Free Web NovelThe dazzling radiance gradually faded, leaving smoke lingering in the air.
The red-iron dragon lowered his head, his gaze sweeping expressionlessly across the ground.
The Blackstone Wastes looked as if some enormous beast had gnawed on them, riddled with dense, massive craters. The edges of the rocks had melted under the intense heat and then solidified, forming a glass-like substance that still emitted wisps of smoke.
The orc army’s formation no longer existed.
What had once been a surging, dark-green tide was now nothing more than scattered fragments dotting the charred earth, like insignificant puddles after a rainstorm, utterly devoid of its former momentum.
The orcs’ roars, prayers, and howls had all fallen silent.
Just then, the sound of tumbling gravel came from one of the deep craters.
A figure shot up from within.
His appearance was completely different from before.
His skin was covered in blackened scorch marks, with some places split open to reveal quivering dark-red muscle fibers underneath. His left arm hung at an unnatural angle by his side, the bone clearly broken, held together only by a few strands of tendon.
The most horrifying sight was his face.
One eye had been completely blinded in the explosion, leaving nothing but a bloody, flesh-empty socket, the surrounding skin charred black. The other eye remained intact, now blazing with almost insane fury.
This was the Mandate-level existence overseeing the assault.
The Scarlet War Chieftain, Barom.
The Kantum Empire was a coalition of orc tribes, a massive military construct built upon a shared faith.
Bloodskull, Bonebreaker, Blackfang—these were the three most powerful tribes within the Kantum Empire, each boasting a “Fist of Bagh,” a demigod-level Saint of Kantum.
Each of the three Saints had their own titles.
Chosen of the Crimson Tide, Bonebreaker Warlord, Gnawbone Holy Fang.
Among them, the Bonebreaker Warlord had already fallen.
He had died under the combined assault of Nausil’s immortals and the Elven Moon.
Of the two remaining demigod Saints, the Chosen of the Crimson Tide from the Bloodskull tribe held the highest authority.
The Bloodskull Great Tribe was the instigator behind the recent large-scale wars, like a starving wolf pack devouring any power that dared to resist.
Barom was one of the Bloodskull tribe’s Mandate War Chieftains, honored with the title Scarlet War Chieftain.
“Scarlet Emperor Cangxing!”
The roar tore from the depths of his throat, mixed with bloody spittle and shattered teeth.
Barom lifted his head, staring fixedly at the figure in the sky with his remaining eye.
The red-iron dragon stood upright, hovering high in the air.
The flames around him had deepened to a dark, blackish-red, flowing slowly over his body like countless streams winding along the grooves of his scales.
That intensity was utterly different from the explosive violence that had just annihilated everything.
The great dragon looked down at the Scarlet War Chieftain, his faceplate betraying no excess emotion.
It was as if, in his eyes, this Mandate existence who made countless enemies tremble in fear was no different from any other creature.
The Scarlet War Chieftain glared at the dragon, his chest heaving violently.
*Whoom!*
Blood-colored energy radiated from his body, like burning mist seeping through every crack in his skin.
This energy rewove and reconstructed his Mandate Domain, coalescing into a blood-red sun around him.
He had indeed been injured by the dragonqi bomb, but a Mandate was still a Mandate.
Even if he wasn’t a dragon or giant known for their immense vitality, a powerhouse of this level wouldn’t die easily. The Scarlet War Chieftain’s injuries looked serious, but to him, they were far from crippling.
Then, he raised his right arm high.
*Whoom!*
A blood-red flame ignited in his palm, shaping and condensing inch by inch, reforming into a battle axe.
He pointed the axe at the red-iron dragon in the sky, the muscles in his arm tensing with effort.
“For Kantum!”
With the roar, the axe cleaved out a blood-colored arc, slashing toward the dragon’s head.
This strike condensed his strength and surging rage.
The blood-colored arc tore through the air, expanding rapidly as it flew, from a few meters wide into a giant blade spanning the sky, astonishingly fast, as if it would split the heavens in two as it passed.
The red-iron dragon remained expressionless.
With a slight flap of his wings, his massive body shifted sideways with an agility completely at odds with his size, letting the blood-colored arc skim past him.
The attack missed.
The blood-colored arc’s momentum didn’t diminish, continuing to climb higher, ultimately leaving a massive tear mark in the clouds. The pure white cumulus clouds were cleaved apart, the rift unable to heal for a long time.
Garoth’s current physical state had recovered to a relatively balanced normal condition.
