The pine resin in the brazier crackled. When the scout rushed into the White Mane Clan's tent, he brought with him a gust of cold wind, his hooves still caked with the hard mud of the Borderlands.
This creature, standing over three meters tall with a human-like upper body and a horse-like lower body, was panting heavily.
"An Iron Dragon! An Iron Dragon has appeared at the Grey Magnetite Mine we just discovered!"
Reported the Centaur scout.
It wasn't just Iron Dragon Sorog who had noticed the existence of the Grey Magnetite Mine. Or rather, the Centaurs of the White Mane Clan had discovered the Grey Magnetite Mine half a month ago. However, due to some internal issues within the clan, they had not yet gone to mine it, instead only sending a few scouts to keep an eye on the iron mine's status.
Thus, they discovered the presence of the Iron Dragon.
"An Iron Dragon? How large is it?"
"Nearly thirteen meters. It's not an adult; it's likely a sub-adult or a Young Dragon."
"Is he still at the Grey Magnetite Mine?"
"No, he has already left. But he excavated some iron ore and discovered the vein; he will definitely return."
After a period of communication.
The Shaman of the White Mane Clan slowly rose from the shadows.
This old Centaur, draped in a raven-feather cloak, frowned deeply. His withered right hand gripped a bone staff inlaid with a Frost Giant's tooth; three bells hanging from the head of the staff were vibrating silently.
In the Shaman's eyes.
This was an omen of approaching danger.
"This Iron Dragon did not arrive by chance. He will bring danger to our clan."
The old Centaur said slowly.
Beside the brazier, Iron Hoof, the commander of the Charge Regiment, stood up abruptly.
The nearly four-meter-tall Centaur giant was clad in hard, heavy chainmail. Bone necklaces were entwined in his dark brown mane, clicking together with a bone-chilling sound as he moved.
As he stood, he knocked over the brazier. Burning pine resin splashed onto his iron-gray hooves, yet he didn't even flinch.
He picked up the war spear at his side, the notches on its blade bearing witness to countless battles.
"Thirty Heavy Arrow Squads, plus my Charge Regiment."
He grinned and said, "We'll set an ambush near the Grey Magnetite Mine. When he returns, I'll use his skull as a wine bowl!"
It was just a Young Dragon; in their eyes, it was merely a slightly stronger Vicious Beast.
Clans from the Borderlands and the ice fields were generally tougher than those in the Serel Wilderness. The White Mane Clan had once repelled a White Dragon that sought to conquer them; the dragon scales it dropped were still displayed in the camp as a mark of glory.
They knew that an Iron Dragon was stronger than a White Dragon.
However, the White Dragon they had repelled was much larger than the Iron Dragon the scout had seen.
On the other side of the tent.
Silvermane was unhurriedly wiping the mud stains from his hooves.
He was the warrior commander in charge of the Hunting Party. He exuded a rare scent of pine oil and amber. His silver-white mane flowed smoothly, and his steel-forged horseshoes struck sparks every time they hit the ground.
"Why waste the lives of our warriors?"
He glanced at Iron Hoof and said calmly, "First, we should determine the Iron Dragon's patterns, then set a trap or use poison. In short, a frontal assault is the most foolish choice."
Iron Hoof looked coldly at Silvermane.
"A Centaur's glory lies on the tips of spears and arrows, in a frontal charge. Underhanded and lowly methods would only bring shame to our ancestors."
Silvermane retorted, "Don't confuse recklessness and stupidity with glory."
It had been a year since the death of the White Mane Clan's previous Clan Chief, yet they had still not selected a new one during that time.
The two Centaurs known as Iron Hoof and Silvermane were both strong candidates, constantly at odds and refusing to back down.
The reason the Grey Magnetite Mine had not been mined was primarily because they were fighting over its ownership.
However, there were three candidates in total.
Elvie flapped the massive feathered wings growing from her horse-back and rose from her reclining position.
This female hybrid of Elven blood was more slender than the other Centaurs. Her snow-white wings shimmered with a pearly luster in the firelight. Her mane and skin were both pure white, glistening with movement.
When she spread her wings, the entire tent seemed to dim.
It was as if all the light was concentrated on her.
