Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

The battle was over.

The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight, sunlight pouring unobstructed from above, shining down on a land torn and scarred.

The ground was cracked, mountain ranges had collapsed, countless pits and ravines crisscrossed like they had been plowed by a dragon's claws and fangs. Heat still lingered in the air; every breath brought a warm rush into the lungs.

The red-iron dragon hovered in midair.

His body had returned to normal. He lowered his head, his gaze calm as he looked down upon this kingdom land.

In the distance, sounds of ripping through the air came one after another.

Figure after figure hurried in from all directions.

Some dove down through the clouds, others swung out from behind ridgelines. They arrived fast, but still too late — their presence was no longer needed here.

The blue dragon Zoraya arrived first.

Her silhouette appeared on the horizon before speeding closer, her scales shining a cerulean blue in the sunlight like frozen seawater, like a deep lake.

She circled once, then folded her wings and landed at the side of the red-iron dragon.

Next, Iron Dragon Leticia flew in from another direction.

Her scales were a deep black, as if forged from dark iron, with hard, angular lines; every contour from head to tailtip radiated rugged strength.

Farther off, a streak of crimson appeared on the horizon.

The phoenix’s form rose above the clouds, surrounded by crimson flames that trailed a long fiery wake.

When she drew near, the flames subsided.

She displayed her gorgeous form: crimson feathers, a long tail, eyes burning with undying fire.

Then more Aola lords arrived one after another.

The Amethyst Dragon Lion spread its wings and landed on a high ground outside the battlefield. The Golden-Plumed Griffon, already at legendary rank, landed on another flank. The Blue Dragon Heriam circled in the sky, his gaze sweeping over the humans.

Each lord took a position, faintly encircling the whole battlefield.

Around them, there were also legendary Aola figures from the Red Emperor Capital.

Now they cracked their knuckles, eyes scanning the surrendering legendaries.

This sight completely shattered any thought of escape among the legendaries.

The legendaries from the Eastern Alliance and the Southern Domain had lost the will to fight.

They landed on the ravaged ground, glanced at the Aola legendaries, then looked up at that towering figure in the sky.

Silence.

They remained pinned in place, as if nailed down.

Escape was meaningless.

Was space locked down?

Maybe not, maybe yes, but even if it wasn't, where could they run?

Resistance would be suicide.

They had witnessed the battle with their own eyes, the light erupting like countless suns. Against the newly awakened Red Emperor, the mighty crown-level figures were like chickens and dogs.

The Atlantis Continent was about to change.

Unless the Halden Empire intervened, no one on the surface of Atlantis could face the light of Scarlet Emperor Cangxing.

And Halden had long stopped worrying about surface matters — or rather, even if they wanted to now, they couldn't. The Empire’s gaze was fixed on deeper threats; surface skirmishes were mere trifles to them.

Under such circumstances, where could anyone flee?

If this had been a clash between legions, perhaps soldiers in that tragic atmosphere would choose death over surrender; comrades in uniform, banners flying, horns sounding can make people do things they normally wouldn't.

But the legendaries were clear-headed.

They were not soldiers; they were veteran legendaries who had seen too much death. They knew sometimes surrender was the wisest choice, better than any futile struggle.

The blue dragon Zoraya beat her wings and created a gust.

She moved to a position closer to the red-iron dragon, her gaze sweeping across his body; she could clearly see the cracks in his scales, the fractures on his talons, and wounds still burning with aura.

“My lord.”

The blue dragon bowed slightly and said, “I came late. It's a pity I couldn't see your heroic battle in person. On the way here I only saw from afar those countless sunlike lights that lit the entire sky.”

“At the time I wondered what kind of power could erupt such brilliance.”

“Later I understood. It was your power.”

At this point the blue dragon’s head-to-tail length had exceeded thirty meters; she had entered the legendary ranks. Her scales shone brighter than before, small arcs of electricity dancing across them, jumping from shoulder to spine, from spine to tail, emitting faint crackling sounds.

Garoth lowered his head to look at her.

His gaze swept over the blue dragon, from her glowing scales to the dancing arcs, finally resting on her eyes.

“The teleport arrays went down?”

he asked.

Zoraya nodded.

“Yes. Around my territory, hidden space locks were set up, sealing the entire region tightly.”

“I tried to activate the teleport arrays, but I couldn’t get a fix. I couldn't sense a direction to the capital, so in the end I had to fly here.”

