Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

The red dragon Laria flew up to his father and lowered his head.

His scales still bore signs of battle.

At some places where scales had shattered, clotted blood mixed with dust clung to the wound edges, and in some spots fresh blood still oozed out.

"Father."

The red dragon spoke, "You personally came here, yet you saw a descendant who needed to retreat before the rage beasts. I am sorry that I disappointed you."

After saying that, he bowed his head, feeling somewhat ashamed.

Garoth looked at him without reproach.

He watched him like a child still growing, not hasty to draw conclusions.

"When I was weak, I also retreated when facing foes stronger than me."

The iron-red dragon spoke calmly.

"When I was in the Ser Wilderness, ferocious beasts stronger than me were everywhere."

"Back then I was young, my scales were not thick enough, my claws not sharp enough, and my dragonfire not fierce enough. When I met those stronger creatures, I turned and left without hesitation."

"Later, I had my own clan and some foundation."

"But when provoking a powerful enemy, if unavoidable, I would move and withdraw with the whole clan instead of stubbornly staying to fight. Territories can be found again, lairs can be rebuilt, but life is only one."

He paused, his gaze falling on the red dragon.

"Laria, as a descendant who carries my blood, you need not feel ashamed for failing or retreating. Only by living do you have the chance to grow stronger. Dead, you have nothing."

"Do you still remember the niche theory you once learned?"

At that, Laria lifted his head.

There had been a dark gloom in his eyes, which now gradually brightened.

"I remember."

he said. "Every creature has its position, knowing whether it is predator or prey in the current situation, knowing when to strike and when to withdraw."

"Blind stubbornness is not bravery, it is foolishness."

"That is what I was taught since I was young, and it has always been my guiding principle."

Garoth nodded slightly. "Good, remember that. This is the first lesson of the Aolan dragons. You have grown much, but I do not want you to forget."

The red dragon Laria said, "The niche theory always reminds me. I will not forget it."

"Otherwise I would not have decisively prepared to retreat just now."

He actually could have continued fighting; his condition was not terrible.

His wounds looked frightening, but none struck vital points, and his stamina was still enough to sustain an intense fight.

If he were an ordinary red dragon, he would not have retreated at this moment.

A typical red dragon would roar, breathe flames, fight with abandon, driven by blood and combat instinct, only waking to flee once it realized it might die.

But by then it was often too late.

Laria chose to retreat at a very good moment.

He made the judgment while his defensive line could still hold and his combat power remained largely intact.

If Garoth had not come, he could have retreated intact with the main force in an orderly fashion, though he would have had to abandon some things; at least the core strength would be preserved.

The iron-red dragon looked toward the land still steaming with embers.

Ash drifted in the wind like black snow, bouncing when it hit the ground and being blown farther away.

"You did rather well."

Garoth said, "Facing enemies several times your number, you did not only give ground. You fought when you should fight, held when you should hold, and when you perceived that the overall situation could not be changed, you could detach yourself without clinging to the fight and decisively prepare to withdraw. Good."

Hearing this, the red dragon relaxed considerably.

But then Garoth's words tightened his chest again.

"However, I do not like that you once sold me out to the Green Dragon Queen, trading my personal preference information for resources."

Laria's tail stiffened, his whole body tensing.

He hurriedly tried to explain, "Well, my dear father, I only did it because the Green Dragon Queen showed affection for you, so I..."

Garoth waved a claw, cutting him off.

"If you have such thoughts again, at least inform me beforehand."

The red dragon quickly nodded, promising, "Rest assured! It won't happen again. From now on, any information involving you, I will report to you in advance and handle it only after getting your consent."

Garoth did not look at him further.

He spread his wings, the figure rising as night unfurled behind him, casting a dim halo around his silhouette.

"People of Aola,"

"You did not break ranks, you did not flee. You held the line. I am proud of you."

"Prepare to rebuild your territory. Let the banners of Aola still unfurl across the Arotala Continent!"

There was a moment of quiet.

