"Attacking the gemstone mine this time was still a bit risky, and the gains weren't large enough to warrant such a risk."
"In truth, I shouldn't have taken such a risk just for a moment's satisfaction."
"Too impulsive. I should have been more prudent, more careful."
The Red-Iron Dragon reflected silently.
But another emotion immediately surged up.
When the Flame-Thunder Breath blasted the first ballista, when the Anti-Air Pillar and the golem's body crumbled under his claws, that long-lost, pure, almost primal sense of exhilaration was just like the first time he bit through a saber-toothed tiger's throat as a hatchling.
All those years of deliberate self-suppression for the sake of survival...
...received a moment of relief today.
He had never liked a cautious lifestyle; it was merely a necessity for survival.
The Red-Iron Dragon suddenly accelerated, tearing through the cloud layer and soaring into the higher reaches of the sky, letting the torrential rain thoroughly wash away the smell of gunpowder from his scales.
In the brief sunlight above the storm clouds, he stretched his scarred body.
"I cannot forget to be prudent; I cannot be too impulsive and take risks."
"However!"
"Only the weak live with constant misgivings. One day, I will be able to live without being careful—I will live wantonly, without restraint or taboo!"
Garros took a deep breath of the thin high-altitude air, letting the cold oxygen fill his lungs.
He cast aside all hesitation and regret into the clear sky behind him, diving into the heavy wind and rain with even firmer determination.
A few days later.
The torrential rain gradually subsided, and the thick, sky-blotting curtain of rain turned into a sparse, fine drizzle.
To the south, beyond the Serel Wilderness, lay the Thorn Fief of the Duchy of Raymond.
There was no rain here, and no dark clouds obscured the sky.
The moonlight was as bright as ever, but in the eyes of Viscount Ironthorn, it appeared cold and melancholy. One real and one fake moon hung in the sky like a pair of eyes, casting a mocking gaze upon him.
He stood on the terrace, his chin covered in stubble and his eyes bloodshot.
He didn't look like a refined noble viscount, but rather like an incompetent middle-aged man who had lost his son.
And that was indeed the case.
Fury burned in Viscount Ironthorn's chest like an unquenchable fire. His son was dead, killed under the claws of several dragons.
Edmond—that proud, young man who should have inherited everything and made the Family proud—was now nothing but a pool of mangled flesh. No, not even mangled flesh remained; not even his bones were left.
The Viscount's teeth gnashed together, and the veins at his temples bulged as if they were about to burst.
His breathing was heavy, and each breath felt as though he were swallowing all the anger in the air.
"A few beasts. A few damned beasts!"
His voice was low and hoarse, like a curse squeezed from the depths of his throat.
He hated those dragons. He hated their arrogance, their cruelty, and their audacity to take his son away.
However...
What he hated even more was himself.
Regret coiled around his heart like a venomous snake. He regretted letting Edmond go to collect taxes, regretted not sending stronger guards, regretted not conducting a thorough reconnaissance, and regretted failing to discover that those monsters were backed by several Evil Dragons!
Those damned dragons.
Killing Edmond wasn't enough; they even attacked the Duchy of Raymond's mining outpost, causing severe damage and stealing a large quantity of gemstones, explicitly stating it was a 'return gift' for him.
This brought great trouble to Viscount Ironthorn, drawing questioning and dissatisfaction from the Family.
But Viscount Ironthorn no longer cared about that.
His fingers dug deep into his palms, his nails piercing the skin and drawing beads of blood, but he felt no pain.
He remembered Edmond's nonchalant expression before he left, and how his son had smiled and said he would 'make the monsters kneel and offer up their treasures.'
And now, his son would never return.
The moonlight remained bright and clear, shining on the Viscount's face and reflecting the surging hatred and pain in his eyes.
"Blood for blood, a tooth for a tooth!"
"I will skin you all and tear your bones apart! Not one shall remain!"
He slowly raised his head and looked toward the Serel Wilderness, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
Shortly after.
Viscount Ironthorn donned the armor he had worn when leading troops on the border and brought along the professional Dragon Hunting Group he had recruited by selling off his Family property. The members' average Life Level exceeded 12; they were highly experienced and had the glorious record of having hunted adult dragons.
