Viscount Ironthorn stood upon the scorched earth of Coniferous Valley, fine rain sliding down his armor and dripping into the soil.
His gaze was cold and resolute, as if he could no longer feel any hesitation.
"Begin."
He said.
The Conjurer nodded and took a pitch-black bone dagger from his robes. Its blade was covered in twisted runes that shimmered with a faint, dark red light in the rain.
The other members scattered and retreated, leaving an open space.
The Conjurer gestured for the Viscount to extend his wrist.
Viscount Ironthorn did not hesitate, unfastening his bracer to reveal an arm with bulging veins.
The Conjurer chanted obscure incantations in a low voice. The dagger trembled slightly at his fingertips, as if it were a living thing hungering for blood.
He suddenly slashed the Viscount's wrist. Blood immediately gushed out, but instead of dripping, it was pulled by an invisible force, hovering in the air to form a constantly rotating blood bead that drew from the Viscount's lifeblood.
"With blood as the guide, with hatred as the fire..."
The Conjurer's voice became hoarse. The surrounding air seemed to solidify, raindrops froze in mid-air, and even the sound of the wind vanished.
The blood bead began to boil, fine cracks appearing on its surface as if something was struggling inside.
Suddenly.
It burst open, transforming into a crimson mark shaped like an arrowhead.
"Only you can see the Tracking Mark. Where does it point?"
The Conjurer asked.
Viscount Ironthorn's face was pale. He took a Blood-Replenishing Recovery Potion from his robes and tilted his head back to drink it. A bit of color gradually returned to his face, and then he gazed toward the north.
"We have a general direction now."
"But the wilderness is vast and full of danger. To specifically track down the target, we will inevitably have to go through some twists and turns."
The Conjurer suggested, "Why not apply for an army to go with us?"
Viscount Ironthorn shook his head. "The Duchy of Raymond's garrison in the wilderness is very limited, and my connections in the Duchy's military are mainly located at the border. The garrison here does not follow my orders, and the Lothern Federation's defenders will care even less about my thoughts."
The garrisons of various countries' outposts in the Serel Wilderness, as well as the defenders of the trade routes, and so on.
Their mission was to guard the outposts; they would not rashly venture far from their bases. This was especially true for the Federation's defenders, who would only conduct a major sweep when something significant happened in a certain area. It was no easy task to mobilize them.
At the very least.
Three Young Dragons had not yet reached the high-risk level that would cause the Federation's defenders to view them as a serious threat that must be dealt with.
True, causing significant casualties and attacking a mineral vein outpost had touched a red line, but Garros had not killed indiscriminately; only the Duchy of Raymond had been targeted.
Under these circumstances, although the Federation's defenders had also issued bounties for the Young Dragons, they weren't particularly concerned.
The Duchy of Raymond's wilderness garrison would not let the matter rest; otherwise, if word got out, more Dragons or other intelligent magical creatures would come to rob their mineral veins.
However, they now needed to assess the losses, clean up the outposts, deal with questioning from higher-ups, and wait for reinforcements.
The hunt for the Young Dragons could not be launched immediately.
And Viscount Ironthorn could wait no longer.
Regardless of when the garrison would start their operation, he first passed on the news that the Young Dragons were in the north, and then prepared to take the Dragon Hunting Group there ahead of time, preferably to take his revenge personally.
"Then we need to be more patient and careful,"
the Conjurer said. "Do not underestimate the perils of the wilderness."
Meanwhile.
North of Stony Beach.
"Garros, aren't you overestimating those humans?"
In the fine rain, the Red Dragon flapped its wings and said, "It should have been enough for us to retreat to the Quenchfire Highlands. Why must we continue north?"
The north here was close to the Permafrost Tundra.
The further north they went, the lower the temperature in the air became. The low temperature made the Red Dragon somewhat displeased.
Garros did not answer, his eyes lowered toward the ground.
Ogres, Gnolls, Kobolds. These followers migrated on the ground like ants, merging into a long, thin stream. The young followers were in the very middle, while the strong and powerful combat units were on both sides, front and back.