Then a tidal wave of cheers exploded.

The centaurs raised longbows and let out long battle cries; ogres beat their chests, sounding like heavy drums; lizardfolk and gnolls lifted weapons overhead... different sounds mixed into a deafening roar that echoed through the night sky.

The red dragon watched those zealous subjects, thoughtful.

He had managed this place for many years and fought side by side with these warriors countless times.

He had given them orders, assigned tasks, provided food and shelter.

They obeyed his commands, kept his discipline, and fought for his territory.

But never before had their morale been so high; never had their eyes shone like they did now.

He understood the difference.

What he gave them was commands, discipline, survival.

What his father gave them was faith.

Afterward, the crowd gradually dispersed. Under the leaders' direction, the warriors began clearing the battlefield and rebuilding defenses. Some wounded were carried to the rear for basic treatment. Some soldiers counted weapons and equipment, tallying losses.

Although the camp had gone through a night battle, order remained intact.

Laria landed on the ground and folded his wings.

At the same time, his two offspring approached from different directions.

Green dragon Tarlensa walked first.

Her steps were much quicker than usual, her eyes fixed on Garoth, the giant silhouette reflected in her pupils.

"Grandfather..."

She stepped forward, stopped, and bowed deeply.

"Tarlensa Ignas pays you homage."

The green dragon suppressed her excitement and tried to steady her voice.

Garoth lowered his head to look at her.

This young green dragon had a sturdy build, the red-lotus markings on her scales particularly conspicuous, and even through the heavy scales the muscle lines were visible.

"Tarlensa..."

Garoth nodded slightly, his gaze lingering on her red-lotus patterns for a moment.

"The red-lotus marks on you were passed down by me."

"Do not waste this gift."

The green dragon's body trembled slightly, the red-lotus markings glowing faintly. "It is our pride and also our responsibility."

"I grew up listening to your stories. I remember each of your battles, each decision. I've always wondered when I would see you with my own eyes and tell you how much I admire you. Today I finally have that chance."

At that moment, another red dragon stepped forward.

He was a bit larger than Tarlensa, his scales bright red, with red-lotus markings too, though paler than hers.

He was Laria's other offspring, also inheriting the red-lotus trait.

"Grandfather, like Tarlensa, I pay you homage."

"I have heard many stories about you from Father and take pride in you. Father often told us about your deeds on the Atlantis Continent, how you rose step by step from an ordinary red dragon to who you are now."

"I've kept these stories close to my heart and treated them as my model."

Garoth nodded. His light rested on both grandchildren for a moment.

"I've received your admiration."

"However, admiration is not mere words. If you truly take pride in me, prove it through deeds. That is the best tribute you could give me."

After saying that, his gaze swept from the two grandchildren and landed on Laria.

Laria stood quietly to the side, watching everything without speaking.

The red-lotus markings on his scales were clear, as if branded by a hot iron, sharper than those of the two offspring.

Garoth naturally noticed this.

"My evolved trait should be able to propagate stably," he thought.

This was rare.

The dragonkin were not lacking in aberrant dragons—some evolved different innate traits through special circumstances or bloodline mutations, traits that often made them stand out among kin.

Those traits were often powerful, making an aberrant dragon far stronger than ordinary ones.

But such aberrant traits typically belonged only to the first generation and were hard to inherit.

Most offspring of aberrant dragons reverted to ordinary forms, losing their parents' special abilities, which meant that despite being formidable individuals, aberrant dragons rarely became a lasting lineage.

But Garoth was different.

His inherited trait was branching out.

Laria was the first generation; Tarlensa and that young red dragon were the second.

His second-generation offspring were approaching maturity, their strength far surpassing ordinary adult wyrms of the same age.

As time passed, they would grow, reproduce, and have their own descendants. They would pass on the bloodline and the red-lotus pattern.

Third generation, fourth generation...

These giant dragon descendants would inherit his trait, his bloodline, and perhaps in the future even take his name as their family name.

Generation by generation, life would continue.

