Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon! Chapter 235: Six-Armed Serpent Woman, The Iron King's Stirre

Southern Atlantis Continent, Lothrian Kingdom, the royal capital’s palace.

"Gordon, what’s gotten you riled up this ti?"

Princess Elina, wearing a moon-white gown and a golden hairpin, pushed the door open and found the fat iron dragon rolling over and over, exercising in an uncharacteristic burst of activity.

"How can a noble dragon rely on external aids? I must at least learn to fly on my own."

Gordon thought of the red iron dragon whose posture and physique he admired, then slowly rolled over again. His enormous, heavy body pressed the ground until magic runes glowed beneath him.

"You look so cute chubby like this. No need to force yourself to lose weight."

Princess Elina walked over, patted the iron dragon’s plump belly, and said.

In her eyes, a dragon in normal form often looked fierce; Gordon’s current shape was just right—harmless and adorable at a glance.

"Alright... fine."

Feeling the soreness in his body and hearing Elina’s words, Gordon imdiately lost montum and flopped onto the ground.

"My task is to please Elina, to make her happy. She likes like this, so I must keep it up. Yes, I bear this burden for the holy and glorious cause of dragons; it’s not that I lack the will to lose weight."

He thought silently.

Elina leaned skillfully against the iron dragon, enjoying the cool, tallic touch of his scales, and quietly began reading a magic to.

Gordon played the role of a footstool and did not disturb the princess.

But before long, the iron dragon noticed Elina’s distraction; she subconsciously tore a corner of the magic book.

"Elina, are you troubled?"

The dragon sensed the princess’s anxiety and asked considerately.

"The kingdom is in turmoil. I want to contribute to Lothrian, but everyone treats like a porcelain doll to be sheltered."

Elina extended her hand and, with a soft whisper, ignited a blazing fla.

"People might think I’m powerless, a fragile princess who needs protection."

"Yet that is not true. I carry the blood of the great Holy King. I am an advanced spellcaster proficient in the sculpting-magic that represents destruction and ruin."

"The spells I craft can instantly end small-scale skirmishes and wars, sparing soldiers from bleeding so much."

She extinguished the conjured fla with a flick and murmured, "But what use is that? I’m still treated like a vase, like my father’s beloved canary—he won’t even allow a single feather to fall."

Oh, my naive princess.

When you go to the battlefield and see severed limbs strewn everywhere, rivers of blood, hear the clamor of fighting and the wails of thousands, you’ll likely tremble and be unable to concentrate—unable to form a single spell.

Gordon thought this but said nothing, simply listening quietly.

He knew well that Elina needed soone to hear her now.

When Elina finished pouring out her feelings and felt a bit better, Gordon fell silent for a mont, then suddenly asked, "Elina, if you didn't need to appear in person but your support could reduce your kingdom’s bloodshed and strike other enemy states, would you be willing to pay a price for that?"

"Of course."

The princess answered decisively, without hesitation.

Then she stared at the iron dragon and asked, "Why ask suddenly? Do you have a good plan?"

Recalling the red iron dragon’s instructions, Gordon forced a dry smile. "Just a passing question."

The fat on his cheeks masked any change in expression.

Elina didn’t think much of it. With a ripple of spell energy she lightly floated up, then lay on Gordon’s cool, broad back and resud reading the magic book face-up.

Convergence lands, northeast, Serpent Swamp.

The sunlight that illuminated Dragon Valley and fell across Garoth could not penetrate the swamp’s thick miasma and the dense trees rooted in the marsh.

Even at the outskirts there was a damp, unpleasant chill, a dark scent that struck the nose—dangerous and lethal.

Fortunately, iron dragon Sorog was not a fragile human. When his claws snapped several dead branches and he landed at the swamp’s fringe, he advanced with steady, composed strides.

"Great dragon, halt! Ahead is the territory of the Venomtail Tribe."

Along with a chorus of erald voices, pairs of vertical, icy snake-eyes glowed from the dark marsh.