The Iron Dragon explained on Garros's behalf, "There will definitely be a crackdown during this period. We had better lie low and stay away from the Thousand Snake Scars."
The probability of the Federation's defenders chasing them down was small, but they would not tolerate monster clans continuing to show their faces on the trade routes. Once they noticed any signs, they would inevitably strike; they wouldn't be like they were at the beginning, when they were too lazy to waste time cleaning things up as long as no trouble was caused.
This was the price paid for flipping the table earlier.
"Then there's no need for us to go deep into the north,"
Samantha said. "Finding a new territory in the wilderness and staying hidden for a while is better than going to an unfamiliar land."
At this, Garros shook his head and said, "Staying hidden means it will be difficult to obtain resources, and our growth rate will slow down."
He said seriously, "Remember, being weak is the greatest risk."
The small Faerie Dragon following among the Young Dragons blinked its eyes and asked in confusion, "Garros, didn't you say that time is on our side?"
Garros nodded and said calmly, "Yes, but we cannot completely shrink away because of that. We cannot remain in a weak stage for a long time."
Growth and development versus staying hidden and enduring.
A balance was needed between the two; a choice had to be made.
One could not lean entirely toward one side.
For the sake of staying hidden, Garros chose to abandon their previous territory, and for the sake of growth and development, he chose to go north.
This was not a direction chosen at random.
After serious discussion and careful selection with Sorog, Garros finally determined the Borderlands north of the Estonia Great River as their Land of Resurgence.
This area combined the savagery of the wilderness with the disorder of the tundra.
Although the Estonia Great River was not as prosperous as the Thousand Snake Scars, as a vast waterway connecting and dividing the wilderness and the tundra, countless merchant ships still stopped there every year. Moreover, the defenders were mainly concentrated at the dam gates and other locations, and they were not part of the same System as the Thousand Snake Scars' defenders.
By coming to the Borderlands and being active on the waterway,
the'sin levels' of Garros and the other dragons would be reset. Unless they attacked those strategic passes like the dam gates, they wouldn't need to worry too much about threats from the defenders.
And in the Borderlands further north of the great river, it was mainly the territory of monsters, with no legions from civilized nations stationed there.
The Young Dragons would no longer have to hide their claws and fangs; they could appropriately reveal their presence.
The only drawback was that the Borderlands were barren. Unlike the wilderness, which had countless mineral resources, they would first need to find a way to secure a sustainable source of wealth so they could conduct normal trade and obtain growth resources.
After some communication,
Samantha also understood the reason, but it still preferred the dry and hot wilderness—of course, excluding the damn rainy season.
"Will we ever return to the wilderness?"
it asked.
"We will."
The Red-Iron Dragon's gaze was profound as he said, "When our wings are full, we will return to the wilderness and make those who call themselves civilized remember once again the fear of being dominated by Dragonkin."
"Yes, yes, let them know how powerful the Ignas Siblings are!"
The Faerie Dragon shouted with its hands on its hips, as if it were also a member of the Ignas Siblings.
Next, because the followers' marching speed was slow and they would occasionally encounter attacks from wild Vicious Beasts, Garros had the Red Dragon and the Iron Dragon lead the way ahead to intimidate the Vicious Beasts and magical creatures with their dragon pressure to speed things up.
The followers of the Molten Iron Clan had all been tested by time.
Their existence provided great convenience for the dragons' lives, and through the influence of the prince's methods, their loyalty could be guaranteed.
Recruiting new followers would take time to refine and train.
Unless absolutely necessary, the Young Dragons would not easily give up these followers; the followers were also their wealth.
Garros circled in the highest part of the sky, scanning the surroundings with his wide field of vision.
In case a legion came chasing after them, he wanted to ensure he could spot the target immediately and then judge whether to flee or fight.
While flying unhurriedly among the high-altitude clouds,
Garros turned his head to look south, toward the territory of the Lothern Federation.
'It's a pity. Viscount Ironthorn, who broke my peaceful life, forced me to migrate, and made it impossible for me to focus on training, is within the Federation in the south. I probably won't be able to do anything to him in the short term.'
Garros thought to himself with a secret sense of regret.