She spoke, a trace of annoyance flashing through her eyes.

“If I'd noticed earlier I might have arrived before the fight ended.”

On the other side, Iron Dragon Leticia nodded and said, “Space around my domain was sealed as well, and it specifically targeted those above legendary — the teleport systems couldn't detect it at all.”

She paused, then continued, “The other lords are probably the same. Each of their territories had space seals.”

“They truly came prepared, planning thoroughly, accounting for our reinforcements.”

At that moment, the phoenix spread her wings and flew closer.

She folded her wings and landed beside Garoth, then cocked her head to look at the red-iron dragon, her eyes sparkling.

“It’s just that these people didn’t expect the Red Emperor’s might could ignore all schemes. In the face of absolute power, everything else is meaningless.”

Anqiya said with a grin as she moved closer to the dragon.

“Garoth, you’ve become even more magnificent.”

Her gaze roved over the red-iron dragon. “When will you visit my territory? You might now be able to pierce the secret of nirvana. I can let you study my body, in any way you like.”

The flames on the phoenix flickered; she was in high spirits.

She loved beautiful things.

Beauty came in many forms — in shape, in color, in temperament.

To the phoenix, the beauty on Garoth was the ultimate weave of strength and majesty; she could hardly tear her eyes away.

It’s worth noting their first union had been something of an accident.

It started with Garoth exploring the phoenix's nirvana secrets.

Now that Anqiya mentioned research into nirvana, the implication was clear.

“Soon, when my body has adjusted and healed.”

Garoth said, accepting the invitation.

Anqiya’s flames danced more joyfully.

“Fine, I'll wait for you.”

She said, then stepped back a bit, happily preening her feathers and no longer bothering him.

At that moment another figure rose up from below.

Iron Dragon Gordon beat his wings and landed before the red-iron dragon.

His scales also bore marks of battle: many areas cracked and scarred. Still, his spirits were good and his aura steady — no sign of grave injury.

“My dear brother.”

His gaze swept across Garoth and he grinned. “When I saw you awake, I knew those bugs' plans had failed.”

“They thought they could do something while you were just waking, but in truth they only warmed you up.”

“It won’t be long before Atlantis is shrouded under dragon wings.”

“Heh heh, the title ‘King of the Northern Borders’ will need changing. The north can’t match you anymore.”

Gordon did not hide his excitement.

He enjoyed the comfortable life: sleeping on piles of gold, tasting delicacies, strolling lazily through his domain. His ambition wasn't as fierce as Sorog’s.

Yet he was an iron dragon at heart.

Almost all iron dragons dreamt of empire, longing to see their race rise again.

Seeing Aola grow stronger and his brother powerful enough to crush crown-level foes filled him with joy.

“Titles and territories are only accessories of power.”

The red-iron dragon said calmly.

“No rush. They will naturally gather around me like water flows downhill. If we prepare and the time comes, everything will happen smoothly.”

Gordon nodded.

He turned his gaze toward the distance, scanning the still-burning forests and shattered mountains.

“By the way, I noticed one crown-level escaped.”

He said, “The archer — she fled decisively and extremely fast, like an arrow shot. We didn't have time to react; she broke the locks and was gone in an instant.”

Garoth’s inner light swept outward.

Within normal sight the ranger’s silhouette had long since disappeared, leaving only rolling mountains and clear sky.

Mountains undulated, forests grew dense, rivers wound like ribbons. Everything looked normal.

But Garoth’s Eye of Truth glowed faintly, his sight piercing through space and mountain barriers, locking onto the fleeing figure.

He could see her trajectory.

The ranger was darting away at high speed, clearly heading away from the Rhen Plateau toward ever farther distances.

“Let her run for a while.”

Garoth said.

His voice was calm, as if stating some trivial matter.

Gordon paused, then grinned.

“Understood.” 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

He said, “The Latona Kingdom is right there. All of Atlantis will become ours; where can she go? Even if she flees to the ends of the world, as long as her kingdom stands, she won’t get away.”

Gordon misunderstood a bit.

He thought Garoth meant to use the Latona Kingdom to coerce Celine into having nowhere to hide.

Garoth did not explain.

His inner light withdrew from the distance and settled on the ground below.

The Crown of Magic had been seized by Elvy.

