The cost of constructing the Bloodkin Chain for the first ti was not small. Gordon seed to be hiding sothing he couldn't bring himself to say, so he remained silent for a long ti. As ti passed, Sorog began to lose patience.
"Don't resist. Let finish building the Bloodkin Chain first."
"We'll talk more later."
With those words, Sorog began to weave the final strand of the Bloodkin Chain, extending it toward the ntal projection of the plump iron dragon.
Gordon hesitated for a few seconds—after all, his impoverished brothers still crawling and fighting in the wilderness, was it necessary to keep in contact? He was no longer the naive, foolish dragon of old; he knew Sorog's past words had been nothing but bluster. Their ti together had been brief and their relationship hardly deep, and Gordon didn't think Sorog had achieved anything noteworthy—his situation probably looked grim. If it were Garoth, reliable and strong, he would be worth trusting.
While he hesitated, the Bloodkin Chain had already stretched in front of him.
In the end, Iron Dragon Gordon, though hesitant, did not resist and accepted the Bloodkin Chain.
"The Bloodkin Chain is complete!"
Sorog opened his eyes.
He could perceive Garoth's presence clearly, and could even faintly sense his emotions—calm, alert, like a deep, vast ocean. As for Samantha... her ntal waves were like a raging fla, liable to burn through the link at any mont. And Gordon's presence, because of the distance, was unstable—flickering in and out.
But regardless, the spell had worked.
Now, no matter how far apart they were, as long as they were on the sa continent, the Ignas brothers could communicate ntally. Of course, the Bloodkin Chain was not an advanced ntal spell. It could still be interfered with and blocked, but for everyday communication it was sufficient.
The iron dragon lowered his head to look at his chest. With the spell completed, the bleeding had stopped, and he felt much better.
anwhile.
Convergence Lands, northeast region, the Wyrm-Mire.
Miasma hung on the dead trees like rotting silk. The air was thick with damp vapor, sunlight cut into mottled patterns, dropping in thin shafts. This was the stronghold of the Poison Tail Tribe.
Including their tails, the adult serpentfolk, whose bodies averaged over six ters long, slithered and patrolled across the marsh. Secret curses and witchcraft had quietly spread everywhere.
Deep within the swamp.
The Poison Tail Tribe's Council Hall was built inside the half-sunken ribcage of a gigantic serpent. Serpentfolk sorcerer Sargon sat coiled on the moss-covered stone dais at the main seat, his slender tail silently slapping the bloody, sodden ground.
Before him, two visitors exuded scents that made his scales prickle.
Urom, Warlord of the Ironblood Tribe, his tusks ringed with blood-stained copper bands, breathed heavily enough that his breaths could be heard clearly from ten ters away; Bretta, barbarian female warrior of the Dawn Tribe, bare shoulders covered in twisted tattoos, her thick braided hair threaded with yellowed bones, her body steaming with the heat of sweat and blood.
These two were envoys from the Ironblood and Dawn Tribes respectively.
The Molten Iron Tribe's crushing and absorption of the Gold Fang Tribe had not gone unnoticed by humans and orcs. Though they looked down on the treacherous, lowly goblins, the Gold Fang Tribe's alchemical legion was not to be underestimated. Humans and orcs felt deep caution about the rising Molten Iron Tribe; they did not want this strange tribe to continue growing unchecked.
They had reached a consensus to unite and strike at the Molten Iron Tribe before it finished reaping its victory and beca undefeatable. Now they only lacked the Poison Tail Tribe's stance.
Serpentfolk sorcerer Sargon was a tribal leader responsible for negotiating with visiting envoys.
"Snake-folk!" Urom broke the silence first. His voice scraped like two lumps of raw iron grinding together, harsh and unpleasant. "That red-iron mongrel dragon from the Molten Iron Tribe swallowed the Gold Fang Tribe. Next it'll be us! Poison Tail, Ironblood, Dawn—we must crush its throat together like three fangs!"
His massive fist slamd into the stone table, sending several scorpions hiding in the crevices scuttling away in panic.
