Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

The scorching midday sun heated the sand and stones unbearably. Five old-fashioned steam trucks powered by fuel stones crawled along the Serpentine Earth Rift, their exhaust pipes spewing black smoke distorted by the heat waves into bizarre shapes.

The Serpentine Earth Rift was a branch road of the Thousand Serpent Traces. It got its name from the snake scale-like patterns covering the ground.

Nick sat atop the cabin of the lead truck, legs crossed, swirling a bottle of cheap beer in his hand. The liquid shimmered with a murky golden hue under the sunlight.

He was a middle-aged man nearing forty.

His figure was lean, his face and head wrapped in white cloth to block the sun, revealing almost nothing but a pair of eyes. His brown pupils occasionally flickered with a cunning light sharper than that of a goblin.

“See that? That protruding rock wall.”

Nick pointed with the beer bottle to the wilderness on the right ahead. He said, “Three years ago, I led a team to dig beneath there and unearthed a crate of ancient elven coins—pure gold, engraved with ancient runes. I flipped them to an old scholar in the Northern Territories and made a cool fifty thousand gold coins!”

“Pfft!”

The scar-faced driver spat from below.

“Come on, Nick! Last time you said that crate of coins was the Dwarven King’s toilet ring!”

He was a dwarf.

His beard was thick and bushy, his body short, strong, and sturdy.

He was missing two front teeth, causing him to slur his words.

Nick grinned, revealing a crooked row of teeth.

“That was a different crate! The Dwarven King’s toilet ring was made of copper. I soaked it in acid, aged it into an antique, and sold it to a nouveau riche merchant. That fool still keeps it at home as a family heirloom.”

The sorceress Margie lifted the curtain at the back of the cabin.

Her face was covered with a dust mask, revealing only a pair of sharp green eyes. “Nick, if you were really so good at making money, why are you still driving this pile of junk trucks? You can’t even afford guards?”

Nick was silent for a few seconds.

His eyes darkened with a hint of melancholy but soon brightened again. He slapped his thigh, causing some liquid from the beer bottle to splash onto the scorching metal roof, instantly evaporating into white steam.

Nick laughed heartily. “Good things take time. Why rush?”

He downed the cheap beer in one gulp. “Once we deliver this batch of ‘Dragon Blood Ore’ and sell it off, I’ll take you all to the tavern to drink till dawn!”

“Dragon Blood Ore?”

The young apprentice Cole poked his head out from behind the cargo box, his nose dusted with fuel stone ash, puzzled. “But isn’t our crate filled with Chicken Blood Stone?”

Nick glared at him and lowered his voice:

“Shh! Quiet! So what if it’s Chicken Blood Stone? Add some dye, spin a story, and it becomes Dragon Blood! Those noble school mage apprentices don’t know a thing. They can’t even tell a lizard tail from a dragon claw, and they think no one dares to deceive esteemed mages. They’re the perfect sales targets.”

The scar-faced driver laughed loudly, nearly spitting out his chewing tobacco:

“Nick, you’re bound to get hanged at the city gates sooner or later.”

“Hanged? Doing business means being ready to die!” Nick snorted disdainfully. “If I was afraid of dying, I’d have been a quiet accountant at the Jade Trade Guild ten years ago.”

He squinted, gazing toward the distant rising heat waves. “You know, back then in Silverport City, I sold a shipload of moldy grain to the elven ambassador with just my mouth. That old coot even praised me for honesty and trustworthiness.”

Margie rolled her eyes, clearly not believing him: “And then? You got chased by elven rangers for half a year?”

“That was an accident!” Nick waved his hand, as if brushing away unpleasant memories. “Besides, I ended up alive and well, and even swindled that ranger’s sword and sold it.”

Apprentice Cole’s eyes sparkled with admiration. He blinked and hurriedly asked, “Really?”

“Of course!” Nick puffed out his chest, then suddenly wore a look of regret. “The sword’s hilt was studded with gems. Too bad they were glass.”

Everyone burst into laughter. Except for the apprentice, the others took Nick’s stories as nothing but boastful jokes.