Aphra lay unconscious, head bowed, hair disheveled, face pale nearly translucent. Her overall state was much better than the Tri-Crowns; her body hadn't suffered catastrophic trauma. She had been rendered unconscious largely because the magic tower was destroyed and her spell backfired.

In fact, if Aphra had fled at the first opportunity, Garoth couldn’t be fully certain he could have kept her.

After all, she was a crown-level spellcaster with many life-preserving tricks. If she truly intended to escape, even if Garoth chased her down it would take substantial time and effort.

But perhaps she realized that unless she completely abandoned the people of her kingdom and fled Atlantis, escape was meaningless.

Or perhaps she trusted her spells too much, believing that a fully constructed spell would pose enough threat. Or maybe for other reasons.

In short, she gambled everything by building that massive spell.

The result was Garoth interrupted it and it backfired severely upon her.

“Spellcasters lose most of their advantage before me.”

Garoth flexed his claws, thinking.

The name Spell-Extinguishing Claws wasn’t made up for nothing.

They could directly grasp and snuff out spell effects. Then, if Garoth had sufficient power, he could shatter attacking spells as if they were solid objects.

This alone made him extremely suppressive against spellcasters.

His ranged attacks were now fast and devastating. Each dragonqi bomb was like a miniature sun; its explosion could crush any defensive magic.

To some extent, he was like a plastic-energy crown-level spellcaster who needed no chanting and had no casting windup.

As for Aphra, though she’d lost advantage before Garoth, a spellcaster’s worth often lay beyond combat.

Crown-level spellcasters were precious, in some ways even more so than those on the path to Mandate of Heaven.

Garoth withdrew his inner light and looked to the other side.

The Tri-Crowns crowned warrior Varta’s body had shrunk back to a human size, lying shattered in a deep pit.

His body was almost torn in two, flesh mangled, bones broken, organs visible. He was barely breathing. Life-flow qi seeped from his wounds intermittently then dissipated into the air.

But he wasn’t completely dead yet.

“That Tri-Crown…”

Gordon followed his gaze and said, “He’s not dead. Also, the Sanctuary has locked onto him and can attempt soul retrieval at any time.”

He paused, then continued, “However, a crown-level soul like this, unless a Heroic Spirit contract was signed in advance, the Sanctuary finds it hard to wrest it from other planes.”

“Once a crown-level soul leaves the body, it is instantly absorbed.”

“The Steel Crown that died earlier — his soul was pulled by other planes the moment it left the body. We didn’t even have the chance to capture it.”

The Material Plane was the foundation of other planes; they were independent yet tightly linked.

Many beings in other planes were formed by the reincarnation of Material Plane souls.

Some planes specialized in absorbing particular soul types; others took anything. All planes valued crown-level souls and desired them.

At the Sanctuary’s current strength it still couldn’t intercept such souls mid-transit.

Garoth stared at the crown-level wreckage, contemplative.

Then he folded his wings and descended slowly.

The enormous dragon body touched the ground, the earth trembled a little, stones jumped, dust rose. He strode toward the pit where Varta lay; each step left deep claw marks in scorched soil and rubble.

At the pit’s bottom Varta’s aura was barely perceptible.

Half his body lay among the stones, drenched in blood, life-flow qi flickering to keep him alive. His eyes were closed, his face expressionless.

When the red-iron dragon touched down, Varta’s eyelids fluttered and then slowly opened.

The immense dragon presence so close felt like an invisible mountain pressing on him, pulling him from unconsciousness.

Varta’s gaze fell upon the red-iron dragon.

His eyes were cloudy, pupils unfocused, yet he could still make out the figure before him.

His lips moved, forcing out a faint sound.

“You… won.”

Garoth lowered his head and looked down at him.

“I know.”

He said.

Varta’s mouth twitched slightly, whether from attempting a smile or to say something else was unclear.

His eyes shifted from the red-iron dragon to the sky. Sunshine poured down, bright and warm, onto his face.

“I won’t regret it.”

He said, voice breaking.

“Rather than die of old age, I’d rather… fight once. If I lose, I lose — at least I tried.”

He paused, repeating, “Though I lost, I do not regret it.”

This seemed directed at Garoth and also at himself.

Garoth’s eyes narrowed slightly. The vertical pupils became cold slits, like two sharp blades aimed at Varta’s eyes.

“You will regret it.”

he said.

Varta looked back at him, puzzled for a moment.

He thought: I’m dying; how could I still regret anything?