Given time and without too many accidents, in the distant future Aolan dragons might evolve into a powerful clan, surpassing the current main dragon types such as the Five-colored Dragons, Metal Dragons, and Gemstone Dragons.

At this moment, dusk was lifting.

Night rose slowly from the other horizon; distant mountain outlines blurred like lines smeared by ink.

Wind howled, carrying faint roars and bellows.

"Laria."

"Yes."

"Keep handling things here. As for the rage-beast packs lurking nearby, I will deal with them. They will not return."

Laria bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

He then raised his head to add, "I know the positions of the surrounding rage-beast packs. I can point them out so you don't have to spend time finding them."

Garoth shook his head slightly, staring into the distance.

"No need. I already see them."

Light like a galaxy shimmered in his True Eye, as if he had trapped the whole starry sky inside it.

This light pierced all obstacles—mountains, woods, rocks, caves—nothing blocked his view, and he could take in the distribution of the rage beasts.

If he wished, Garoth could have killed those beasts from afar.

He only needed to lock their positions to cause blossoms of blazing fire to erupt at different ground points at once, one after another, like a grand fireworks display.

However, considering that the frenzied flame would dissipate, he did not do so.

He needed to be present and close to those embers to reclaim the frenzied flame. That was not difficult; with his speed, it would not take long to clear every rage-beast pack.

As he finished speaking, Garoth slashed with his claws and tore a rift in space.

He said nothing further, flapped his wings lightly, dove into the rift, and vanished.

"Has Grandfather always been like this?"

Tarlensa and the young red dragon looked at the healed rift and whispered.

Laria did not turn back. "In what way?"

The green dragon considered and, eyes full of admiration, said, "Like this—decisive and forceful, majestic and commanding. He moves when he says move, he acts when he says act, without hesitation or hesitation, like a dragon among dragons, an emperor among emperors."

Hearing such a description, Laria let out a soft laugh.

"Yes, he has always been like that."

On the other side, the iron-red dragon ripped through the night and emerged from the rift.

Beneath him was a valley.

Moonlight was obscured by clouds, with only sparse stars leaking through to illuminate the ground and reveal writhing, howling black shapes.

The rage beasts sensed his presence and raised their heads, their blood-red eyes glowing like ghost-fires in the dark.

They opened their jaws to show jagged fangs, saliva dripping from between teeth, issuing low roars.

Some larger beasts even rose and flailed their paws at the sky as if provoked.

Garoth lowered his head, his gaze sweeping the land.

Then his eyes flared.

Where he looked, flames rose from the ground like flowers blooming in the dark.

The rage beasts were incinerated into ash before they could even scream—their flesh, bones, and scales burned to nothing in moments.

Wind from the valley blew the ash up into the night sky.

Garoth extended his claws and repeated his old trick.

Invisible flames rose from the ash in threads and ribbons, gathering to his claw-palm and then merging into his body, fusing with his frenzied flame.

He closed his eyes and felt for a moment.

Then he opened them and tore open space again.

The next site was a hilly region.

Even more rage beasts had gathered here.

They were scattered across slopes, in valleys, hidden in caves.

Garoth hovered midair, his light sweeping the entire area.

One flower, two, ten, a hundred... countless blossoms of fire burst at once, illuminating the hills like daytime.

The rage beasts flashed in the blaze and turned to ash.

Frenzied flame rose from the ash and he consumed it, merging it into himself.

Garoth repeated the process.

Area after area, pack after pack.

He passed through forests, crossed rivers, flew over plains.

Wherever he went, destruction and death followed, but his goal was clear: only the rage beasts.

Within tens of thousands of square kilometers, the rage-beast packs were wiped clean.

Where they once clustered, now only ash remained. Occasionally a scattered individual could be seen, but not enough to form a threat.

Garoth hovered on a mountain peak and folded his wings.

His actions were swift.

From leaving Laria's camp to now, a night had not yet passed.

