The vassals of the Molten Iron Clan ford a long procession.
Like a giant serpent winding through the wilderness, they advanced slowly across muddy terrain strewn with rubble.
Ogres carried heavy supplies on their broad shoulders, their steps steady; gnolls bared their fangs, warily scanning every suspicious shadow around them; kobolds carefully tended to the young vassals, guiding them through the rugged landscape with their rough claws.
The Rampage Bear groups from Needleleaf Valley had also joined the migration.
These massive magical beast vassals marched at the forefront alongside the red dragon and iron dragon, clearing the path.
Yet the wilderness remained perilous.
Hungry dire lion prides prowled along distant ridges, their tawny eyes gleaming with greed. Venomous snakes lurked among withered grass, their scales scraping against gravel with faint hisses. Occasionally, wandering undead clawed their way from beneath the earth, their decayed bones rattling ominously in the wind.
These threats forced the procession to slow its pace.
Several Kora Giant Eagles patrolled the periphery as sentinels, emitting piercing cries at the first sign of danger.
Garoth circled at the highest altitude, his black eyes sharp as blades sweeping across the horizon. His dragon might ford an invisible barrier that dominated the skies, causing vultures and winged beasts to scatter in fear.
Yet ground threats persisted undiminished.
Whenever foolish magical beasts charged from the undergrowth, the red dragon Samantha would erupt forward, searing attackers into charred remains with gouts of fla between her fangs.
The iron dragon Sorog moved like a silent reaper, his steel claws shredding cunning predators attempting flanking attacks.
Though physically frail, the faerie dragon Vira possessed acute psychic perception.
Flitting lightly above the procession, her illusion-woven dragon roars often frightened away lurking dangers.
When facing stubborn foes, a single call from her would summon the red and iron dragons like thunderbolts to obliterate the threat.
As ti passed, the clouds gradually dispersed, allowing rare sunlight to bathe the migrating group.
This warmth felt especially precious during their northward journey.
The air grew increntally colder with each passing mont.
Their exhaled breath ford white mist that vanished quickly in the frigid dawn light.
Vegetation grew sparser, with low shrubs replacing dense forests as an increasingly desolate chill perated the surroundings.
The red dragon Samantha proved particularly sensitive to the cold, her irritable mood simring beneath her scales.
Her attacks grew more ferocious—even harmless beasts entering her line of sight suffered rciless baptism by fire.
With every northward step, the procession left the sweltering wilderness further behind, drawing closer to the frozen tundra.
"It's different now."
"As our foundation expands and followers multiply, migration has beco prolonged and cumberso."
Garoth gazed down at the land below, surveying the panorama as this thought surfaced.
He rembered his first migration from the Iron Fir Hills to Needleleaf Valley—back then, he only needed to consider himself, making the journey swift and straightforward.
At Garoth's speed, traveling alone would have already brought him to their destination.
Leading the entire Molten Iron Clan made migration far more troubleso—yet one shouldn't resent vassals as burdens during migration while forgetting their usual utility.
Mostly, Garoth didn't manage the vassals directly—Sorog handled that now.
Weighing pros and cons, the minor inconvenience paled against the multifaceted benefits the vassal clans provided. Abandoning them to recruit new followers would only waste more ti.
"If the Molten Iron Clan expands further, future migrations will beco even more arduous."
"I hope this forced relocation will be the last."
"Next ti, it should be my enemies fleeing before my might."
Garoth's eyes glead as he envisioned future scenarios where he'd rout the Lothrian Federation armies, never again needing to retreat from military threats.
After a dozen seconds, he inhaled deeply, suppressing his turbulent emotions before resuming his aerial patrol.
anwhile, Viscount Iron Thorn's Dragon Hunting Team followed the blood curse's guidance through the wilderness's muddy thickets.
Though the tracking spell provided vague directions, it sufficiently indicated their northern quarry.
"The trail grows clearer—we're on the right path," murmured the curse mage, crouching to examine trampled moss bearing faint monster musk.
"These monsters seem intent on leaving the wilderness for the tundra."
The curse mage nodded, greed flashing in his eyes. "They prepared for migration before assaulting the mines—both intelligent and decisive. Such a united group of juvenile evil dragons is rare, especially led by that hybrid. It'll bring us fresh glory."
The black-armored vice-captain gripping his dragon-slaying greatsword spoke gravely, "We must accelerate."
"If these monsters cross the Estonian Great River, pursuit will beco far harder."
Viscount Iron Thorn nodded silently, his gaze darkening.
Following the blood curse, the Dragon Hunting Team hacked through wilderness brambles in relentless pursuit.
By dusk on the fourth day near the river's southern bank, they finally spotted their quarry—first noticing the circling Kora Giant Eagles and iron dragon overhead before the curse mage's concealnt spell allowed cautious approach.
Averaging life level 12, the elite Dragon Hunting Team numbered few but excelled in stealth.
They evaded aerial surveillance from the iron dragon and eagles, bypassing ground sentries to observe the two-mile-long monster encampnt resting by the riverbank.
Gnolls fished in shallows while ogres marked temporary camp boundaries with urine. Lizardfolk and kobolds—skilled builders—constructed large rafts under their sorcerers' guidance for the impending river crossing.
Most conspicuous were the two dragons.
The red dragon Samantha irritably dried her river-dampened wing mbranes, while the formidable hybrid dragon used his neck to roll his body along the ground, training even during migration.
"Pri opportunity," whispered a dragon hunter. "The strongest hybrid remains grounded."
The viscount scanned the nurous monsters with concealed unease. "How to handle these creatures? Though individually weak, their numbers and elite leaders pose problems."
The horde could overwhelm them through attrition.
While elite, the hunters lacked dragons' natural advantages—limited stamina and magical energy made them vulnerable against massed monsters and juvenile dragons.
The curse mage smiled.
"Fear not, my lord."
"We're professional dragon hunters—our livelihood and honor demand we account for draconic vassals."
Producing a red stone slab carved with intricate, dizzying reverse-scale patterns, he explained, "This Duel Array Disk represents our greatest asset—a master alchemist's life work."
"Once activated, it creates an isolated space to draw targets inside. Those we mark beforehand enter simultaneously."
"None may leave until one side perishes completely."
"It also incorporates teleportation—victors may relocate within a hundred miles, avoiding encirclent."
With this disk, they'd once hunted a young adult black dragon amidst its swamp-dwelling vassals.
"First target the hybrid—it leads them."
"Decapitate the group, and subsequent hunting or retreat becos simpler."
Though a red-iron hybrid surpassed black dragons, its juvenile status ant its life level couldn't exceed an adult black dragon's—nor its strength.
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