“After you die, Aola will wipe Farrel Kingdom clean inch by inch.”

Garoth said.

His voice was unhurried, as if describing today’s weather.

“All the rebels will be killed, every man, woman, and child who dares pick up arms to resist — death is the only road. On Farrel’s soil the rivers will run with blood, fields will be littered with corpses.”

Varta’s eyes widened slightly.

“The humans who once admired you and trusted you.”

Garoth continued, “Those who cheered for you, prayed to you, will become slaves, assigned to mines and worksites to do the hardest, most laborious tasks under whips until they drop dead.”

“Their descendants will be slaves for generations, sinking to the very bottom of Atlantis.”

“When they remember you they will curse your name and damn your decision.”

Varta’s head swayed slightly.

His lips moved, producing a faint voice.

“You… won’t.”

His voice was weak but his thinking was still clear.

“I know you aren’t that kind of violent dragon. You aren’t an evil dragon who would do such things. And the Metal Dragon domains… they won’t stand by. They won’t allow you to slaughter the innocent or enslave civilians.”

Garoth asked with amusement, “How do you know?”

After a few seconds Varta replied.

“Because you aren’t an evil dragon.”

He repeated.

Varta had organized the attack, yet he knew Garoth very well. He had spent much time summarizing Garoth’s life and analyzing his methods.

He said the attack was to nip in the bud the possibility of a dragon-triggered catastrophe.

But deep down he knew he only wanted the Tear of the Immortal for his own future, regardless of good or evil.

Any talk about preventing disaster or protecting the continent was an excuse; he simply didn’t want to die — he wanted to break Mandate of Heaven.

Garoth half-closed his eyes.

The stare from those slitted pupils was merciless.

“You seem to understand me well.”

he said.

Varta said nothing.

His gaze did not avert; even now he tried to keep the dignity expected of a crown-level.

Garoth took a step forward.

When the massive body moved the ground shook; sunlight was eclipsed as he loomed, casting Varta into shadow.

“Listen, when I was small I learned one truth.”

Garoth said slowly.

“When a creature is weak it must learn to disguise itself and deceive everyone.”

“Like a small beast in a jungle full of predators: hide its fangs and claws, feign weakness so larger predators dismiss it. Only then can it survive and grow stronger.”

“Once it becomes strong enough, it can reveal its true face.”

His voice dropped and then turned fierce. “But now it’s different.”

His head bowed lower, his eyes fixed on Varta with a murderous glint.

“Now I can do as I please, no longer needing to endure or feign. Now I don’t have to hide, I don’t have to show weakness, I don't have to care about anyone’s face.”

“I do what I want.”

Varta fell silent.

He lay among the rubble, staring into the dragon's eyes just a few feet away. After a few seconds he spoke again.

“The attack… I orchestrated it.”

“All of it was my idea. Ordinary people had nothing to do with it — they knew nothing and lived their lives unaware of my plans.”

“And punishing the innocent would undermine your majesty.”

“A true ruler should punish only the guilty, not implicate the innocent.”

“Innocent?”

Garoth shook his head slightly.

“The ordinary people you speak of enjoyed the benefits you brought.”

“Under your protection Farrel prospered. Merchants made fortunes. Commoners lived peacefully. They ate your bread, lived under peace you provided, enjoying dividends from your strength.”

“If they could share in your victories' spoils, they must also bear the costs of your failures.”

“This is not misplaced vengeance but cause and effect.”

Varta fell quiet.

He looked again at the sky, at the bright sun and drifting clouds.

The sky was blue, clouds white, and the sunlight warm.

If he weren’t lying in the rocks, covered in blood with a giant dragon before him, it would have been a beautiful day.

“So... what does any of this have to do with me?”

After a long silence, he spoke again, voice unconcerned.

“I couldn’t break Mandate of Heaven. I’m dying. Once I’m dead, even if floods drown the world, what does it matter to me? Even if Farrel is erased and those people become slaves, how does it concern me?”

“I’ll be dead and know nothing.”

Varta paused and curled his lips into a cold smirk.

“I know what you want.”

“You want to turn me into a Heroic Spirit and house me in your Sanctuary to serve you.”

“A crown-level Heroic Spirit would be valuable to you — as force, as advisor, as a tool for your expansion.”

“But I tell you… it’s impossible.”

Varta said, “I will have another chance to begin anew.”