Their weapons, combat techniques, Spells, and armor were all centered around hunting dragons and were highly specialized.
To save time.
Viscount Ironthorn spent a fortune to take the Dragon Hunting Group directly to the Serel Wilderness via a magical teleportation array, traveling day and night toward the Scale-Earth Rift Road.
Three days later.
Viscount Ironthorn's Dragon Hunting Group arrived at their first destination amidst a hazy drizzle.
—The place where his private army had been destroyed.
The leading Conjurer knelt down, his fingertips brushing over the scorched marks on the ground.
"Residual dragon flame."
He said, "I need all residues related to Dragonkin."
The other members quickly fanned out, searching for clues like hounds.
The result was nothing.
The wilderness stood on the side of the Dragonkin; the torrential downpour had washed away the traces of battle.
The corpses left behind had also been cleared away by the Vicious Beasts and monsters of the wilderness, leaving only some broken and twisted iron armor, shattered weapon blades, and metallic wreckage.
As for traces of the Dragonkin...
...there was only the scorched earth formed by the Dragon Breath, and nothing else.
The Conjurer pinched a bit of ash, rubbed it between his fingers, and said, "This bit of scorched earth from Dragon Breath is almost the worst possible medium. It's very difficult to use for tracking."
Viscount Ironthorn remained silent, his gaze dark and sullen.
Immediately after, the Dragon Hunting Group arrived at the second key location.
—Coniferous Valley.
The attack on the mining outpost was no small matter.
Furthermore, a noble's private army had been attacked and killed.
This was no longer an ordinary incident.
Upon receiving the news, the Wilderness Garrison of the Lothern Federation immediately began operations, deciding that a large-scale clearing was necessary.
Using magic and alchemical creations, they began a carpet-style sweep centered around the Scale-Earth Rift Road to eliminate powerful Vicious Beasts and monsters.
When a powerful army gets serious...
...the various territories of the Molten Iron Clan scattered across the wilderness were discovered one by one. Even Coniferous Valley was unearthed and identified as the core territory where the Young Dragons had once lurked and resided.
As a party involved in the incident, Viscount Ironthorn was informed of this.
Arriving at Coniferous Valley, Viscount Ironthorn held onto a final sliver of hope. However, aside from scorched earth everywhere, there was still nothing else.
Long before the raid had even begun...
...Flame Dragon Breath had completely destroyed this place.
"They were prepared; the attack was premeditated. They erased their own traces before the assault specifically to prevent tracking."
The lead Conjurer of the Dragon Hunting Group had a solemn gaze as he spoke. "Young Dragons are usually arrogant and conceited."
"That they decisively abandoned their territory immediately after achieving victory already surprises me. I didn't expect them to cover their tracks so prudently."
Pausing for a moment, the Conjurer mused, "It must be that special Hybrid Dragon among them. It possesses a nature different from Pure-Blood Dragons. Without a doubt, it is the leader."
Viscount Ironthorn slowly drew his sidearm, the tip of the sword piercing the soil as if he could penetrate the earth and strike the fleeing enemies.
"Keep searching." His voice was colder than the blade. "Scour the entire Serel Wilderness—we must dig them out."
The Conjurer looked at Viscount Ironthorn and said darkly, "Those dragons are very cautious, and conventional methods are ineffective. However, as a professional Dragon Hunter, I have unconventional methods."
"What are they?"
Viscount Ironthorn asked urgently.
"Using the blood of extreme hatred as a catalyst to construct a tracking Spell. While it still won't determine exact coordinates, it can point us in the general direction."
The Conjurer spoke unhurriedly.
"Then cast it quickly."
The Conjurer shook his head. "This is a dark art. it will cost you at least ten years of your life. Are you sure you can pay such a price?"
The Viscount fell silent, hesitating slightly in his heart.
He was nearly fifty years old, already middle-aged, but his body had not yet begun to wither. Furthermore, he was an Advanced warrior at his Peak. He could still father more children; he didn't necessarily have to fight the Dragonkin to the death over Edmond's passing.
However, after a period of internal struggle...
...the desire for revenge ultimately triumphed over reason.
Viscount Ironthorn said expressionlessly, "As long as I can kill those dragons, I will drink their blood and eat their flesh. This small price is nothing."