To intelligent witnesses, his wanton slaughter might seem cruel, but Garoth saw it as efficient.

In the Atlantis Continent he would not have acted like this.

On one hand, he had no interest in meaningless slaughter.

Killing creatures without threat or hostility meant nothing to him.

On the other hand, large-scale killings often brought serious consequences.

But in Arotala, slaughtering these rage beasts carried fewer burdens.

"The Fury Curse sweeping Arotala is a tonic for me," the iron-red dragon thought with a slight thrill.

Since awakening to crown-level, Garoth had clearly felt his frenzied flame's presence weaken a lot.

It could not keep pace with his advancement.

The sensation was subtle, like a well-worn garment that fit perfectly until you grew taller and broader, making the garment tight and constricting.

In fact, the frenzied flame could grow.

It should become more vigorous as its host grew stronger.

The stronger the host, the more robust the flame—there is a positive correlation.

Arotala researchers had confirmed this through abundant observation and experimentation, recording countless infected subjects.

Garoth himself had felt that when he was not yet Legendary, the frenzied flame gave him a different sensation from now.

However, before fully mastering the flame, he had treated it as a latent risk, afraid it might go out of control and produce unpredictable results, so he suppressed and constrained it rather than letting it burn freely.

This caused the flame's growth rate to lag behind his own.

Although later Garoth achieved perfect control and no longer restrained it, prior poor development meant his flame never fully matched his current level.

But just now, Garoth's frenzied flame had strengthened.

He could clearly sense the change.

"The flame has grown. A greater proportion of rage now converts to power, rage accumulates faster, the rage ceiling is higher, and beyond some threshold it even grants superspeed regeneration," Garoth thought.

These changes were gradual but significant.

The same rage now converted into more power; the same time now accumulated more rage.

Moreover, the regenerative effect had not yet manifested on him.

He had already noticed this.

According to Cerora and other intelligence he had gathered, rage-beasts severely infected and at crown-level or Mandate of Heaven often displayed grotesque superspeed self-healing.

But that was secondary.

Garoth already possessed Rapid Regeneration as part of his Undying Life trait. The frenzied flame's superspeed regeneration would not fundamentally change him—it would just be an extra safeguard.

"The crucial thing is that the frenzied flame has some mutative power," he thought.

That was what truly interested him.

All creatures infected by the flame undergo uncontrolled mutations that make their forms less coordinated but more ferocious and aggressive.

Some develop extra limbs, some sprout strange scales, others alter body structure and proportions.

These mutations are often ugly and twisted, but undeniably boost the infected's combat ability.

This has been fully confirmed.

Garoth himself had not experienced obvious mutation.

His appearance remained stable—no grotesque growths or visible morphological changes.

But upon careful self-examination, he realized this was because his adaptive evolution outpaced the flame's mutative force, suppressing the flame's mutations.

His adaptive evolution had priority, so the flame's mutative power could not manifest on him.

Or perhaps he had mutated—but those mutations were corrected by adaptation into more suitable changes, invisible to onlookers.

Maybe his body had undergone countless tiny mutations that adaptation guided into optimal, reasonable forms.

"Mutation is an uncertain kind of evolution. Both it and my adaptive evolution fall under evolution, but they are fundamentally different," he thought.

"The question now is whether I can harness it."

"For example, combining adaptation and mutation, finding the balance point, guiding evolution toward beneficial outcomes."

His thoughts raced like lightning.

Adaptive evolution and frenzied-flame mutation were fundamentally different forces with different underlying logic and effects. Merging them would not be easy.

But he thought it worth trying.

This was the main reason he insisted on coming to Arotala.

He hoped to uncover the flame's mutative power and use it to complete his own evolutionary traits, making himself stronger.

"Currently, mutations come from creatures that are both extremely infected and themselves powerful."

"I qualify, but my flame was suppressed for a long time and did not reach that level."

"Fortunately, I can devour other frenzied flames to strengthen myself."

Garoth looked at the embers on the ground, eyes narrowed.