“I believe that with the strength of my soul and my will, after reincarnation on another plane, even starting from scratch I can become strong again.”

“Just forget the past and begin from zero.”

“So what? If I become crown-level once, I can do it again.”

A new spark lit in his eyes — hope.

“Perhaps I could still walk the Mandate path, or even reach Immortality. Things impossible in this world might be achievable in another.”

“By then I might remember this life, remember you, and come find you.”

“I might even thank you for killing me, for giving me another chance.”

Thinking of a possible rebirth, death seemed less terrifying.

Varta’s laughter came easily.

Seeing Garoth fail to take everything made him feel like he’d won in some way — at least the loss wasn’t absolute.

Garoth understood what he was thinking and didn’t get angry.

He bared his teeth in a grin, revealing rows of sharp fangs. “In that case, I’ll use you to practice.”

Before the words finished, his claws shot out and pinched the barely breathing body.

SPLUT.

A muffled sound.

Varta’s body was utterly crushed.

Flesh shattered, bones snapped, organs pulverized. Life-flow qi mixed with Sun Soul qi spilled from the broken body, rising and dispersing into specks of light.

At the same time an invisible wave burst from the shattered corpse.

A soul.

Varta’s soul.

It was many times stronger than an ordinary person’s soul — compact, heavy, and emitting a pale glow.

It rushed out of the broken body, answering the call of outer planes, beginning to fade, preparing to leave the Material Plane for reincarnation.

But just as it was about to vanish,

a dragon claw intercepted it.

The Red Emperor’s talon tightened, forcibly seizing the ethereal soul.

“What?!”

Varta’s soul convulsed violently.

He felt the presence of the claw.

Impossible.

A soul was intangible, untouchable.

Yet the Red Emperor’s talon had gripped him.

Silver radiance bloomed at the claw’s tips.

That light plated Varta’s soul inch by inch, turning him from vapor into substance, from untouchable into something palpable and graspable.

It was like condensing mist into water, or giving a shadow solid form.

After this period of growth during slumber, Garoth’s Spell-Extinguishing Claws gained broader applications.

Seizing souls was one of them.

Varta’s soul shuddered again.

He sensed danger and began to struggle, trying to break free from the talon.

But Garoth’s strength was overwhelming; he could not resist. The silver radiance became like chains, binding him tightly within the claw.

At that instant, his form suddenly flickered ethereal again.

Power from outer planes felt the obstruction and reached in, tugging him, trying to pull him away from the dragon’s grip.

Garoth flexed his muscles and increased his force.

His talon clenched tighter, silver brilliance intensifying; plane forces surged in response.

They acted on Varta’s soul together, making him sometimes solid, sometimes ephemeral.

When solid, the silver light flashed; when ephemeral, plane power swelled. The two forces tugged, tore, and wrestled across him.

The spirit flared and dimmed in rapid succession.

At the same time, as if being pulled by two giant hands that twisted and distorted, cracks began to appear across his soul — thin and shallow at first but growing in number.

“Reincarnation? You won't get that chance.”

Garoth said.

“No!”

Varta’s soul emitted a voiceless roar.

He felt the agony of tearing as fissures multiplied across his essence.

Then — crack!

A crisp sound.

His soul was crushed, smashed into countless fragments scattering in every direction.

Garoth’s talon flashed out again.

His movements were swift. The fragments had barely scattered before they were all gathered and captured; silver light blossomed, enveloping them. Then, with a brutal press,

in his claw the soul shards were compacted, squeezed, and fused.

Finally they condensed into a single solid crystal.

A crown-level spiritual essence crystal, containing the distilled essence of the crown-level soul.

“A bit lacking in finesse.”

Garoth toyed with the spiritual essence crystal, thoughtful, passing it from one claw to another to examine its shape.

“If I could solidify it in an instant, I could forcibly seize the soul whole rather than tearing it apart. Still short — needs more practice.”

“Even so, this is fine.”

“Though I didn’t get the complete soul, this spiritual essence crystal is a decent haul. It can be handed to the Sanctuary to greatly strengthen our Heroic Spirits.”

Garoth thought.

Silence spread around.

All the legendaries had witnessed the scene.

They had seen the Red Emperor seize Varta’s soul, shred the powerful crown-level spirit, and finally condense it into a crystal.

The sun was bright now.

But the legendaries from the Eastern Alliance and the Southern Domain felt a chill from their bones.

