Morning light pierced through the clouds, dyeing the entire sky a translucent blue that reflected upon Dragon Valley's lake like a massive sapphire, until ripples stirred the surface, shattering the sky's reflection into shimring waves.
"Here's the No. 95 black oil you requested."
Samantha pushed a large barrel of black oil toward Garoth, her voice calm yet laced with subtle anticipation.
The tip of her tail swayed unconsciously, her gaze lingering faintly on the red iron dragon.
Garoth was well aware of the red dragon's thoughts, curling his lips into a fierce yet satisfied grin. "Well done."
The red dragon's tail wagged noticeably wider, sparks of joy leaking between her scales.
But soon, her tone carried a hint of regret. "Pity my skills aren't refined enough. The heat control wasn't precise, and the furnace quality limited purification efficiency, resulting in significant waste."
Since her defeat by the White Dragon, Samantha had matured considerably.
In the past, she would never have admitted her shortcomings—only complained about inadequate tools.
"It's sufficient." Garoth tapped the oil barrel with a claw, producing a dull thud. "Your craftsmanship will improve. One day, you'll produce alchemical wonders that shake all of Bernardo. I look forward to that day."
Red dragons couldn't be suppressed endlessly.
After discipline, encouragent was equally vital.
Garoth understood this well.
He even entertained an idea: perhaps he should compile these insights into a [Dragon Taming Technique] for his descendants.
The thought led to a question.
"If I sire offspring, will they inherit my adaptive evolution talent?"
"Talents rarely pass down. Unlikely."
"What about traits I've already evolved? Explosive Scales, Cot Wings, Frenzied State... Will they inherit all or just fragnts?"
The inheritance provided no answer.
He'd have to seek it himself later.
Simultaneously, thoughts of progeny stirred a scorching heat within him.
Images flashed through his mind: the Brass Dragon he'd defeated, Samantha before him, White Dragon Trixie, that beautiful centaur hybrid, Frostfang yearning to serve him... Nearly every female he'd encountered surfaced.
Claim all females!
Defeat, conquer, and humiliate female foes!
Make them exclusive possessions!
Breed offspring!
—These violent desires surged like magma.
A true dragon's instincts burned fiercely.
Though his iron dragon bloodline offered restraint, the red dragon's lustful nature now overwheld Garoth.
"Haa—"
The red iron dragon exhaled deeply, hot breath condensing into mist in the dawn air.
With steely resolve, he suppressed the heat, banishing those tantalizing thoughts one by one.
"Instincts must not rule ."
"Now isn't the ti for indulgence."
Garoth gradually cooled.
The environnt remained unstable, riddled with threats.
Only when stability arrived, with fewer dangers to face, could he afford to unleash these impulses—to breed.
"My lord."
The Crimson Iron Riders' commander, the dragon-veined werewolf, approached to report.
Notably, the hybrid centaur Elvy had contested the werewolf for leadership, but Garoth overruled her. Russell's proven loyalty and command skills, coupled with his status as a dragon-veined vassal, outmatched Elvy.
In the Clan of Molten Iron, strength determined vassal ranks.
But more crucial was Garoth's will.
If he desired, even the lowliest kobold could beco a Warhost Lord.
"We've identified five Bloodhoof Clan outposts. Three are lightly guarded, while two are heavily fortified by minotaurs."
Russell bowed his head.
"Cut to the chase."
Garoth eyed the werewolf.
"Obsidian mines. Armored rhino pastures."
Werewolf Russell continued, "The Bloodhoof Clan's primary resource is obsidian mines, where they enslave other races to dig. They also breed armored rhinos—selecting superior specins as cavalry mounts and culling the rest for at. The pastures are their largest source of food and fodder."
Minotaurs were omnivores.
Their staples included grass, tender leaves, and fruits, but at was essential. Prolonged deprivation weakened them, stunting growth.
After a pause, the werewolf added, "Minotaur sentries spotted us during reconnaissance."
"Strangely, their patrols only chased us half a mile before retreating."
Flying dragon leader Tasha landed before Garoth. "The Bloodhoof Clan has no counterasures against aerial harassnt. They largely ignore us now, focusing on passive defense with occasional retaliation."
Hearing this, Garoth narrowed his eyes pensively.
Red dragon Samantha snorted flas. "The Bloodhoof Clan fears Dragon Valley."
"Garoth, they're weaker than you think. Mobilizing our forces to crush their stronghold directly would be most efficient."
White Dragon Trixie nodded, unusually agreeing with the red dragon. "Minotaurs are stubborn creatures. Provocation easily enrages them. Their ekness now proves their weakness."
Garoth shared their inclination.
His red-iron hybrid nature favored straightforward combat—like flying to the Bloodhoof Clan now, demolishing their defenses, and deciding their fate based on their response.
Yet his rationality, honed by a Battle Dragon's danger sense, detected anomalies.
Garoth summoned Vira, sipping fresh scale powder from the faerie dragon.
Since becoming a Dreamweaver Sorceress, her powder's effects had intensified.
His mind sharpened, the world brightening as thoughts raced.
"According to centaur intel, the Bloodhoof Clan is extraordinary."
"Establishing multiple outposts in the borderlands and expanding continuously isn't ordinary."
"Yet they tolerate aerial harassnt and cavalry scouts now."
Garoth analyzed deeper. "Either they're truly incapable of countering, preoccupied elsewhere, or—they're feigning weakness."
He dismissed the first option outright.
Unlike the impulsive red and white dragons, he was ticulous.
If the Bloodhoof Clan were truly weak, the centaurs wouldn't fear them so. The White Mane Clan had once hunted White Dragons yet lacked courage against the minotaurs.
"Sothing else occupies them, or they're baiting us."
"Werewolves and flying dragons found no signs of external conflicts."
"If feigning weakness—why?"
"Against scouts and fliers, they'd have no reason to feign... unless they know of my—or other dragons'—presence."
Garoth's thoughts halted.
Exposure was the likeliest explanation.
Moreover, minotaur submission didn't equate to fearing dragons.
True fear would drive them to flee or pledge allegiance. Feigning weakness revealed their hidden ambition.
Garoth exhaled slowly, his mind settling.
"Whether feigning or preoccupied..."
"A test will reveal their response."
His gaze burned, refusing to rush headlong into assaulting their stronghold.
Other young or even adult dragons might.
But Garoth's discipline demanded prudence.
He chose the steadier path.
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