Whatever the final outcome, he would at least try to master the mutative evolution the flame offered. He had a strong premonition that success would fundamentally affect him.

When conducting mass hunts like this, he had to consider the Primordial Wastes possibly hiding in deep space.

Garoth raised his head to the night sky.

Two moons hung above the horizon.

One shone extraordinarily bright and large, hanging like it was within reach. That was the elves' moon of Nausil, one of the most dangerous things on this continent.

Under its moonlight, Garoth felt a vague unease.

Not because it had locked onto him or targeted him.

But because he knew the elves' moon possessed power to wound and even kill Immortals. It looked beautiful yet was extremely dangerous.

The dragon's gaze passed the moon and swept the stars.

"The flame's mutative authority likely comes from some Primordial Wastes hidden in deep space."

"Will my plundering of frenzied flames draw its attention?"

Garoth felt uneasy again.

But he took a deep breath and suppressed the unease.

"If it is truly a Primordial Wastes entity, it would not reveal itself lightly."

"Although Bernardo's theistic power is not strong, it is not absent. If a Primordial Wastes exposed itself, the gods would immediately notice. Those high-tier beings would not tolerate a Primordial Wastes flaunting power in their realms."

The true masters of many planes and worlds are the gods.

The ancient Primordial Wastes are relics of the past.

After their defeat in the primal wars, they had to hide and could only survive in corners out of the gods' sight, not daring to appear within divine scrutiny. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The gods might tolerate their existence but would never allow them to cause trouble.

Night wind swept past Garoth, carrying the scent of ash.

He felt the frenzied flame within him.

It had grown significantly and no longer dripped weakly like when he first awakened.

"Expand the scope and keep growing the flame in one go?"

Garoth thought and slightly shook his head.

His flame had devoured too much recently and needed time to digest, to fully fuse the newly consumed flame with his own into something truly his.

If he devoured too much in a short time, the flame might lose control again.

That would be counterproductive.

Not long after, at the center of Laria's territory defenses,

space split open in front of Laria.

Garoth walked out of the rift, folded his wings, and landed on the surface.

Seeing his father return, Laria immediately approached.

"You are back," he said.

Garoth slightly inclined his head. "The rage-beast packs are mostly cleared. Within tens of thousands of square kilometers, large-scale packs have been eradicated, leaving only scattered individuals, not enough to form a threat."

Doing this in under a night sounded fanciful.

But Laria was not surprised.

When the Scarlet Emperor Cangxing acts in person, unless the beasts are famous and powerful, the others stand no chance.

"I will arrange patrols to regularly clear the scattered beasts."

"They will not be allowed to regroup," Laria said earnestly.

Targets infected by the Fury Curse do not only become violent; their reproductive drives and functions also strengthen.

Although now largely eliminated, if not careful, new surges could form quickly.

If the curse only caused anger, it could not sweep Arotala.

Garoth nodded. "You need not worry about beast surges for now. Focus on developing your territory and strengthening your foundations."

The red dragon lowered his head. "Yes. I will not disappoint your expectations."

Garoth said, "This place is in your hands. I will visit the Greenwild Kingdom."

At this, the red dragon smiled broadly.

He wanted to say something, but when he raised his head and met Garoth's eyes, he wisely stayed silent.

Night gradually faded. A pale band brightened the horizon as dawn pushed up, dyeing the sky with faint gold.

Garoth did not tear another rift right away.

He beat his wings and rose high.

He did not fly in a straight line to the Greenwild Kingdom but took a detour.

Not out of caution, but out of curiosity.

Arotala was a foreign realm to him.

He had heard countless reports—wars between orcs and elves, the Fury Curse ravaging the land, the elves' moon of Nausil, and regions shattered by both war and curse.

But hearing is different from seeing with one's own eyes.

Now he wanted to see for himself.

The great dragon soared through clouds, constraining his aura and casting a concealment spell to compress it to a minimum.

Apart from that, he did not try to hide much.

He did not want to behave like a thief, only to avoid undue attention.

