Rainwater dripped down the rough hide cloak.
The Gnoll Glak crouched on the crooked wooden sentry tower, his soaked fur clinging to his skin and making him itch all over. He scratched at the fleas on his neck, caught one and stuffed it into his mouth, then narrowed his red-glowing eyes to look out at the muddy wilderness in the distance.
"Damn rainy season."
The Gnoll cursed under his breath, a disgruntled growl rolling in his throat.
The territory of the Red-Eye Clan—Crying Cliff.
This was a mixed complex of natural rock caves and crude wooden shacks.
Gnolls were not good at building, but they were good at looting; the crooked wooden stakes were hung with the dried heads of prey—some were beasts, and some were unlucky souls from passing merchant caravans.
There were even a few heads belonging to Gnolls themselves.
Those were traitors or cowards executed by the Overseer.
Glak was a sentry; his task was simple: keep an eye outside to see if any Vicious Beasts, magical creatures, or other monster clans were approaching.
If there were, he would blow the bone whistle to notify his companions.
But today, his gaze was drawn by something else.
Something seemed to be moving in the distant curtain of rain, a fleeting flash.
He narrowed his eyes, his reddish-brown pupils contracting into slits in the dim light as he observed carefully, but the rain blurred his vision, and he could only see the gray wilderness and swaying shrubs.
Finding no suspicious targets, he withdrew his gaze indifferently, yawning as he continued his watch out of boredom.
A burst of shrill cackling suddenly came from below.
He looked down to see several of his kin dragging a deer carcass toward the rock cave, tearing at the flesh with their claws and stuffing it into their mouths as they walked; their fur was covered in mud and bloodstains, and saliva mixed with rain dripped from their fangs.
"Hey! Glak!"
One of the Gnolls looked up and shouted, his voice as raspy as sandpaper: "Come down and eat something! No one dares approach Crying Cliff in this weather anyway!"
Glak hesitated.
Crying Cliff's terrain was high, making it easy to defend and hard to attack; the perimeter was filled with spike traps and deep pits, with sharpened wooden stakes at the bottom whose tips were coated with poison.
Unless the danger came from the sky, there was no need to be too tense.
It was cold and hungry on the sentry tower, but he knew even better the consequences of deserting his post; last month, a sentry who slacked off to sleep was personally torn in half by Overseer Bloodfang, and his corpse was still hanging on a stake to the east to dry.
"No, you guys eat."
He shook his head, forcing himself to keep staring at the curtain of rain.
In Gnoll society, the law of the jungle was the absolute rule.
The Gnoll Overseer nicknamed [Bloodfang] was the absolute ruler of the Red-Eye Clan, his authority built on violence and fear.
Glak had once seen Bloodfang bite through an enemy's throat in battle, then dig out the opponent's heart with his claws and swallow it in front of all the Gnolls.
Eating a companion's heart.
Even to the ferocious Gnolls, this was a terrifying thing.
Priest Rotclaw represented another kind of power.
Glak's gaze unconsciously drifted toward the depths of the rock cave, where low chanting and the stench of charred flesh faintly drifted out.
As a priest, Rotclaw rarely appeared before ordinary Gnolls; he always hid in the darkest corners, slitting the throats of captives with a dagger and smearing blood onto bone fragments carved with runes.
It was said.
That he could use curses to make an enemy's wounds never heal, and even briefly resurrect dead Gnolls to continue fighting at the cost of their souls never finding peace.
Thinking of that horrific scene.
Glak shuddered.
He didn't like Rotclaw, but he dared even less to defy him.
Every Gnoll knew that the consequences of offending the priest were worse than offending the Overseer.
At least Bloodfang would give you a quick death, while Rotclaw's curse could make you wail for three days and nights before dying.
Glak knew that the relationship between these two big figures was not harmonious; Bloodfang thought Rotclaw's rituals were too slow, while Rotclaw felt Bloodfang was too reckless and brainless, but regardless, they ruled the Red-Eye Clan together, allowing this group of Gnolls to occupy a place in the wilderness.