The roar of the steam trucks mixed with their laughter echoed between the canyon walls of the Serpentine Earth Rift.

Hot winds swept sand and gravel past. Nick stared at the winding canyon ahead, listening to his companions’ laughter. His mind couldn’t help but recall his past ups and downs, a swirl of complex emotions stirring inside, though a smile never left his face.

Always keep smiling. A smile can make others drop their guard.

This was the lesson the caravan elder taught thirteen-year-old Nick on his first trade journey.

But soon, Nick’s smile froze.

Howl! Howl!

The howl of giant wolves rose, rolling endlessly into the sky.

The smile stiffened on his face.

“Damn it! Why do I have to run into monsters and bandits in the wilderness!”

Nick cursed inwardly, his heart sinking.

The Ser Wilderness was rich in mineral resources, but also teemed with countless ferocious magical beasts and monster clans. Near the Thousand Serpent Traces roads, the Lothrian Federation’s troops often conducted patrols, clearing out or driving away powerful beasts.

However, this had little effect on the intelligent monster clans.

Because they were smart, the wilderness monster clans knew how to lie low, endure, and flee to the wilds when danger approached, only to return like tides once the threat subsided.

The Ser Wilderness was vast, home even to legendary-grade ferocious beasts.

The Lothrian Federation’s cleanup troops would not venture deep into the wilderness without cause, as it would bring unnecessary trouble and losses. Clearing the beasts near trade routes was sufficient.

Unless one was willing to pay a huge price, it was nearly impossible to clear the wilderness of beasts.

Besides, these beasts themselves were a form of biological resource.

As for the intelligent monster clans—well, most merchants simply called them monster clans.

Their numbers were insignificant compared to ferocious beasts. Only unlucky fools would encounter them. They knew how to seek profit and avoid harm, rarely attacking strong caravans, instead preying on weaker, already resource-poor ones.

Unfortunately.

Nick’s caravan was one such unlucky, weak target marked by a monster clan.

Dust swirled in the distance. Seven or eight gray shadows darted from the rocky shadows, their wolf paws silently treading the scorching sand and stones.

“Shit!”

The scar-faced driver tore the chewing tobacco from his mouth, his hand reaching under his seat for a short axe. “Graymane Werewolves!”

Nick’s heart plummeted.

Graymane Werewolves—they were not mindless beasts but intelligent clans who knew ambushes, encirclements, and even negotiations. They struck only when confident and rarely left survivors.

Besides the first few gray shadows,

Nick focused and faintly saw some giant wolf knights half-hidden among the bushes, half their bodies exposed.

If they were kobolds or the like, it would be better, but those giant wolves were huge, their claws fierce. His caravan’s strength was completely unable to cope.

Resistance meant death. Surrender and negotiation were the only slim chances for survival.

“Stay calm! Don’t make any sudden moves!”

Nick growled, ordering his companions to keep cool.

A nearly two-meter-tall adult werewolf with a missing right ear lunged first, a low, guttural roar escaping his throat.

“We surrender!”

Nick immediately raised both hands high, his voice sharp and bright as if afraid they wouldn’t understand the common tongue: “All the goods are yours! Don’t hurt anyone!”

The scar-faced driver tried to resist, but as he grabbed his axe, a strong werewolf tackled him from the side, pressing sharp claws against his throat. A light slash sprayed blood on the spot.

Sorceress Margie remained calm.

She slowly lifted her mask, revealing a pale but composed face.

She had a pair of antelope-like horns spiraling upwards on her head, unlike a normal human. She raised both hands in the air, signaling she had no weapons or intent to resist.

Seeing her, the closest werewolf inexplicably felt a flicker of fear and hesitation.

But the hesitation was soon drowned by innate ferocity. The werewolf roughly tore off her backpack and started rummaging violently.

“Be gentle! There are healing potions in there!” Margie shouted, only to be met with a blow from a clawed back. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Nick’s eye twitched but he dared not move.

He knew any unnecessary action now would be courting death.