This body was one he had rebuilt through his own training.
The high-agility traits of his Rift Form were preserved to a considerable degree. Although inevitably weakened due to the structural shift from Rift Form to his current form, overall, his reaction speed and mobility were still a notch stronger than before.
Unless he chose not to dodge,
attacks like this had almost no chance of hitting him.
The red-iron dragon narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at the orc.
He asked, “Seeing this scorched earth all around, why isn’t your god taking care of you?”
The Scarlet War Chieftain was momentarily stunned, then flew into a rage.
“How dare you blaspheme against the great Bagh!”
“Dragon, you will pay a terrible price for this offense!”
He clearly saw the contempt in the dragon’s eyes.
Rage surged within him, nearly consuming his reason.
Barom instinctively lunged toward the red-iron dragon, but just as his muscles tensed, his movement came to an abrupt halt. He forced himself to stop.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, his gaze quickly sweeping across the ground.
The charred earth still smoked, littered with shattered weapons and fallen warriors. Once-ferocious orc soldiers now looked like crops ravaged by a storm.
Ruins, scorched earth, broken troops.
The legion had been routed.
No matter how fearless the orcs were, after suffering such a devastating blow, the morale of the survivors had plummeted.
Under the command of some leaders, they were attempting to regroup, but their movements were slow and chaotic, clearly still reeling from the attack.
Continuing to fight was pointless.
More importantly, the doctrine of the Beast of Courage echoed in his mind:
The strong must oppress the weak; might makes right.
Barom raised his head, staring fixedly at the dragon in the sky.
He realized that the one representing might now was not himself.
If he continued to fight, he would only be crushed as the weak, just as he had crushed countless enemies before.
Eight years ago, a Mandate Chieftain of the Blackfang tribe had died under this dragon’s claws.
Barom knew about that.
Although that battle was mainly because a Nausil Mandate and the Red Emperor had simultaneously attacked the Blackfang Chieftain, the fact that a Mandate Chieftain couldn’t even escape and was killed in a short time fully demonstrated the Red Emperor’s power.
This dragon was officially rated as crown-level, but his actual combat strength was fully equivalent to a Mandate Dragon.
“I’m no match for him.”
Barom judged quickly in his mind. “Only the Great Chieftain can face him head-on. Only a Saint can kill him reliably. But Nausil won’t sit idly by; their Mandates and Immortals could arrive at any time.”
Having risen from countless orcs to become the Chieftain of the Bloodskull Great Tribe,
Barom was not one to act rashly.
His way of thinking was somewhat similar to certain red dragons.
He usually advocated violence, preferring to solve problems in the simplest, most direct way—if fists could settle things, he wouldn’t say a word.
But at truly critical moments, he also possessed quick wit, able to rein himself in at the edge of fury.
“Withdraw!”
“All who are still alive, regroup, retreat!”
He suppressed the urge to fight to the death with the red-iron dragon and issued the order loudly.
Hearing their leader’s voice, the surviving orc warriors immediately stopped their chaotic movements, like a wolf pack finding direction, obeying the order to begin their retreat.
The Scarlet War Chieftain gave Garoth one last look.
The blazing fury in his eye hadn’t died, but was suppressed deep within his pupil by reason. He knew today wasn’t the time for a decisive battle, but he would remember this humiliation.
“Interfering in the Kantum Empire’s war will be the worst decision you’ve ever made.”
He spat out a final threat.
Then, the Scarlet War Chieftain turned without hesitation. The orc remnants followed him, like a pack of wounded wolves, dragging their tails as they slowly disappeared over the horizon of the Blackstone Wastes.
Garoth did not pursue.
He hovered high in the air, watching the remnants leave.
For him, his battle was over.
He had accepted Nausil Empire’s commission, exerted effort in this battle to drive back the orc legion—that was enough.
Insisting on fighting to the death with a Mandate-level powerhouse or chasing down the retreating remnants had no practical meaning for him and would only add unnecessary risk.
*Swish!*
A moon-white figure streaked through the air, incredibly fast, leaving a faint trail of light behind.
The newcomer stopped before Garoth.
It was an elven female, tall and well-proportioned.
She wore a set of moon-white light armor, the overlapping plates covering her torso and limbs like scales, without excessive decoration. Beneath the armor was a dark green bodysuit, wrapping her arms and neck, outlining smooth muscle lines. A longbow and square shield were slung diagonally across her back, and a single-handed sword hung from her left side.
The red-iron dragon tilted his massive head, looking down at the elf.
