Viscount Iron Thorn stood upon the scorched earth of Needleleaf Valley, rainwater trickling down his armor into the soil. His gaze was icy and resolute, as though all hesitation had long since vanished.
"Begin," he commanded.
The curse mage nodded, withdrawing an obsidian bone dagger from his robes. Twisted runes carved along its blade emitted a faint crimson glow in the rain. The other team mbers quickly stepped back to create space.
The curse mage gestured for the viscount to extend his wrist. Without hesitation, Viscount Iron Thorn removed his vambrace, revealing veins bulging across his forearm.
Muttering obscure incantations, the dagger trembled slightly between the mage's fingers like a living thing thirsting for blood. With a sudden motion, he slashed open the viscount's wrist. Blood welled forth but didn't fall - instead suspended by invisible force, coalescing into a spinning orb that continuously drew more blood from the wound.
"By blood as guide, by hatred as fla..." The curse mage's voice turned hoarse as the air seed to congeal around them. Raindrops hung motionless midair, even the wind falling silent.
The blood orb began boiling, fine cracks appearing across its surface as though sothing struggled within. Suddenly - it exploded outward, transforming into a crimson arrowhead-shaped sigil.
"Only you can see this tracking mark. Where does it point?" the curse mage inquired.
Pale-faced, the viscount retrieved a blood-replenishing potion from his coat and drank deeply. Color gradually returned to his features as he stared northward.
"We have our general direction now," he declared. "But the wilderness is vast and perilous. Pinpointing our targets will require further effort."
The curse mage suggested, "Perhaps we should request military support."
Viscount Iron Thorn shook his head. "Raymond Duchy maintains minimal wilderness garrisons. My military connections are concentrated along the borders - local troops won't obey my orders, and Federation forces care nothing for my requests."
Garrisons stationed across Ser Wilderness outposts and trade routes existed solely to defend their bases, especially Federation troops who only mobilized for major incidents. Three young dragons hadn't yet crossed the threshold warranting full military response.
While the dragons had breached protocol by attacking mining settlents and causing casualties, Garoth had specifically targeted only Raymond Duchy. Though the Federation had issued warrants for the young dragons, they remained low priority.
Raymond's wilderness forces wouldn't let this slide - allowing dragon attacks would invite more raids from dragons and other intelligent magical beasts. But currently they needed to assess damages, reorganize, answer to superiors, and await reinforcents. Imdiate pursuit remained impossible.
Viscount Iron Thorn couldn't wait. After informing garrisons of the dragons' northern location, he prepared to lead the Dragon Hunting Team ahead, determined to exact personal vengeance.
"Then we must proceed with extre caution," warned the curse mage. "Never underestimate the wilderness's dangers."
anwhile, north of Shattered Stone Beach...
"Garoth, aren't you overestimating those humans?" The red dragon beat its wings in the drizzle. "We've already retreated to Tempering Heights. Why push further north?"
Approaching the Permafrost Tundra, the dropping temperatures discomforted the heat-loving red dragon.
Garoth didn't respond imdiately, his gaze tracking the ground below. Ogres, gnolls, kobolds... their minions migrated like ants in long columns, younglings protected at the center while warriors flanked the procession.
The iron dragon explained for Garoth: "This is pri crackdown period. Best we avoid Thousand Serpent Traces entirely."
While Federation troops likely wouldn't pursue this far, they'd never tolerate monster clans reappearing along trade routes. After their provocation, they couldn't expect the previous lax enforcent.
"But we needn't go so deep north," Samantha interjected. "Finding new wilderness territory to lay low would serve better than venturing into unknown lands."
Garoth shook his head. "Hiding ans scarce resources. Our growth would stagnate." His tone turned grave: "Rember - weakness is the greatest danger."
The petite faerie dragon flitting between the young dragons blinked curiously. "But Garoth, didn't you say ti favors us?"
Nodding calmly, Garoth replied, "Indeed. But we can't remain weak indefinitely."
Developnt and concealnt required balance. To evade pursuit, they'd abandoned their territory. Now for growth, they headed north - a deliberate choice after thorough discussion with Sorog.
The borderlands north of Estonian Great River blended wilderness savagery with tundra lawlessness. While less prosperous than Thousand Serpent Traces, the vast waterway still hosted countless rchant vessels annually. Unlike heavily guarded trade routes, security focused only on dam locks and key points.
Here, their "cri status" would reset. Unless attacking strategic locations, they needn't fear military reprisal. Further north lay monster-controlled lands devoid of civilized garrisons, where they could reveal their presence without restraint.
The sole drawback was the region's poverty compared to the mineral-rich wilderness. Securing sustainable inco sources would prove crucial for trade and growth.
After this explanation, Samantha understood, though she still preferred the arid wilderness (excluding this wretched rainy season). "Will we return to the wilderness?" she asked.
"Yes," the red iron dragon's voice resonated with depth. "When our wings mature, we'll reclaim the wilderness - reminding those so-called civilized beings of draconic dominion's true terror."
"Yes yes! Show them the might of Ignas brothers!" The faerie dragon struck a pose as if part of the lineage.
With minions moving slowly and facing occasional beast attacks, Garoth dispatched the red and iron dragons ahead to clear paths with their dragon might, intimidating magical creatures.
The Clan of Molten Iron's minions had proven their worth over ti, providing imnse convenience while their loyalty remained secured through The Prince's thods. Replacing them would require extensive retraining - these minions represented valuable assets not to be discarded lightly.
Garoth circled at highest altitude, scanning surroundings with unobstructed vision. Should pursuers appear, he'd imdiately determine whether to fight or flee.
As he glided leisurely among the clouds, Garoth cast a glance south toward Lothrian Federation territory.
"A pity," he mused inwardly. "That Viscount Iron Thorn who disrupted my peaceful life, forced this migration, and hindered my training remains safely within Federation borders. For now, he remains beyond my reach."
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