though still violent, it no longer truly fought back when subdued.

“Maybe I can completely suppress it, perhaps even master the frenzied flame.”

The Red Iron Dragon breathed heavily, whispering to himself.

This carried great significance.

The frenzied flame had been a latent danger. Previously Garoth only suppressed it, never truly tamed it. In the Material Plane, every attempt had met with stubborn independence and potential backlash.

But in the Serene Spirit Wilderness, a breakthrough seemed possible.

Beyond the volatile emotions, the flame itself had almost no resistance left for some reason.

This hazard might finally have a solution.

Still, Garoth did not rush.

He knew the perils of haste, especially regarding a critical threat within himself.

Right now, building a stable channel between the Material Plane and the Serene Spirit Wilderness was more important.

Honestly, Garoth’s impression of this outer plane was very positive.

The fey’s guileless feasts had given him a long-missed sense of pure joy and relaxation—an inner bliss rather than the satisfaction of victory.

Garoth had long been accustomed to years of training, meditation, and battle, but that did not mean he only enjoyed those things. Often they were means of survival and advancement rather than innate pleasure.

The trip felt like a thorough spiritual wash, clearing accumulated pressure and dust and lightening his soul.

No wonder many planar travelers said that after visiting a unique Outer Plane, they longed to return.

Garoth felt the same.

His development focus remained in the Material Plane, but he would return here—for trade, exploration, solving the frenzied flame, and for pure joy and serenity.

This place could be his back garden, a harbor for rest.

After staying about a day in the Sorrowful Wood, Garoth returned to the Verdant Home Grove.

In the following days there were no more big feasts; he simply spent easy time with the fey, watching them busy in flower beds, listening to impromptu songs, occasionally joining in light games.

He also carefully reviewed the gains and impressions of the planar trip, organizing what he had seen and the thoughts it had sparked.

But ultimately, it was time to return to the Material Plane.

He found the Faerie Dragon playing with a group of fey, bouncing atop a giant mushroom.

Vira was having a blast, her face dusted with pollen.

“Hey? Garoth!”

Noticing the Red Iron Dragon’s arrival, Vira fluttered over and perched on his outstretched claw. “What’s up? Want to play? I can teach you the rules, though your claws might make it tricky...”

Garoth shook his head slightly. “I’m returning to the Material Plane.”

“Oh...”

Vira’s smile dimmed a touch. “Already leaving? Isn’t it fun here? Are the fey not lively enough?”

“It’s lovely here, and the fey are very warm,” Garoth said. “That’s precisely why I must return—to implement the trade and protection I promised, and to build more stable channels for future travel.”

He paused, looked at Vira’s bright eyes, and asked, “Do you want to come with me to see?”

“The Aola Kingdom has grown a lot and it’s even decided to move its capital; there will be so many new things.”

Vira’s eyes gleamed even brighter.

“I want to! Of course I want to! I haven’t been back in ages! I wonder how my little loft is doing, and those shiny collections.”

She excitedly zipped around Garoth’s claw.

But then her movement slowed and her excitement gave way to hesitation. She glanced at the fey still playing or curiously looking this way, then at the grove’s soil.

“But...”

Vira’s voice dropped. “I only recently became guardian here... Elder Unicorn entrusted the Verdant Home Grove to me, the fey rely on me. Although I can be unreliable and always want to play, I promised the elder, and I promised them, that I would protect this place and keep it full of joy.”

She lifted her head and met Garoth’s gaze with rare seriousness.

“If I leave, who will stop bad things like fiends from coming again? The fey are brave, but fighting isn’t their strength; they would be afraid.”

As she spoke, her hesitation melted into determination.

“Garoth, I can’t go to the Material Plane with you.”

Her voice was soft but resolute. “Not for now. The Verdant Home Grove needs my protection. Since I accepted the guardian responsibility, I cannot leave lightly; I will stay.”

The Red Iron Dragon watched her quietly.

The playful Faerie Dragon had grown. After transformation and inheriting responsibility, she had matured.