Her features were delicate, her expression light. Her golden hair was tied into a long braid hanging behind her head, revealing pointed ears. Her eyes were gray-blue, with a ring of faint silver light around the pupils.
Aelarian, the elven Mandate existence.
Aola’s intelligence network had plenty of information about Mandate-level powerhouses, with considerable records about her as well. Garoth had seen her file before, though they had little prior interaction. Today was their first formal meeting.
“The orc legion has been routed. The Bloodskull tribe’s Scarlet War Chieftain is injured.”
The elf’s gray-blue eyes looked toward the direction where the orc remnants had vanished, then turned back to Garoth. “If we pursue together now, we can kill the Scarlet War Chieftain and annihilate this legion.”
Garoth didn’t respond immediately.
He seemed to ponder seriously for a few seconds, then shook his head slightly.
“Pursuit is meaningless.”
He said, “It’s just a broken army, not worth the risk.”
The elf frowned slightly. “The Scarlet War Chieftain is one of the Bloodskull tribe’s sharpest battle axes. Once news of his death reaches Kantum, it will cause massive shockwaves among the tribes. Kill him, or at least cripple him, and the Bloodskull Great Tribe will be unable to launch a large-scale war for at least three years.”
“This is a rare opportunity. Such a chance won’t come easily a second time.”
The red-iron dragon nodded.
“I know. But that outburst wasn’t without cost. I’m very weak right now.”
Aelarian fell silent.
Her gaze slowly swept over the dragon, from his faceplate to his tail tip, then back from his tail tip to his faceplate, and finally settled on those deep, vertical pupils.
“You look completely unharmed.”
The elf showed a hint of doubt. “Are you really that weak right now? Why do I feel that outburst didn’t actually drain you? I can tell—your posture is composed, your aura is steady, no violent fluctuations.”
The red-iron dragon remained expressionless.
“I’m quite good at enduring weakness.”
“Not only that, I’m also skilled at pretending to have a powerful aura to scare off enemies. It’s one of the survival techniques.”
Hearing this, the elf couldn’t help but look at the red-iron dragon again.
What met her eyes was a majestic, powerful body that almost filled her entire field of vision, like a volcano that could erupt at any moment.
Even she felt a sense of pressure that couldn’t be ignored.
And you’re telling me this is just to scare enemies?
The elf sighed helplessly. “In that case, we’ll have to let this opportunity go.”
As for whether Garoth was really weak or not, only he knew.
Having decided not to pursue, Aelarian also relaxed. The moon-white light around her body grew thinner, no longer as solid as before.
She adjusted her stance slightly, maintaining a more conversational distance from the dragon.
“I’ve heard of the Scarlet Emperor Cangxing’s reputation for a long time.”
She spoke in a casual, conversational tone. “Those rumors came from Atlan, each one more exaggerated than the last.”
“But now, seeing it with my own eyes, I realize those rumors were actually understated. In this kind of legion-scale warfare, the destructive power you just displayed surpasses any Mandate I’ve ever seen.”
“That destruction was like a star falling, like a sun passing across the earth.”
“Below Saints and Immortals, no one can match it.”
Saints was another term for demigod existences.
The elves liked using that word.
“You flatter me,” Garoth said. “We all have our strengths. The Moon Shadow Guardian’s sniping and guerrilla tactics are no less valuable than mine in specific battlefields.”
“The outcome of a war is never decided by pure destructive power alone.”
Aelarian tilted her head slightly, a glint of surprise flashing in her eyes.
“You know about me?”
She asked.
Garoth said, “Information on all Mandates—well, on any beings that might come into contact with me or affect me—I make it a point to investigate.”
“It’s a necessity.”
Knowing yourself and your enemy ensures victory in a hundred battles.
This principle applied to any form of confrontation.
Any Mandate powerhouse with a notable reputation was collected by Aola’s intelligence network.
“Aelarian, the Warden of the Verdant Woodland.”
“Your most widely circulated Mandate titles are ‘Moon Shadow Guardian’ and ‘Silver-White Arrow.’ Your primary path is ranger, with warrior and knight as secondary paths. You also practice divination magic. Your combat style leans toward targeting weaknesses rather than frontal suppression, excelling at launching attacks from the most unexpected angles at the most vulnerable moments of your enemies.”
He paused, then continued, “Rumor has it that, when properly prepared, the Silver-White Arrow can kill a same-level Mandate in a single shot.”