Serpentfolk guards tightened their knives and swords; the shaman’s bone staff thrumd with magical energy, ready to unleash.

Hissing sounds whispered in a hoarse chorus, and the atmosphere between serpentfolk and iron dragon instantly turned tense.

Sorog was no longer the sa as before; he did not flare up at the serpentfolk’s boldness. Instead, he stopped and remained where he stood, saying calmly, "Inform your leader that the Iron King of the Molten Iron Tribe has co to pay a visit."

His voice struck like hamred iron, carrying the resonant weight unique to dragons.

"Please wait."

The leading serpentfolk shaman’s eyes flickered as his bone staff tapped the ground.

At that mont, a translucent little snake slid into the swamp and raced swiftly away.

Shortly after, the little snake returned and slipped into the ear of the serpentfolk shaman.

"The leader says the Venomtail Tribe welcos great dragons who co with goodwill. Please follow ."

The iron dragon kept a normal expression. Escorted by several guards, he strode into the serpentfolk’s main camp with confident, asured steps.

Inside a hollowed giant serpent skull.

Seven serpentfolk elders sat on stone-carved seats, both males and females. At the main seat sat the serpentfolk leader—a female of extre beauty, with bewitching eyes that could ensnare souls.

Her skin was delicate and alabaster; against the dim swamp she nearly seed to glow.

Her lower body was exceptionally long—her snake-tail asured over ten ters, covered with smooth, jade-like pale green scales.

Most strikingly,

on her humanoid upper body she had six arms. The arms were long and slender, but the even stretch of her muscles hinted at extraordinary power.

A six-ard serpentfolk woman—an advanced variant among serpentfolk.

There are many theories about the origin of serpentfolk; two widely accepted ones are that they are evil offspring left behind when six-ard abyssal snake-demons invaded the Material Plane, or that they are naga who evolved onto land from the deep sea.

Either way,

the number of arms signifies strength and nobility.

If descended from snake-demons, six arms imply demonic blood returning to ancestral form; if from naga, six arms signify the favor and blessing of the gods.

At the sight of the six-ard serpent woman,

the iron dragon first slightly bowed, then his gaze swept along the serpent woman’s long tail, her jade-like scales, her flat, smooth belly, and her alluring humanoid upper body... he felt an unnad heat rise in his lower abdon and his body grow slightly restless.

Sorog was not usually interested in dragon females.

He preferred females with both human and beast traits.

A scaly, tailed, yet alluring female with a thick, powerful aura—the six-ard serpent woman before him—did pique his interest.

Sorog drew a deep breath to suppress desire and calm himself.

He had co here on business and could not let lust ruin matters.

Besides, the six-ard serpent woman before him was clearly the Venomtail Tribe’s leader. Though she looked lazy and casual, she exuded an instinctive dangerousness; he was probably no match for her.

"Welco, Molten Iron dragon."

The six-ard serpent woman on the main seat spoke lazily. "I am Narys—the current leader of the Venomtail Tribe."

Three pairs of arms folded like overlapping petals over her chest. She appraised the iron dragon with a half-smile: "The Venomtail Tribe’s mire cannot accommodate a dragon's wings. Rember to stay restrained."

Her words were soft yet barbed, and her expression was composed.

However, beneath her calm, lazy face, Sorog—trained in mind-sorcery—felt tension and vigilance; plainly, Narys’s true emotions were not as placid as she showed.

"Good. Negotiations are best with creatures who understand reverence. Brainless brutes can only speak with claws."

Sorog thought and grinned.

Even surrounded by circling snakes, he did not fold his wings in fear.

Instead, he deliberately unfurled a pair of dragon wings. The huge, tough wings smashed through two swamp trees at the trunk and toppled them, splashing murky water.

The atmosphere froze into a deathly silence.

The serpentfolk’s pupils narrowed coldly on the iron dragon, as if they would surge forward the next second to entangle and tear him apart.