Not just Yevgeny, the planner, but all the High Elves present let out a collective sigh of relief. Outwardly, they regained their composure and grace, but their hearts still pounded uncontrollably. Strictly speaking, they were rely Yevgeny’s subordinates, acting on orders. But this matter concerned the tal Dragons, specifically a Silver Dragon hatchling. Such a vile act, if exposed, could bring utter disaster, especially if the target wasn’t the stray hatchling their commander had speculated about. The parenting policies of tal Dragons and Chromatic Dragons were completely different, particularly for Gold and Silver Dragons. Unlike the utterly irresponsible Chromatic Dragons, tal Dragons leaned towards the other extre—overprotection. Over ti, a consensus had ford: one might get away with bullying adult Gold and Silver Dragons, or even young dragons who had left the nest. At most, they would gather a few friends to regain their honor afterward. But targeting a hatchling? That was like stirring up a hornet’s nest. They wouldn’t offer reason, only war, erging en masse to descend upon your doorstep. While High Elves didn’t fear war, how could the Elf King initiate an absurd national conflict over the rash misdeeds and reckless ambition of a few soldiers, especially in a cause so clearly unjust? Thus, the most likely outco, even if they escaped the relentless pursuit of the Silver Dragon’s parents by ship, was to be discarded by the Elf King under pressure from the hatchling’s clan, or even all tal Dragons. Then, amid the scorn of all High Elf citizens and even their own kin, witnessed by the tal Dragons, they would face a trial guaranteeing their downfall and disgrace, forever nailed to the pillar of sha. Such a fate was worse than death itself.
Conversely, if their commander’s speculation remained valid, they could justify their actions as ’rescuing Miss Silver Dragon’ from the hunt of the Barbarians of the North and successfully delivering her from the clutches of the Crimson Calamity Pafila. Even if things weren’t as they imagined, it wouldn’t matter. From beginning to end, they had never hard that dragon hatchling, had they? And which stray Silver Dragon hatchling could resist the temptation of returning to its clan? They could facilitate that through the Elf King himself.
Then, on the triumphant road from Devonsel to the Royal Court, what would et them...
It would be cheering crowds lining the streets!
It would be their kinfolk weeping with joy!
The Elf King would personally comnd them.
The tal Dragons would grant them their friendship.
When that ti ca, they would no longer be low-ranking soldiers who might not see any advancent for a hundred years without setting foot on a battlefield. Nor would they be the ones always forced to charge at the forefront in clashes against the Drow.
They would be heroes! Defenders of peace, having firmly established friendship with the mighty dragons! Such an opportunity hadn’t arisen in a thousand years!
Faced with such a promising future and exhilarating scenario, none of the High Elves bewitched by Yevgeny’s eloquent persuasion could refuse.
On this matter, all of them, High Elves... were like grasshoppers tied to the sa rope.
"Do we need to dispatch a team to deal with that dragon?," the aide volunteered.
The still-shaken Yevgeny thought for a mont, then shook her head. "No, the paralyzing agent on the arrow shot by the Barbarian should have started to take effect. She won’t be able to fly anymore. But this foothill area is too vast; she could still escape. We must commit all our personnel to this. And then, when we find her, we must appear as saviors."
"Yes... We... absolutely must!"
So much was at stake—their lives, fortunes, and futures—that their normally enchanting and delicate faces, captivating in human eyes, were sowhat distorted by excessive tension.
"Do you understand?" Yevgeny pressed.
"Understood!," the aide replied, bowing to accept the order.
Yevgeny looked away from the aide. "Tell those Barbarians that another dragon has appeared, one that has already exhausted its Dragon Breath. Let them handle it, dead or alive. The reward will be the sa as before."
"Yes, Commander!" The aide departed to carry out the order.
If this were any other ti, she would have welcod the sudden appearance of such a red dragon hatchling. But compared to this silver dragon hatchling, which had already awakened its innate magic, and all the potential it represented... This stupid creature had spewed out all its dragon fire in the first encounter... She really didn’t have much regard for it!
A few minutes later, upon receiving this intelligence, the Barbarians boiled with excitent. Another dragon? A young red one, no less? And they could decide if it lived or died, handle it themselves, and still get a reward afterward? Was there really such a good deal? Had these High Elves finally wised up? Maybe getting their asses scratched by tree branches while prancing through the woods had knocked so sense into them!
In the crowd, only Rosinde, who was alone this ti, showed no smile. Instead, he stared fixedly in the direction where flas and smoke billowed into the sky, then strode over, his gait sowhat staggering. He shoved aside a Barbarian in front of him, pulled a javelin from the man’s back as he passed, then snatched a vial of green, oily potion from another’s belt. Biting the cap open with his teeth, he spat out the rubberwood stopper and expressionlessly poured the contents onto the spearhead.
Rosinde casually tossed the empty vial aside. Grasping the poisoned javelin, twin axes strapped to his waist, his deanor gradually shifted from calm to furious as he snarled.
"It’s you!"
"Again, it’s you!"
"It’s definitely you!"
"This ti..."
"You must die!!!"
「...」
THWACK!
At the South Foothills of the mountains, David casually flung aside the last warrior’s body. Standing alone amidst the burning woods, he exhaled two wisps of lingering fire from his nostrils. "Phew... This sudden rage is getting more and more intense."
Perhaps it was because he’d been a solitary dragon for too long since his transmigration. For the past five years, whenever loneliness and hosickness struck, he could only talk to himself in his dreams. Once these pent-up emotions erupted, they were often difficult to control.
By the ti his rage subsided, none who had failed to flee in ti and had instead chosen to confront him head-on remained alive.
He hadn’t planned on fighting today. He hadn’t provoked anyone; he was just happily out for a buffet, and then he’d nearly been ambushed from the rear...
David mused aloud as he glanced around, "It’s hard not to get worked up, right, bro?"
He looked around at the Barbarians, now silent and unable to respond, shook his head, and prepared to leave.
Even though he was hungrier after the fight, he remained indifferent to the ’food’ scattered around. It wasn’t a matter of life or death, no situation dire enough to force him to eat sothing that would make him sick by violating his existing morals and past principles. Besides, after thoroughly enjoying the icy, refreshing ’Snowfield Worm Juice’ and the ’Blazing Whole Cow Feast,’ he couldn’t muster the slightest interest in raw at now. He was now a discerning young dragon with ambition, aspirations, and taste!
But just as an exhausted and slightly weary David spread his wings to take off, his ear mbranes suddenly twitched. His entire body snapped around, and he snatched the javelin hurtling through the air. The impact was heavy. The sharp spearhead, grinding against his claws and Dragon Scales, created a dazzling spray of blood and sparks. It slipped three inches through his grasp before halting right before his forehead.
"Impressive!" David exclaid. So professional! If not for the current situation, I might have even considered asking to be his apprentice.
"Warrior, who are you? Here to avenge them?"
Seeing the dragon speak—and not even recognize him or recall his past existence—Rosinde, already seething with rage, faltered in his stride, a sudden wave of despair washing over him. Wordlessly, he drew his twin axes, let out a howl that pierced the sky, and charged toward David.
Finally, soone who looks like they can actually fight, David thought, no longer in a hurry to leave.
But he had barely taken a step when he stumbled. His tongue felt stiff, and his muscles grew sluggish. He glanced down at the discarded javelin and his slightly torn claws. How could I not realize I’ve been poisoned? Damn it! And I even called you a warrior! Can’t win a fair fight, so you resort to poison, huh?! Despicable Barbarians! he cursed inwardly.
*Wrath*
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