“Of course, these are just rumors. I haven’t seen it myself.”
After hearing this, the elf fell silent again.
In the common perception of the world, dragons were always arrogant, looking down on other races.
They often believed their scales were stronger than any armor, their claws sharper than any weapon, their wisdom deeper than any creature.
Although other races often attacked dragons on this point, in the eyes of insightful beings, the more arrogant the dragon, the better.
After all, dragons often brought about their own downfall through arrogance.
Throughout history, many of the most powerful and overbearing dragons had ultimately fallen to their own pride, underestimating the strength of what they considered “ants.”
The reason stereotypes became stereotypes was because too many similar examples kept repeating.
Garoth was one of the rare exceptions.
Aelarian couldn’t help but think that if every dragon were like him—
patiently and thoroughly learning about every existence that might affect them—this race would probably still be firmly seated on the world’s throne of hegemony, not gradually declining as they were now.
“With the orcs’ offensive thwarted, things should be calm for a while.”
Aelarian collected her thoughts, returning to the main topic. “Unless something unexpected happens, I will be commanding this war. I hope you can set aside some time. We need to discuss some strategies for dealing with the orcs.”
Garoth said, “No time like the present. Let’s do it now.”
But the elf shook her head slightly.
“It’s still too early to talk now.”
She said, “Kantum’s two Saints have been silent for too long. That doesn’t suit their style.”
“The Chosen of the Crimson Tide and Gnawbone Holy Fang are both active and irritable by nature. In past wars, they always made moves before major battles—either issuing decrees or personally appearing to boost morale. But this time, their silence is abnormal.”
As she spoke, her brows furrowed slightly, a hint of concern in her eyes.
“Through prophetic deductions, the empire has determined that they are brewing an extraordinary attack.”
“Like an undercurrent beneath deep waters—calm on the surface, but below, a whirlpool has already formed, capable of swallowing ships. We can’t let them continue preparing at their leisure. That’s why the empire has decided to send more powerhouses to the frontlines and counterattack the lands Kantum has occupied.”
She looked at Garoth.
“In a while, once all the orders have been issued and the generals and powerhouses have gathered, we’ll discuss strategy. By then, you’ll see the full picture of this war and understand just how determined the empire really is.”
No wonder they had delayed for eight years and now suddenly agreed to the commission.
Nausil placed great importance on this war.
The red-iron dragon’s eyes showed a look of deep thought.
In the commission contract with Nausil, it only required him to participate in this war and stand on Nausil’s side. They would give him a meteorite as a deposit beforehand, and after the war, regardless of victory or defeat, they would give him more than one more.
Beyond that, there was no mandatory requirement to kill enemy Mandate powerhouses.
The terms were very loose.
He could easily fish in troubled waters, completing the commission without any real risk. Just show up on the battlefield, release a few long-range attacks, then retreat to a safe distance and wait for the war to end.
The Kantum Empire was no pushover.
Those orcs were straightforward and savage, with a deeper memory of grudges than most races.
If he killed too many orc legendaries or repeatedly challenged the Saints’ authority, even if the orcs focused more on the elves, there was still a good chance he would taste the Saints’ iron fists.
But if he coasted through…
a new problem would arise.
The elves had given him loose contract terms to express their sincerity.
But if he truly sat on the fence, wavering and putting on a show on the battlefield, Nausil would inevitably come to settle accounts afterward.
These elves didn’t build their empire on kindness and tolerance.
They too had their iron-blooded methods.
Garoth currently had no intention of offending multiple empires at once.
“Risk and benefit coexist; it all depends on the choices made at critical moments.”
“I’ll adapt based on how the war progresses.”
He thought to himself.
For now, considering he was already on the opposite side of Kantum, he was inclined to first establish a firm foothold on Nausil’s side and take this war seriously.
But if the situation became too dangerous, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to die for Nausil.
When the time came, he would make his own judgment.
“This is your deposit.”
Aelarian took out a colorless, transparent cube and handed it to Garoth.
Inside the cube, a miniature meteorite was faintly visible, its surface flowing with manic patterns, like a contained fury.
The red-iron dragon took it, turning it over in his claws.
He was surprised to find that this cube was actually a solidified piece of space.
The surface was smooth and cold, but its weight made even him feel a slight heaviness.
Seeing this, Aelarian explained, “This is a spatial sealing technique we developed specifically for the rage meteorite.”
“The curse carried by the meteorite itself constantly spreads outward, polluting the surrounding land and living beings. This spatial seal can isolate the curse’s spread, completely confining it within an independent space crystal.”
