"I can see that you have the heart of a powerhouse."
Garros gazed at Manefire and spoke unhurriedly.
"Your Wisdom Eye is like a torch!"
Manefire lifted his chin and said.
Garros's wings unfurled as he stood tall. His gaze became calm yet dangerous, and his voice turned low: "I have heard such a saying."
"The strong draw their blades against the stronger; the weak swing their blades against the weaker."
Manefire didn't understand Garros's specific meaning, but he nodded in agreement, trying to appear as respectful as possible. "Truly a profound maxim."
Garros suddenly grinned.
"Since you agree, then challenge me. Prove your strength to me."
He said.
Manefire was slightly stunned. Looking at Garros's massive size and feeling the terrifying pressure radiating from him, his breathing hitched. The smile on his wolf face became strained: "You... you must be joking."
Only then did he realize.
He realized he had overstepped his bounds just now and reined in some of his arrogance.
Garros took a step forward, walking in front of Manefire. His powerful frame blocked the moonlight, casting a shadow that enveloped the werewolf.
"So, your words just now were meant to fool me?"
His voice turned abruptly cold, and he stared directly at Manefire, causing the young werewolf's fur to bristle completely.
Still dare to bristle? Instead of immediately kneeling and begging for mercy.
"I wouldn't dare, please forgive me."
Manefire knelt on the ground, head lowered.
Garros remained expressionless: "I appreciate your courage. If you can leave a single scar on me, I will consider your challenge a success and grant you the position of Chieftain."
Manefire's eyes lit up, and he actually stood up, eager to try.
"Great Dragon Lord, I will do my best."
He said.
Immediately after, the other werewolves scattered in fear, leaving a wide open space.
Russell and the Old Shaman sighed silently, already anticipating the outcome of Manefire's recklessness. The Dragon Lord had given him more than one chance, but he hadn't grasped any of them.
Manefire backed away dozens of meters and took a deep breath, his muscles tensing like iron.
His hind paws dug deep furrows into the ground, and a hint of ruthlessness flashed in his eyes as he stared straight at the Dragon Kin before him.
Manefire had faced Vicious Beasts even larger than Garros, leaving many scars on them and successfully hunting them with the cooperation of his kin.
In his view, Garros as a Dragon Kin might be stronger than a Vicious Beast of the same size, but he wouldn't be too much stronger.
At the very least, he believed he could leave a single wound on Garros.
Howl—!
Accompanied by a deafening wolf howl, the muscles under Manefire's fur bulged, and he leaped suddenly, his hind legs exploding with incredible power.
His sharp claws glinted in the moonlight, aiming straight for Garros's throat.
This strike concentrated all his strength and skill, moving so fast it left an afterimage in the air.
Garros didn't even lift an eyelid.
Thwack!
With a light sound, a dragon claw swiped casually, as if swatting an annoying fly.
Manefire's body paused strangely in mid-air for a split second, then flew backward at an even greater speed.
Boom!
His body slammed heavily into the rock wall, making the cliff tremble. Rubble fell in cascades, and dust filled the air.
When the dust cleared, the werewolves were horrified to find that Manefire's body was deeply embedded in the rock wall, his posture twisted.
Garros had thought Manefire might have some trump card, so his first strike was just a weak probe.
The result disappointed him greatly.
This young werewolf had no secret reliance; he was simply slightly more talented than the others and didn't know the heights of the heavens.
He walked over slowly and looked down at Manefire.
Manefire's eyes were still open, but his sternum was completely collapsed, and blood mixed with organ fragments leaked continuously from his mouth.
"Too weak. Your arrogance is worthless."
Garros commented calmly.
The pack was deathly silent.
Frostfang's claws instinctively gripped the ground. Only now did she understand why the Old Shaman always said the 'Dragon's Might is unfathomable.'
That insufferable Manefire wasn't even a toy in front of the Dragon Lord.
Growl. An unwilling low growl came from Manefire's mouth.
Cracking sounds echoed from within him. His heavily injured body began to deform, fangs grew, and his body elongated. In an instant, he turned into a blood-stained giant wolf, roaring as he lunged at Garros.
Garros flicked his tail.