When the sun had just risen, he flew over a wasteland.

No life existed there, only scorched earth and crisscrossed gullies.

The gullies were filled with dark red matter—not mud but dried blood. Orc and elf corpses lay scattered across the plain, some rotten with exposed white bones, others fresher with wounds still bleeding.

Vultures circled low, occasionally diving to rip a chunk of flesh before hastily flying away.

At the center of the plain, a group of orcs cleaned the battlefield.

They piled elf corpses into a tall heap, doused it with oil, and set it alight.

Flames rose and black smoke billowed. The air smelled of burning flesh. The orcs cheered around the pyre, waving battle axes like celebrating a festival, eyes gleaming with fanatic light.

Further away, the remnant elf army retreated.

They formed a long thin line and moved along the edge of the plain toward the forest. The column was silent; no one spoke.

Garoth skimmed by high above without stopping, casting only a glance before continuing onward.

Soon he came above a river.

The river was broad and fast; the water a turbid yellow carrying upstream silt and broken wood, churning and roaring with a deafening sound.

On both banks, orcs and elves faced off.

The orcs occupied the north bank, building crude defenses of stone and timber into low walls. Orc soldiers crouched behind these, weapons in hand, eyes fixed on the opposite shore.

The elves held the south bank.

Their formation was more orderly; soldiers donned silvery armor that gleamed in the sun.

Their faces were handsome but cold, expressionless.

At that moment some orcs were brought to the river’s edge as captives.

The elves watched and struck.

Heads rolled into the water as blood sprayed and stained the bank.

One orc after another was beheaded, their corpses collapsing at the water's edge and being washed away. Throughout it, the elf soldiers showed no emotion, as if performing a routine task.

Even the elegant, beautiful elves had an iron side.

Garoth passed by and did not pause.

After a while, a town ruined by the Fury Curse appeared beneath the dragon.

Built in a valley, it had once been thriving.

Residual traces suggested shops, taverns, inns, and a not-small temple once lined its streets.

Now everything lay destroyed.

Houses burned, walls collapsed—only fragments of walls remained. Streets were littered with shattered pottery and charred boards.

Garoth withdrew his gaze.

Beyond a mountain range the landform changed.

The wasteland and scorched earth receded and were replaced by continuous forests.

Canopies knit together like a green quilt draped over the earth. Sunlight filtered through leaf gaps, casting mottled shadows on the ground.

Streams ran clear through the woods, their murmuring water transparent to the bottom.

The air changed too, with the dampness of soil and the sweet scent of wildflowers, making breathing pleasant and relaxing.

This was within the Greenwild Kingdom.

A kingdom built in forest, living with nature.

Citadels nestled amid lush woods, each city blended into its natural surroundings like it had grown from the forest itself. The overall territory wasn't as large as Aola's; it resembled Aola's early days when it unified the Romanian Plains—still developing but with a solid foundation.

Garoth pressed on.

At noon, when the sun was strongest, he reached the Greenwild Kingdom's capital, the Emerald Royal City.

Though called a royal city, it felt more like a complex in symbiosis with the forest. Its design borrowed from Nausil imperial styles yet retained unique features.

The walls were woven from living trees.

Thick trunks set deep roots into the earth, branches coiling together to form an impenetrable screen.

These trees were alive; they grew, changed, and self-repaired. If someone damaged the wall, the trees would slowly regrow and close the gap.

The gate was formed by the trunks of two giant trees curving naturally into an arch. Above the arch hung a banner embroidered with a verdant dragon coiled atop a massive oak. From afar it fluttered clearly in the wind.

At this time Garoth had assumed human form and entered the Emerald Royal City.

His human shape was tall and sturdy, with a stern face and composed bearing that exuded strength and intimidation.

Yet those around him paid him no mind, as if unaware of his presence.

That was the result of a spell.

A suggestion spell.

Under its influence, passersby treated him as an ordinary traveler, an unremarkable pedestrian.