After taking a sip of strong liquor and hanging the wineskin at her waist, a flush appeared on Elvie's elf-like face, but her gaze remained calm and bright.
"Stupid. Is all you see slaughter and poison?"
Elvie said, "You haven't even figured out how many retainers the Iron Dragon has or why it's here, yet you want to hunt it? Your recklessness will only bring harm to the clan."
Iron Hoof and Silvermane glanced at each other.
Then, with tacit understanding, they simultaneously turned their focus toward Elvie.
Iron Hoof scoffed, "Half-breed, your mixed Bloodline makes you indecisive."
Silvermane was a bit gentler, but he didn't hide his distaste. "A Young Dragon cannot possibly gather powerful retainers. Your worries are unnecessary; your Elven blood makes you timid."
In ancient history, Centaurs had once established a magnificent kingdom.
They galloped across wilderness and tundra, drinking heavily and enjoying the sensation of the wild wind blowing against their bodies.
As time passed, the Centaur Kingdom had long since collapsed and splintered, fading into ordinary monster clans.
But they had not forgotten their former glory and took pride in their pure Bloodlines.
Originally, as a Pegasus variant born with wings, Elvie should have enjoyed the respect and love of her tribespeople. However, her internal Elven blood and her refined appearance—different from other Centaurs—instead caused her to face discrimination and prejudice. The Centaurs preferred rugged faces and physiques.
Her mother was a warrior of the White Mane Clan.
Her father was an Elven Ranger passing through the Borderlands.
The mother Centaur longed for the world the Elven Ranger had visited, and the Elven Ranger admired her boldness and sincerity. A spark of love was struck between them, eventually resulting in the birth of Elvie.
This should have been a beautiful story that transcended race.
But Elvie's Pegasus wings made her different from birth, and her arrival brought about her mother's death.
Her Elven father also left this place of sorrow afterward, leaving the young Elvie behind in the White Mane Clan.
Although she was surrounded by suspicious looks and suffered contempt and discrimination from birth.
She had fought her way through with her powerful talent and will. She was now the Guard Captain of the White Mane Clan and was also competing for the position of Clan Chief. Iron Hoof and Silvermane were wary of her and often teamed up against her.
She had already proven her excellence.
But the Centaurs' obsession with pure blood still put her at a disadvantage in the competition.
"The greed for the position of Clan Chief has clouded your minds."
"You currently lack the necessary rationality and composure. You only think about showing off, forgetting that the future of the clan is what matters most."
Elvie countered bluntly.
Meanwhile, the old Centaur's gaze shifted constantly.
He was a Shaman who had seen off two previous Clan Chiefs. He held high prestige in the White Mane Clan, and his thoughts would influence the next Clan Chief's position.
"Enough."
His eyes were no longer cloudy at this moment. Striking the ground with his bone staff, he spoke slowly in a raspy voice, "Danger and opportunity coexist. In the dark, I feel that the appearance of this Iron Dragon is crucial to our White Mane Clan. This might be a significant turning point for our clan's development."
Shamans spend years listening to the voices of all things.
The closer a Shaman is to the end of their life, the more they possess an extraordinarily keen intuition.
From the moment the Centaur scout brought news of the Iron Dragon, the old Centaur had a strange feeling, as if standing on the edge of an abyss, yet also as if perched atop the clouds.
"What do you think should be done?"
Elvie looked at the old Centaur and asked.
The old Centaur's gaze swept over the three of them. After a few seconds of silent thought, he finally said, "I am old, and my mind is no longer clear. The earth and wind belong to you young Centaurs; your thoughts are more important than mine."
Pausing, the old Centaur said, "Whoever can properly handle the Iron Dragon incident will receive my support."
A spark burst from the pine resin in the brazier, illuminating the distinctly different expressions of the three Centaur Commanders.
This was the first time the old Centaur had publicly and formally stated whom he would support. Given his prestige, his support would most likely determine the next Clan Chief.
The appearance of the Iron Dragon would become the touchstone for their contest for the chieftainship.
P.S.: From now on, sapient beings will be referred to with personal pronouns (he/she), while non-sapient Vicious Beasts or semi-sapient ones like violent bears will use 'it'.