Bretta folded her arms across her chest, the bronze sheen of her skin glistening in the dim light. Her voice was low and hoarse. "Urom is right. Those dragons are ruthless. The Gold Fang goblins have already bowed to them. If we face him separately while he digests Gold Fang, we will be skinned and gutted. Only by binding ourselves together, while his wings are still soft, can we grind him and his followers into paste."
Her sharp eyes swept over the serpentfolk sorcerer. "The Poison Tail sorcerers and shamans, combined with the Ironblood warriors and our barbarians, are enough to tear the Molten Iron Tribe apart. Then the Convergence Lands will remain ours."
Compared with the orc's crude directness, barbarians who weren't enraged were better at negotiation.
Across from them, the serpentfolk sorcerer's tongue slid silently over his lips.
"Hissss... The rise of the Molten Iron Tribe has indeed unsettled the snakes of the marsh."
His voice was slick and cold, like a venomous snake gliding over wet, cold rock—completely unlike humans or orcs.
"The bravery of the Ironblood, the resolve of the Dawn—we Poison Tail have always admired those qualities."
His words were not as blunt as the humans' and orcs', his tone sinuous and cryptic.
The orc warlord snorted impatiently, the damp air thickening with his scent. "Cut the circle-talk, Sargon! Just say whether the Poison Tail will bite that red dragon mongrel with us or wait to be plucked out and boiled into snake soup one by one?"
The human envoy also showed displeasure, staring at the serpentfolk sorcerer. "We ca with sincerity. Stop playing us. The Molten Iron Tribe grows larger by the hour. We need a decision fast."
Both the Ironblood and Dawn Tribes liked plain-speaking. The difference lay only in that orcs were rougher while humans a bit more rational, though when the Dawn barbarians were enraged they were even more feral than orcs.
"Your demands... hiss... are very direct."
The serpentfolk sorcerer said, "War—especially against top-tier monsters like dragons—is not wrestling in an arena. It needs precise venom, not blind collisions. The Poison Tail Tribe's strength lies in silent strangulation and patient waiting."
What a lot of dithering and prattling!
Urom suddenly slamd the table and stood up, roaring with irritation. "Sargon! No more nonsense! Give a straight answer!"
Serpentfolk guards around the council hall watched coldly. The rough-tempered orc paid them no mind, only glaring at the sorcerer. Bretta slapped a few bloodsucking mosquitos off her arm and grew more impatient.
The serpentfolk sorcerer leaned in slightly. "The dosage and timing of poison determine whether it is a life-saving cure or... a curse that accelerates death. We need a ticulous plan. We must find the most vulnerable scale on the Molten Iron Tribe, or blind attacks will be burned to ash by dragon fla."
The orc's eyelids twitched; he couldn't stand the sorcerer's long-windedness any longer.
Fussy and indecisive. No wonder they hid in the back using curses and spells without bloodlust or honor.
He wanted to lift his fist and smash the sorcerer’s skull, but considering the mission and the fact they were on another tribe's territory, the warlord restrained his fury.
Finally, the serpentfolk sorcerer hit the point.
"Three tis... hiss... The Poison Tail Tribe's eldest ancestral shaman will perform a spirit communion to peer into the Molten Iron Tribe's weaknesses and find the seam best suited for the fang. Then the Poison Tail Tribe will give you a specific answer."
Convergence Lands, southeast region, Steelspike Outpost.
"First contact Garoth and Samantha to test the Bloodkin Chain's effect, and talk about Gordon while you're at it."
Iron Dragon Sorog eased the cost of his spellwork. After his spirit recovered sowhat, a faint spiritual energy glow lit within him.
Soon after, with a subtle, vein-like tapping sensation, Garoth and Samantha simultaneously received Sorog's ntal communication through the Bloodkin Chain, routed via the Mind Sorcerer. Through Iron Dragon Sorog, Garoth and Samantha could sense each other's thoughts as well.
"Sothing big happened."
The iron dragon's voice was grave.
"Gordon is still alive. I used the Bloodkin Chain to locate him."
He projected the ntal image of the dragon's ntal projection to Garoth and Samantha.
"What a fat porker. He shows iron dragon traits—could he be a dragon-vein swine?! He looks so fatty; roasted over flas with a sprinkle of spices, he'd be delicious."
The red dragon salivated.
At first, when she saw the plump iron dragon through the link, she couldn't place who he was.
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