Garoth was not skilled in combative magics, but he had learned concealment, cleaning cantrips, suggestion spells, and more.

These were not profound arts but practical in daily use and spared much trouble.

He strolled the city's streets like any ordinary traveler.

The avenues were wide and paved with bluestone, kept very clean.

Shops lined both sides selling all manner of goods—weapons, armor, magical materials, food, drinks, clothing—everything.

But not long after, the pedestrians suddenly froze.

It was as if struck by a stronger suggestion. Their bodies stiffened, eyes hollow, and then in synchronized fashion they turned and walked away from Garoth.

Very quickly the entire street was empty.

Garoth stayed where he was and waited.

Footsteps sounded from the far end of the avenue.

Not heavy, not light, crisp and clear.

A figure turned the corner and walked toward him.

Cerora.

Her long hair was coiled atop her head, secured with an emerald hairpin, revealing a graceful neck and delicate collarbones. Her skin was pale and glowed faintly in the sun. A silver-white crown set with green gems crowned her head, refracting lovely light.

She wore a deep-green gown whose hem trailed the ground, edges embroidered with golden vine patterns.

Cerora moved with unhurried steps.

Her shoes were carved from whole pieces of crystal; the slender heels clicked crisply against the pavement.

Her face was the same, but the temperament completely different.

In dreams she had been languid, playful, with a hint of mischief.

Now she was noble, majestic, and inviolable, queenly aura coalescing into substance; every motion and look conveyed the bearing of an overlord, making people afraid to stare or approach.

This Greenwild Queen stopped before Garoth, within ten paces.

She looked down at him from above, her light cold, as if gazing at a citizen who had committed a crime.

"Intruding into the Greenwild Kingdom, Scarlet Emperor of Aola from Atlantis, are you prepared to receive punishment?"

Cerora's eyes were cold as she spoke.

"Punishment?" Garoth asked, his tone equally icy.

"What sort of punishment?"

"For example..."

The Greenwild Queen raised a delicate finger and tapped the air.

"I could turn you into a frog, lock you in my dungeon, and insult you day and night."

She spoke seriously, not joking.

Garoth lowered his arms.

He likewise assumed a stern expression and said coldly, "You sound very confident, certain of victory. Very well. Come then. I will, in your kingdom and before your people, defeat you and let you taste unprecedented humiliation."

Cerora's expression did not change.

She stared into Garoth's eyes without yielding.

"Then come!"

she said coldly.

Their auras rose, becoming dangerous.

An invisible pressure radiated from them, pressing down on everything around.

War hung on the verge of breaking out.

But at that moment, looking at the stern Scarlet Emperor, Cerora's icy expression melted and she burst into laughter.

"Haha, Garoth, are you really going to cooperate with me that much?"

Her eyes curved into crescents and her mouth lifted high; the crown on her head bobbed slightly. The queenly aloofness vanished.

Garoth smiled too.

"Since I'm here, when in Rome..." he said. "I don't mind indulging you a little."

Cerora smiled and returned to her lively maiden self.

She stepped forward and naturally looped her arm through Garoth's, leaning in close with a faint scent like forest blossoms and morning dew.

"Come on, I'll show you around," she said.

Garoth raised his other arm and wrapped it around the Greenwild Queen's waist.

Her waist was slender; through the fabric he could feel her warmth. She stiffened slightly, then relaxed and leaned into him, her face flushing briefly before returning to normal.

A dreamy light glimmered.

Cerora murmured, "I'll revert to my previous look first."

As she spoke, her queenly attire flashed and grew translucent. The ornate crown, the gown, and the crystal shoes began to fade as if about to disappear.

Garoth interrupted, his gaze sweeping over Cerora's crown and finery.

"No, this is better," he said.

Cerora smiled and said, "The conquest instinct of male dragons... fine, as you wish—consider your desire satisfied."

After she spoke, her expression returned to cool aloofness, high and noble and unapproachable, yet her body still leaned against Garoth, creating a striking contrast.