“For others to open it, they would need to understand the complex encryption runes.”
“However—”
She glanced at the red-iron dragon’s claws, pausing for a moment on the faintly glowing tips.
“You don’t need to go through that trouble. You can just crush it directly. The meteorite inside will naturally fall out.”
Clearly, she knew about Garoth’s Spell-Extinguishing Claws.
Garoth stored the cube away and said to the elf, “The orcs have been temporarily driven back. I still have an appointment with the Green Queen, so I won’t stay here long.”
“If war flames up again, or if we need to discuss strategy, I’ll arrive immediately.”
Aelarian nodded lightly. “The Green Queen is also our ally.”
As she spoke, a glint of curiosity appeared in her eyes.
“You two seem to have a deep relationship?”
“I’ve heard that the Giant Chief was killed by you because he offended the Green Queen. There seems to be a story worth telling behind this. In Nausil, such stories would be woven into ballads, sung by bards under the moonlight.”
The red-iron dragon glanced at the elf and countered, “Are you very interested in our dragon social life?”
Aelarian smiled slightly.
“All elves yearn for beautiful things and touching emotions. Even if they already have a beloved partner, even if they have lived for a thousand years, they never forget this initial intention.”
“When hearing other romantic stories, we still find them fascinating, like parched land thirsting for rain.”
“That is our nature.”
“Then I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you,” the red-iron dragon said flatly. “We dragons have no romance.”
“Really? I don’t believe that.”
The elf shook her head. “I’ve seen too many beings who claimed to have no feelings but ended up deeply entangled. Beneath those hard outer shells often lie soft, sensitive hearts.”
With that, she stopped, saying no more.
Elves knew when to stop.
Just then, a whisper sounded in Garoth’s mind, soft as a spring breeze brushing tender leaves.
“Garoth, are you done over there?”
It was Cerora.
Garoth had established a spiritual link with her through a mental-path skill, allowing convenient communication.
“Mm, it’s done. The orcs are temporarily retreating.”
Garoth responded in his mind.
“Good.”
“Since you’re free, come to my place first. I’ve set aside a spot for you, suitable for a big fellow like you to land.”
A location coordinate deep within the Greenwild Kingdom accompanied her whisper.
The red-iron dragon turned to Aelarian, nodded to her in farewell.
Then, he raised his right claw, activating his Hand-Tearing Spatial Teleportation technique. His claws slashed downward, tearing open a massive rift.
The great dragon stepped into the rift.
The other end of the rift was in the heart of the Greenwild Kingdom.
The red-iron dragon emerged, the spatial tear behind him quickly closing.
What met his eyes was a sea of flowers.
Flowers of all colors stretched from his feet all the way to a gentle slope in the distance, then disappeared over the ridge beyond sight.
Red like fire, yellow like gold, purple like dusk, white like snow…
A riot of color filled his entire field of vision, as if someone had shattered a rainbow and scattered it on the ground. The air was thick with the fragrant scent of blossoms, mixed with the smell of earth and grass.
The red-iron dragon landed on a relatively flat stretch of hillside.
His wings folded against his sides, his tail dragging behind, inadvertently sweeping through a cluster of flowers, knocking off quite a few petals.
“You stepped on my flowers.”
A voice came from the flower patch on his left.
The red-iron dragon turned his head.
The green dragon slowly emerged from the sea of flowers, her scales glistening with a warm luster under the sunlight, like sparkling emerald.
“These flowers were all planted by me.”
She said slowly, “Every single one—I buried the seeds with my own hands, watched them sprout, branch, and bloom. It cost me quite a bit of my free time, and a fair amount of thought.”
“Why?”
Garoth asked in confusion. “Growing flowers seems to have no practical meaning for you.”
Cerora tilted her head slightly, looking at the red-iron dragon. “To win a smile from the majestic emperor.”
Her voice paused briefly, then she added with a smile, “I read it in a story written by an elf.”
“It said that it’s not just females who like beautiful and vibrant things—many males do too. It’s just that no one ever thinks to send them flowers. They’re expected to only like steel and fire, swords and war.”
“But in reality, maybe they like flowers just as much.”
“Well? Do you like them?”
“This entire sea of flowers—it’s all for you.”
Hearing the last sentence, the red-iron dragon’s mouth curled slightly at the corners, his lips parting to reveal interlocking sharp teeth. He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound causing the surrounding flower bushes to sway in the gentle breeze.
