The cycles of the sun and moon passed, stars shifting in the sky, as a not-so-long period of ti quietly slipped by.
The Border Area remained under the rule of endless cold and snow, with goose feather-like snowflakes falling incessantly, the piercing wind howling without pause.
But unlike the deathly silence of days past.
The outposts of the Molten Iron Tribe located throughout the Border Area were, at this mont, a scene both solemn and boiling with energy.
Countless followers, whether it be the robust Ogres, the fierce Werewolf Warriors, the swift Centaur Knights, or the innurable Jackal-Wolf Folk, Kobolds, War Lizardfolk... most had faces taut, an indescribable excitent suppressed beneath their solemnity, like arrows about to leave the bowstring.
They had been fully ard long before, frost flowers clinging to the cold armor, heavy weapons gripped tightly in claws or slung across backs, breaths exhaling as rapid white puffs in the frigid air.
Like undercurrents lurking beneath the snow plains.
They erged in orderly fashion from various valleys, plains, and hills, then under the prodding of their leaders, they marched through the deep snow, leaving winding trails quickly covered by fresh wind and snow.
Finally.
Trickling streams converged into raging rivers, transforming into several massive, winding dragon-shaped formations across the vast snow-covered land.
Their objective was unmistakably clear.
It was south of the Border Area, the Sel Wilderness, now plunged into chaos and war yet brimming with endless opportunities.
During Galos’ long slumber.
The Molten Iron Tribe, like a giant beast with retracted claws, obeyed the Master of Red Wings’ strict orders, retracting their edge without expanding or conquering on a large scale externally.
However.
To dissipate the innate ferocity and belligerence of the monsters, while maintaining combat prowess.
The internal training and brutal gladiatorial fights within the tribe beca frequent and intense.
The followers honed themselves day after day in the icy land, refining their skills.
As ti passed, their claws beca exceedingly sharp, their will to fight as toughened as iron repeatedly hamred.
Awaiting just that command.
They would burst from the Border Area to battle in far wider fields.
Thus, with the Master of Red Wings’ single command, the elite followers distributed throughout the Border Area were efficiently mobilized in an incredibly short ti, forming orderly, bloodthirsty monster legions, advancing unwaveringly like an unleashed flood toward the wilderness.
As for this harsh Border Area, it was not entirely abandoned.
It still harbored rare mines yet to be fully tapped, substantial reserves in the Black Oil Field, and the foundational Alchemy Industrial System on the Black Iron Plain... These valuable resources and strategic footholds are the foundation for the Molten Iron Tribe’s future developnt, not to be easily forsaken.
Therefore.
The cold-loving White Dragon Trish, all the young dragons not yet entered adolescence, the three surrendered Wild Monster Lords, Great Workshop Master Scott, Snake-man Sword Saint Naries, Centaur Elvira...
These backbone mbers.
Together with part of the elite Affiliated Legion, were still ordered to guard the Border Area, protecting the initial grounds of the dragon group’s rise, the snow-covered holand.
High above, in the area where the wind and snow were thickest.
Galos’ massive form slowly circled beneath the leaden gray clouds, the swirling snowflakes dancing with each powerful wingbeat.
Red Silver Dragon Deborah soared alongside him, her beautiful scales shimring with subtle light, still radiant.
"Deborah, have your parents sent any recent ssages? Like when they might return to the Border Area?"
Galos’ voice pierced through the howling wind and snow, asking steadily.
The Red Silver Dragon slightly turned her head, shaking it gently, her long neck tracing an elegant arc.
"Father only sent one secret ssage, briefly instructing that with the world in turmoil, I should not recklessly leave the still sowhat safe Border Area."
"But he did not ntion precisely when they might return."
She paused for a mont, her tone tinged with uncertainty, continuing: "It seems that adult tal Dragons are involved in an extrely important collective ritual, trying to extend the Golden Dragon King’s life, but were attacked by Winter’s End midway, the ritual was definitely sowhat affected and disrupted."
"Ultimately, how long it will take to complete, and whether it will succeed or fail, I’m afraid no one can say for sure."
The Golden Dragon King she ntioned refers to that powerful being—the Twenty-Four-Winged Golden Dragon.
Within the internally cohesive tal Dragon Race, according to the different dragon species branches, and their respective power and noble character, five supre Dragon King leaders were jointly chosen.
Golden Dragon King, Silver Dragon King, Bronze Dragon King, Red Copper Dragon King, Brass Dragon King.
Without exception, they are all Ancient Giant Dragons living for over a thousand years, of unfathomable power, and even among the Ancient Dragon group, these five Dragon Kings are unquestionably top-tier existences.
The most powerful and most prestigious, undoubtedly, is that Golden Dragon King.
Upon ntioning this, Deborah’s emotions noticeably shifted to annoyance and confusion.
"Winter’s End... this White Dragon, why did she suddenly attack the Dragon Domain?"
"Does she not understand that even though the tal Dragon and Five-Colored Dragon camps are at odds, with many disputes, in the end, they still belong to the Dragon Race, if the Golden Dragon King perishes, the overall power and deterrent of the entire Dragon Race will suffer an imasurable reduction?"
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