Nothing remains unchanged forever.

Garoth approved, saying, “You did the right thing, Vira. The Verdant Home Grove is fortunate to have you.”

Hearing his affirmation, Vira brightened.

“Oh, stop it...”

She scratched a little paw against her cheek, tail wagging happily. “I’m embarrassed... though I am their pride, I don’t usually brag. I don’t care much for the title ‘guardian’—really, I just sort of took it on...”

She quickly returned to her usual self.

“Can I still visit you later? Once things stabilize?”

“Of course.”

Garoth nodded. “Once the planar channel is built and the Aola forces are stationed to assist defenses, your burden will be much lighter. Then you can come to the Material Plane anytime.”

“And I will come back here again.”

“Great!”

Vira leaped with joy, saying, “Hurry and build the channel! I’ll bring my best buddies to tour your kingdom; they’ve never seen such big cities or so many races—they’ll be so happy they’ll faint.”

“I’ll do it as soon as I can,” Garoth promised.

In the Verdant Home Grove, farewells always carried a bit of ceremony.

Vira gathered all the fey to give the Red Emperor a send-off.

They scattered the brightest pollen and sang songs of blessing, wishing joy to accompany his return.

Then Garoth tore through the planar vortex Vira had constructed and slowly faded from the Verdant Home Grove.

Rip! Rip!

With violent spatial tremors, the Red Iron Dragon’s massive form reappeared among the mountains of the Material Plane.

Here, emotions were dulled and the ambient feelings were no longer perceptible.

A strong wave of discomfort immediately washed over Garoth.

But the Material Plane was his birthplace; after a few breaths the unease subsided and he reacclimated. Compared to the Serene Spirit Wilderness’ dreamlike quality, here felt more real and easier to adapt to.

“A planar channel...”

Garoth looked back toward the fading rip in the fabric of space.

“If I learn some specialized planar-space knowledge, could I use the Spell-Extinguishing Claws to tear open a barrier myself and reach other worlds?”

He pondered thoughtfully.

In theory, it was feasible.

He did not linger long on the idea, because he felt the frenzied flame’s resistance returning.

At first Garoth furrowed his brow, then confusion flickered across his face.

“Why... in the Serene Spirit Wilderness the frenzied flame clearly showed signs of being suppressed, even seeming to yield to my will, but once I return to the Material Plane it’s like... it revives? That antagonism grows strong again.”

Soon a possibility surfaced in his mind, weighing heavily on him.

“Perhaps the source of the frenzied flame lies in the Material Plane.”

He grew solemn as he thought this.

Meanwhile.

Far out in the boundless starry deep, thousands of light-years from Planet Bernardo, a planet drifted silently against the black veil.

From afar it was breathtakingly beautiful.

Its atmosphere glowed a hazy blue like a diaphanous veil.

On the surface, forests rolled in waves, azure oceans sparkled, white clouds floated leisurely, and polar caps glittered.

This world preserved primeval natural beauty.

It sat like a jewel embedded in the cosmos.

But drawing closer and stripping away the beautiful exterior revealed truths that would chill any rational observer.

In a sense, this planet was teeming with life.

The forests were anything but peaceful, always filled with high-frequency hisses and roars; herds and packs relentlessly chased and trampled; rivers and lakes rarely stayed calm, constantly churned into muddy turmoil by violent struggle.

All life here—whether great beasts or tiny insects; winged birds or deep-sea scaled horrors—their eyes were uniformly blood-red.

On this ostensibly lovely planet burned a destructive madness that consumed everything.

Amidst the frenzy there were also creatures that seemed rational.

They lingered on bare rock faces or near fissures in the ground, mining a blood-colored ore. They stuffed the nuggets into round boulders, then hurled them into spatial rifts.

Among these miners were a rare few who appeared elven and even handsome, with slightly pointed ears.

Yet in their eyes there was no intelligence, only a dullness and bloodlust.

They moved like marionettes, puppeted by some unseen force.