Space, spells, souls...

What was there the Red Emperor’s claws could not touch?

They had watched a once loftily perched crown-level figure fail even to save his soul.

Reincarnation? Starting over? Impossible.

From now on, Varta would cease to exist anywhere in the world, leaving not a trace.

The Aola legendaries showed little reaction.

To them, the grand Red Emperor doing such things was unsurprising.

They were already used to Garoth’s countless impossibilities and rule-defying feats.

What of capturing a soul? He was their emperor; there was nothing he couldn’t do.

Garoth glanced around, his gaze sweeping past each legendary.

“Death is not the end.”

He paused, speaking calmly, “I am.”

Then the giant dragon raised his head and looked in a certain direction.

He reached out a talon and tore forward.

RIP!

Space split like a curtain.

A pitch-black rift appeared before him, its edges flickering with silver light, forming an entrance wide enough for the giant dragon to pass through.

The red-iron titan leapt into it and vanished.

The rift sealed behind him in moments, gone in an instant, leaving only slightly warped air.

Thus the Scarlet Emperor Cangxing disappeared from everyone’s view.

A chance for escape seemed to appear.

The legendaries from the southeast exchanged glances but ultimately took no further action. They wisely abandoned resistance and allowed the Aola legendaries to take them prisoner.

Resistance was meaningless.

Flight was even more meaningless.

If even crown-level beings couldn't get away, where could they possibly run?

Elsewhere,

Celine was fleeing.

Her figure was like an arrow, dashing through the sky and crossing vast distances with each move.

This was one of a crown-level ranger’s skills: turning oneself into an arrow and shooting toward a chosen direction. Arrow speed and movement speed matched — sometimes even outpacing certain short-distance teleportations.

She had been running for some time.

But she dared not stop.

She glanced back now and then to check for pursuers.

When the dragonqi bombs that looked like countless suns bloomed from the Red Emperor’s talon, she had lost all will to fight.

She noticed then that the Red Emperor had laughed during his dragon roar — but it wasn’t laughter of a victorious hero or a bloodthirsty killer. It was a kind of… amused pleasure.

Like watching ants crawl beneath one’s feet, casually crushing a few.

“Run.”

She told herself inside.

“The further the better.”

She crossed the last mountain range. Beneath her lay rolling hills, dense forests, and a winding great river. The water was clear, glittering in the sun, flowing west to east without end in sight; both banks were thick with trees.

Finally she crossed beyond the Rhen Plateau.

The ranger looked back.

In the direction of the Rhen Plateau the sky was clear and sunlight bright; there were no signs of battle, only continuous mountains, rolling hills, and the occasional drifting cloud.

Everything looked so calm, as if nothing had happened.

She gasped for air.

“I survived...”

Celine's taut nerves loosened slightly and a faint smile appeared.

She already had a plan.

After escaping she would gather her family and flee Atlantis, find a suitable plane or another Material Plane, and start anew.

With crown-level status and caution, one could live well anywhere.

But at that instant,

SHRRIP.

The sound of fabric tearing.

A rift split open in the space before her.

The rift was black with silver-flashing edges, as if something had ripped it from the inside. It widened rapidly, becoming larger and wider until it formed a gap big enough for a giant dragon to pass through.

Something probed the rift.

A talon covered in cracks yet still radiating power.

Then a second talon.

A pair of talons grabbed the rift’s edges and tore it open wide.

The colossal dragon body pushed through.

Quick and decisive, no hesitation.

The red-iron dragon hovered in front of Celine, his outstretched wings blocking the sunlight and casting her into shadow.

Celine’s body froze.

Her longbow still gripped in hand, her reserves of power intact — she could draw and shoot or transform into an arrow and dash away; she had all the ranger skills available.

But she did not move.

She looked at the dragon's reflection in a puddle of shadow cast by those wings.

Small, desperate, terrified.

That reflection reminded her of times when she was weak and facing a dreadful beast.

“Kneel, or I will crush you. There is no third option.”

The dragon's deep voice resonated.

The sunlight was bright and the tree shadows soft.

The ranger promptly dropped to her knees and prostrated herself beneath the dragon’s wings.

Not merely a token kneel — she pressed her forehead to the ground and stretched her hands forward, her body almost flat on the earth, demonstrating total surrender and complete abandonment of resistance.

“Smart choice.”

The red-iron dragon lowered his head and spoke.