Bang!
The giant wolf's body instantly exploded into a mist of blood, swatted into pieces in mid-air.
A few drops of warm blood splashed onto the faces of the nearest werewolves, but they didn't even dare to wipe it off.
"Now."
Garros's voice echoed in the valley.
"Does anyone else want to prove their heart of a powerhouse?"
His answer was a unified prostration.
Under the moonlight, the werewolves' foreheads were pressed against the ground, and even their breathing was kept extremely light.
This was submission, and also relief—relief that they possessed a heart of awe.
The Old Shaman let go of his bone staff, a relieved smile appearing on his aged face.
"Your Dragon's Might grows by the day; now it makes the sun and moon lose their luster."
He said flatteringly.
Russell said in a low voice: "I beg you to forgive these few werewolves. They were bewitched by Manefire and had no intention of offending. They will be transformed into giant wolves and serve you under the clan's command."
The werewolves he mentioned were Manefire's confidants, now paralyzed with fear.
Garros nodded slightly, signaling Russell to handle it.
After this interlude, Garros looked at the Old Shaman and Russell: "Tell me what happened during these six years."
The Old Shaman was now slurring and slow of speech.
Russell spoke: "Not long after you left last time, the Bone-Chewing Clan began a savage expansion."
He told the story.
Because they had a lookout tower at the highest point of Crescent Moon Valley, the werewolves spotted the approaching Ogres immediately. They decisively abandoned their territory and fled. Later, they found the Ogres left after eating the remaining food reserves, so they returned.
Subsequently, on the Scale-Earth Rift Road...
Since the Ogres occupied the best stretches of road and raided frequently, the Howling Moon Clan werewolves never successfully contacted a caravan again.
The good news was...
Before the Ogres rose to power, that silver-tongued, cunning merchant Nick brought back a lot of black oil, which was stored in the clan's cellar. Since Ogres weren't interested in inedible black oil, there was no loss.
But it was only that first batch of black oil.
When Nick was brought to the Howling Moon Clan again, he also brought a Communication Stone, allowing for long-distance contact.
After the Ogre clan took over the Scale-Earth Rift Road, to prevent this trade route from being destroyed, the Old Shaman used the Communication Stone to tell Nick not to come for a few years and wait for further notice.
Over the six years...
Nick inquired about the situation through the Communication Stone almost every month.
He wasn't afraid of the werewolves; on the contrary, because the trade with them had been very profitable and gave him hope for a comeback, the merchant valued the Howling Moon Clan exceptionally.
"My Lord, a powerful leader appeared in the Bone-Chewing Clan, unlike ordinary Ogres."
"Under its leadership, the Bone-Chewing Clan is currently at its peak, developing rapidly."
Russell wanted to warn Garros not to underestimate the Bone-Chewing Clan.
He had heard that Dragons were always arrogant and conceited, making them easy targets.
Unexpectedly, before he could finish, his eyes widened as he heard Garros say nonchalantly: "No need to worry. The Bone-Chewing Clan has already submitted to me; they are Dragon Kin just like you."
"Your Dragon's Might is peerless!"
Russell immediately offered flattery.
Six years ago when he was young, he wouldn't use such rhetoric; he just stood by the Old Shaman and listened. Now, with age, he had become more flexible and learned to suck up to the dragon.
"Go, bring me some black oil first," Garros said.
Russell nodded and soon returned with clansmen carrying an iron barrel of black oil, weighing about fifty kilograms.
"The clan has ten such barrels in total, weighing about a thousand catties."
Garros's eyes lit up as he picked up the barrel.
He missed the taste of black oil so much. And with large barrels, the quantity was far more abundant than what he used to refine from stolen oily soil. He didn't have to drink it so carefully anymore.
His claws pried open the lid, and a pungent, spicy smell hit his nose.
He tilted his head back and gulped the black oil down.
"Too... too... too... intense!"
"This is the taste, this is the feeling!"
Whoosh!
Dark red Qi surged from the tips of Garros's wing bones, thicker and more violent than his previous limit. Like adding oil to a fire, in an instant, his body turned into a comet, breaking the sound barrier and soaring into the sky.