The night was deep, and gusts of cold wind swept across the low hill where the Grey Magnetite Mine was located.
Looking at the Red-Iron Dragon standing in the center of the surrounding Centaurs, Sorog felt his scales tighten, as if pressed by some invisible force.
It wasn't Dragon Fear.
It was an invisible, profound majesty—a temperament that an Iron Dragon yearned for but did not possess.
He folded his wings and landed on the ground only ten meters away from Garros, saying, "You arrived faster than I expected."
Garros's gaze swept over the Centaurs and said, "Dealing with them doesn't require waiting overnight."
"These hateful fellows actually dared to deceive me."
The Iron Dragon was somewhat annoyed.
Something similar had actually happened to Garros as well; back when he was subjugating the Gnolls at Crying Cliff, the Gnolls initially tried to feign submission before launching an attack on him.
But Garros had seen through their thoughts.
Before the Gnolls could attack, he displayed his power, changing their intentions.
A large part of the reason the Iron Dragon was bluffed was that he wasn't strong enough; if he were as strong as Garros, these Centaurs wouldn't have feigned submission, but would have truly offered their loyalty.
Furthermore, it was the pride inherent to Dragonkin at work.
If it had been Garros...
Faced with creatures of a higher Life Level suddenly claiming they wanted to pledge allegiance, he would have certainly been fully alert, testing them again and again, and would not have been easily tricked.
"Sorog, you are very skilled in territory and vassal management."
The Red-Iron Dragon commented unhurriedly, "But you are not cunning or alert enough; you need to recognize this."
He didn't blame Sorog for this; after all, he was just a Young Dragon, and making occasional mistakes was normal. Even with Garros's caution, it was inevitable to encounter danger and difficult for everything to go smoothly, let alone for other Young Dragons.
The key lay in whether one could learn the lesson and grow, rather than stagnating.
The young Iron Dragon had actually shown some growth; this time he hadn't stayed for a drawn-out fight, nor was he blinded by the illusion that 'the advantage is mine.'
Sorog nodded, not refuting his brother's words.
He said in a deep voice, "I will find a way to undergo Psionic Awakening as soon as possible and become a Psion. A sharp insight into the mind can compensate for my deficiencies in this area."
Pausing, the Iron Dragon asked, "These Centaurs, their tribe should still have more warriors."
"How do you plan to handle them?"
Not much expression could be seen on Garros's dragon face as he said, "It's simple: submission or destruction. I will give them a chance to choose."
The Borderlands were mainly composed of plains terrain.
Centaurs were natural cavalry, and the power of their charge across flat land was not to be underestimated; the effect they could have during a large-scale frontal conflict was no worse than that of Ogres, and their overall standard was even better.
They had value in being recruited as vassals.
But if they didn't know what was good for them, Garros wouldn't force it, and he would do his best to completely exterminate any clan he had already offended, pulling them up by the roots.
The Red-Iron Dragon's simple yet dangerous words caused all the Centaurs to lower their bodies a few more inches in unison.
At that moment.
The two Centaur commanders who had been heavily injured by Garros barely managed to crawl up.
Garros hadn't delivered a killing blow earlier, sparing their lives.
The Iron Dragon looked at the two Centaurs who had tried to assassinate him and left many scars on his body. His gaze turned cold as he stepped forward unhurriedly, grinning as he asked, "Stupid, lowly things, is the result now as you wished? Are you satisfied?"
Iron Hoof and Silvermane were pale, their auras weak.
Only after being defeated by Garros with crushing force did they realize they had made a massive mistake.
The Iron Dragon was not traveling alone; behind him was a Dragonkin so powerful they were completely unable to contend with him.
Had they known this earlier, they would never have come to offend them. But who could have imagined that Evil Dragons would band together in a group?
In the Centaurs' impression and knowledge, Evil Dragons like the Iron Dragon always acted alone; they had never heard of an instance where they lived together.
"Warriors of the White Mane Clan, stand up!"
Iron Hoof stood up in a final surge of strength, shouting violently.
"The glory of the Centaur lies in battle! Living through Death!"
He let out a great roar, grabbed a broken spear, and took the lead, charging toward the Iron Dragon.
The kneeling Centaurs also became somewhat restless, wanting to follow the charge.
Puchi!
Unexpectedly, before the Dragonkin could act, Silvermane fiercely threw a heavy sword, piercing through Iron Hoof's chest, cutting off his charge and making the restless Centaurs fall silent as cicadas in winter once again.
"You?!"
Iron Hoof fell to the ground, vomiting blood as he neared death, his eyes wide, looking at his former companion and rival with resentment and confusion.
"Fool, you will get us all killed. There is only glory to be spoken of if we stay alive."
Silvermane sighed and spoke in a low voice.
Iron Hoof did not respond; his pupils had completely dilated. He had already sustained severe injuries from one of Garros's claw strikes, and now with his chest pierced by Silvermane's heavy sword, he died on the spot.
Garros and Sorog quietly watched the infighting among the Centaurs.
Immediately after, Silvermane panted for a few breaths, enduring the sharp pain in his body to kneel on the ground.
He understood that there was still a glimmer of hope now.
"Noble Iron King, great... Lord of the Crimson Wings."
A humble, fawning smile was squeezed onto his face as he lowered his head and said, "I was blind and failed to see the facts, committing a foolish act. Please forgive me; I am willing to pay any price for this."
Garros did not speak, merely watching him quietly.
Silvermane endured the intense pain, slamming his forehead heavily against the hard metal fragments, not caring as blood flowed down his brow bone.
"Our White Mane Clan has lived in the Borderlands for generations, migrating and grazing in different regions. We are familiar with every water source and every mineral vein, and we know even more about how to survive on this land."
His voice trembled from the pain, but he tried his best to maintain the most respectful tone.
"You see, our strong front hooves can crush the skulls of giant wolves, and our charge is unstoppable. Our eyes are as sharp as eagles, and our archers can shoot down birds from hundreds or even a thousand meters away. If you would be willing to show mercy..."
Silvermane with difficulty raised his mangled arm, which had been pierced by spikes, and pointed toward the kneeling warriors.
"These elite warriors will all become your sharpest spears."
Pausing for a moment, he finally said respectfully, "I wish to offer—"
The Iron Dragon interrupted: "Loyalty?"
"Stupid Centaur, in my eyes, you have already lost all credibility."
Silvermane fell silent, then gritted his teeth and said, "It was I who made the wrong choice. I am willing to atone with my life, only asking that you spare the other warriors."
The Iron Dragon first looked at Garros.
Garros's expression remained unchanged as he said indifferently, "They left injuries on you; their life and death are for you to decide."
Silvermane's face turned ashen.
The Iron Dragon walked up to Silvermane, the shadow formed by his body blocking the moonlight and enveloping him.
A cruel smile appeared on his dragon face as he said, "Centaur, just as you said, atone with your life. After you die, I will no longer make things difficult for the other Centaurs."
Silvermane was silent for a few seconds, then a smile was squeezed onto his face.
"Thank you for your mercy."
He picked up a broken spear from the ground. After a slight hesitation, he took a deep breath, finally gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and lunged it forcefully toward his own heart.
The spear tip pierced skin and flesh.
But before it could cause damage to his heart, it came to a sudden halt.
The Iron Dragon reached out with a hooked toe and gripped the broken spear.
Feeling the obstruction originating from the Iron Dragon, the Centaur opened his eyes in astonishment.
The Iron Dragon said coldly, "Your life now belongs to the Molten Iron Clan, to us, the Ignas Siblings."