For several consecutive days, torrential rains had shrouded the wilderness, but their relentless fury was finally beginning to subside. What was once a thick curtain of rain connecting heaven and earth had now transford into slender silver threads, pattering down upon rocks and vegetation. Deep within the moist soil, long-dormant seeds greedily absorbed the moisture, storing energy for germination and growth.
Three days had passed since the encounter with the Brass Dragon. At that ti, after exchanging parting words like "I'll be back" with Garoth, the Brass Dragon turned and left without any attempt from Garoth to stop it.
In Garoth's eyes, this Brass Dragon was like an unpredictable gift package that would periodically deliver wealth and equipnt to his doorstep - quite an agreeable sight indeed.
As for the Brass Dragon's declaration of defeating him soday, Garoth paid it little mind. The nature of dragons was evident here - while the Brass Dragon might be temporarily motivated by failure to hone its claws and strengthen itself like Garoth, maintaining such discipline year after year would prove extrely difficult.
Moreover, as long as it couldn't bring itself to abandon its life-saving asures, there would always be an invisible barrier separating it from true danger, preventing it from gaining genuine wilderness training.
If it were Garoth in its place... he admitted he probably wouldn't have the resolve either. He coveted far too much those protective spell-inscribed scales that tallic dragon parents bestowed upon their offspring. Unfortunately, his origins destined him for anything but safe and steady growth, forcing him to constantly dance with danger.
From the horn ring taken from the Brass Dragon, Garoth had discerned its effects. It contained an enhancent spell - Bloodburst. This spell could temporarily boost all his attributes, but ca with side effects - afterwards, his body would enter a weakened state. If he failed to defeat his enemy during the Bloodburst state, this subsequent weakness would leave him dangerously vulnerable.
Yet for Garoth, this was better than any alchemical tool he'd seized before. After testing it once, he discovered that Bloodburst directly affected his physical state. During the spell's duration, his draconic blood nearly boiled within him, surging violently as his heart pounded like a roaring engine.
This ant that with repeated use of the Bloodburst Horn Ring, Garoth's body might gradually adapt and evolve to perform Bloodburst naturally without needing the alchemical tool. Any physical trait Garoth evolved himself would suit him better and undoubtedly outperform any external tool.
Alchemical tools would eventually beco obsolete, but his innate physical abilities would not - they would grow stronger alongside him. Garoth also gained so insight, gradually realizing the proper way to utilize alchemical tools - as stimuli and guides, keys to unlock his own evolutionary potential.
For a mont, Garoth even looked forward to eting the Brass Dragon again, hoping to obtain more alchemical tools like the Bloodburst Horn Ring from it.
anwhile, as he finished experinting with the horn ring and the rains weakened, Garoth decided it was ti to consolidate the creature clans of the Serpentine Earth Rift.
Crescent Valley.
Werewolves of the Howling Moon Clan surrounded the Red Iron Dragon with coordinated attacks. Their claws and fangs struck its body, sparking intermittent flashes in the rain. The old Shaman waved his Oak Staff, summoning a Wind Totem. Sharp wind blades ford a storm that repelled the rain and assailed the dragon, producing countless sparks as if striking an indestructible anvil.
As ti passed, after more than ten minutes of this intense "battle," the pack of young werewolf warriors had nearly exhausted their stamina. The old Shaman panted heavily, visions of ancestral werewolf spirits flickering before his eyes as if calling him ho.
This assault wasn't betrayal - rather, it was precisely what pleased their Dragon Lord. And it made the werewolves realize just what a terrifying creature they had pledged allegiance to. Within that wyrmling-sized fra lay strength and defense surpassing that of a Young Dragon, containing limitless potential.
"Dragon Lord, your scales are as unyielding as the earth itself," said Werewolf Chieftain Russell, kneeling on one knee in admiration of the hybrid dragon's power.
Garoth stretched his wings in the light rain, noticing nurous claw marks covering his surface scales. His Explosive Scales, evolved from buffer scales, provided excellent defense against impacts and blunt force attacks but perford ordinarily against slashing weapons.
The black-red scales beneath the Explosive Scales were different. Lacking any cushioning or explosive-reactive properties, they embodied pure, simple "hardness" - as if cast from steel, yet harder than true steel, utterly indestructible. When a werewolf's claw slipped between Explosive Scales to strike this layer, the claw broke without leaving even a scratch.
One could imagine the psychological impact on any creature unfamiliar with Garoth that finally wore through his Explosive Scales, only to discover an even more impenetrable layer beneath.
Garoth then dismissed the other werewolves, keeping only the wisest and most knowledgeable Shaman. As the eldest and most respected mber of the Howling Moon Clan, the true leader who understood all clan affairs, the Shaman stood in contrast to the younger Chieftain Russell, who served more as a "general" leading warriors in battle.
"How have our gains been along the Serpentine Earth Rift these past days?" Garoth asked. Nick's caravan wouldn't return for about half a month, and Garoth wasn't one to wait idly. He had the Howling Moon werewolves continue ambushing along the rift, selecting suitable targets to establish trade channels with southern civilizations.
The old Shaman lowered his head, his aged body prostrating in apology. "We have failed you. Apart from that first caravan, our clan mbers watching the rift have found nothing," he said.
"Rise and explain," Garoth commanded. It couldn't be that their initial success with Nick's caravan was just beginner's luck in banditry, leaving them empty-handed afterward.
The Shaman stood, his fur matted with mud and water he made no effort to brush off. From studying clan records, he knew most dragons were temperantal. Though Garoth seed more amiable than most, the Shaman believed showing humility before a dragon could never be wrong. The mud wasn't filth - it represented loyalty, reverence, and submission.
Under Garoth's calm gaze, the Shaman explained quietly: "The recent storms made travel impossible along the rift. When the rains eased, both the Redeye Clan and Rending Claw Clan also set up ambushes, preying on passing caravans. They occupy superior positions along the route, always reaching targets before we can."
The clans lurking near the trade route actually maintained so distance - staying too close might attract the Lothrian Federation's Thousand Serpent Traces garrison responsible for clearing out magical beasts. Each raiding expedition required significant travel ti while avoiding attacks from monsters.
Over ti, through trial and error, several clans had mapped routes skirting territories of powerful creatures, establishing their own fixed ambush points. The Howling Moon Clan's section was poorly positioned toward the end of the route. Caravans would only reach their area after safely passing through other clans' territories first.
Normally, creatures wouldn't frequent the trade route too often. For one, the Serpentine Earth Rift was just a minor branch path seeing few caravans - most ambushes proved fruitless. Secondly, appearing too frequently would draw attention from both rchants and the garrison, inviting retaliation.
Thus, while the werewolves' position was unfavorable, so caravans did eventually reach their stretch after passing others - though these were few, and after eliminating those with strong guards, suitable targets beca even scarcer.
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