The rain grew heavier, and Glak shrunk his neck, wrapping his cloak tighter.
In Gnoll culture, there was no concept of 'loyalty', only 'obedience to the strong'.
Glak didn't feel any respect for Bloodfang or Rotclaw, but he was very clear that in Crying Cliff, the weak either obeyed or became decorations on the stakes; this logic applied just as well to the wider wilderness.
He glanced at the distant wilderness again; it was still empty.
"Looks like nothing will happen today either."
Before the words had even left his mouth, a black shadow swept across the clouds, moving so fast it seemed like an illusion.
Glak's fur instantly stood on end, and a certain instinctive fear gripped his heart; he wanted to blow the bone whistle, but his claws froze in mid-air, and only a faint whimper could be squeezed out of his throat.
That thing appeared again, closer this time, and without concealing its form.
That thing—that Dragon—hovered above Crying Cliff.
Rain fell on its layered scales and flowed down the grooves, gathering into silver lines at the tips of its claws; it just hovered there quietly, without attacking or roaring, silently looking down at the territory below, its whole body emitting an indescribable majesty and pressure, calm yet dangerous.
Seeing the figure of the Dragonkin, Glak's limbs began to tremble.
He had seen Vicious Beasts and powerful magical creatures, but he had never felt fear like this.
His stomach was churning, his teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and even his tail was as stiff as a frozen rope.
He was naturally sensitive to danger, and no one in the entire Red-Eye Clan had better perception than him, which was why he could become a sentry; and at this moment, every one of his nerves was screaming.
Run!
But he couldn't move.
Dead legs! Move for me! Move!
Glak screamed in his heart, but his legs were like lead, becoming statues that wouldn't listen to his commands; then, in extreme terror, caught in the tug-of-war between mind and body, the Gnoll's eyes rolled back, and he actually fainted outright.
Garros blinked, noticing the undignified Gnoll sentry.
"Scared to death? No, he probably just fainted."
He emitted Dragon Might to announce his arrival, making the vast majority of the Red-Eye Clan Gnolls feel dread and terror, but few Gnolls fainted directly.
Sometimes, dull perception is actually a good thing.
For example, not sensing just how dangerous and terrifying the Dragon in front of them truly is.
The Gnoll sentry fainted precisely because his perception was clearer.
In the center of Crying Cliff was a semi-natural, semi-artificial rock cave, its interior hollowed out into a multi-layered structure.
Gnolls emerged in large numbers from the rock cave, their backs arched, muscles tensed, red eyes flashing in the rain, and saliva mixed with fear dripping from their fangs.
Garros could smell the scents drifting in the air.
Rotting meat, low-quality animal oil, and the unique musk of Gnolls.
The Gnolls were clad in looted iron armor and held weapons like maces; some of the larger ones had equipment engraved with Alchemy Runes of excellent quality.
A few strong Gnolls held grappling hooks but did not act rashly, watching Garros with wary vigilance.
A figure appeared in the shadows of the rock cave.
The copper rings on the ears of Overseer Bloodfang glinted with a bloody light in the rain; he puffed out his chest, displaying the scar that ran across his torso, proof that he had torn a Petrification Lizard apart alive.
He walked toward Garros, stopping beneath him, and said respectfully: "Noble Dragon, why do you visit the humble Crying Cliff?"
By nature, Gnolls like to follow powerful Dragonkin.
The key lies in being powerful.
If a weak Dragonkin were to visit rashly, they wouldn't mind killing it and using its blood to hold a ritual to strengthen the tribe.
The Gnoll Overseer used his peripheral vision to measure Garros's size.
Although he was incredibly strong, a dragon body of less than eight meters was not outstanding in terms of size; after all, the Red-Eye Clan had hunted giant magical creatures over ten meters long.
While waiting for Garros's answer, Bloodfang's eyes flickered, his spine straightened slightly, and a different thought arose in his heart.