An unknown amount of time passed.
Just as Nick felt he was about to pass out, the Centaur finally stopped. He had been brought to a grassland region, right into the heart of a Centaur camp.
Dazed, he dismounted from the Centaur's back. Nick's mind was still somewhat foggy until a deep, resonant voice, like that of a giant creature, rang in his ears.
"I heard you wanted to see me."
Hearing this, Nick jolted as if splashed with a bucket of ice water, and his wits returned to normal.
Then he snapped his head up and saw a behemoth that defied common imagination.
Moonlight shattered into ten thousand silver shards upon its scales. The spines along its vertebrae were like a rebellious forest of spears and halberds, rising and falling with its breath.
Most terrifying of all was the sheer sense of oppression. Even while stationary, explosive power surged beneath those knotted muscular lines. Its incredibly strong body was like tempered steel, and every scale was like a quenched shield.
The distance between the two was now mere inches.
Nick could almost see his own reflection, twisted into an ant-like black speck within those pupils.
He couldn't help but fall to his knees and prostrate himself on the ground, the titles of the Young Dragon circulating in the Duchy of Raymond flashing through his mind.
"Great Sky-Rending Wings, the Death Omen Star that represents demise."
"Your loyal and humble servant is finally honored to behold your true form."
In the Centaur camp, Garros looked down at the merchant prostrating on the ground.
After scrutinizing him for a few seconds, the Red-Iron Dragon's lips curled into a slight smile as he asked, "Sky-Rending Wings, Death Omen Star—is that what the humans call me?"
Nick replied, "These are the titles spreading from the Duchy of Raymond. Someone has placed a bounty on you."
Garros did not get angry at the news that the Duchy of Raymond considered him an enemy; it was to be expected.
On the contrary, he nodded in satisfaction, feeling that the titles weren't bad at all.
In the Molten Iron Clan, when his vassals praised Garros, the most common honorific was 'Lord of the Crimson Wings.' However, such honorifics originated from his own subordinate clans and didn't carry much weight.
To Dragonkin,
only titles that circulated within the camps of powerful enemies were worth acknowledging, as such titles would spread much further.
However, such titles were often uncontrollable and could sometimes become a laughingstock.
For instance, the first time Garros had killed intelligent beings, he had wiped out an entire Goblin clan. If that feat had been the one to spread, he might have been dubbed with a title like 'Goblin Slayer.'
Having one's title linked to inferior creatures
felt as disgusting as eating filth in the eyes of a Dragon.
Garros didn't care much for the vanity of titles, but having one that sounded decent was certainly more pleasing than something like 'Goblin Slayer.'
"Sky-Rending Wings is alright."
"But this 'Death Omen Star' sounds a bit too villainous."
Garros thought to himself, then asked, "Aside from those, are there any other names?"
Nick thought carefully, hesitated slightly, and then whispered, "There are also titles like 'Ore Vein Plunderer' and 'Golem Tearer.'"
Those sounded quite mediocre.
Hearing no more impressive titles, Garros stopped probing and gazed intently at the merchant.
"Humans are always full of hostility toward me, or otherwise filled with dread and terror. Yet you wished to come before me—for what purpose? Do not say it is to demonstrate your loyalty and awe."
As he spoke, the Red-Iron Dragon's massive, ferocious body leaned forward slightly.
His shadow cast an overwhelming shroud over the human before him.
Feeling the heavy pressure, Nick took a deep breath and then raised his head, his face still brimming with a smile. "Those mediocre fools fear your flames, but in you, I see the future."
In a chanting tone, he praised, "I have never seen, nor ever heard of, a Young Dragon like you."
"You understand the importance of trade rather than reckless plundering; you know how to sheath your claws rather than being wantonly arrogant; you understand when to show your fangs rather than blindly yielding."
Garros listened quietly.
The vassals of the Molten Iron Clan also frequently flattered him, but most only praised his power and strength. Nick, however, flattered him regarding his intellect, which Garros found a bit novel and interesting.
Of course, he wasn't like Sorog or Samantha.
These honeyed words pleased him, but they wouldn't change his mind.
"I am a merchant."
"I see immeasurable value in you. I am certain that being by your side will be the rarest opportunity I encounter in this life."
"I want to build my own large-scale merchant guild, grow my Family, and allow my descendants to enjoy a higher status. To achieve this dream, I must have something to rely on—I must firmly grasp your leg."
"Even death cannot shake my resolve."
Saying this, he presented a ring plated with Mithril and said, "This is a spatial tool I commissioned a Dwarven Alchemist to forge. It can change size and hold many things. It is a gift I offer to you; I hope you like it."
Garros took the ring.
He didn't put it on immediately, but simply put it away for now.
He looked at Nick, his gaze seemingly piercing through the man's soul, and said plainly, "For Family and descendants—is that all?"
Tonight was an important day for Nick.
Because Garros wanted an inside agent in the Southern Kingdoms who could bring him intelligence, transmit information, and build up influence in the human nations in advance, rather than just engaging in back-and-forth trade.
For now, Nick was a good candidate.
If he passed Garros's scrutiny and judgment, he would receive more of Garros's support.
If it were purely for Family or descendants, such a person would not be reliable.
Should Garros find him unsuitable, since Nick now knew too much, he would keep this human here forever.
Under Garros's calm gaze, Nick's heart skipped a beat.
He deliberated for a few seconds and finally let out a slow breath, saying, "Most importantly, it is for myself."
Raising his face, which had already grown many wrinkles, he sighed and said, "As you know, compared to long-lived species like yourself, human life is as fleeting as a firefly. I crave a longer life."
Pausing, he pressed his head to the ground and said sincerely, "I hope that when my body becomes old and frail, I can receive your mercy and grace, and be granted the chance for Dragon Vein Transformation."
Garros scrutinized the human before him.
"It will be difficult for you to survive the process of Dragon Vein Transformation."
He spoke bluntly.
Nick gritted his teeth and said, "No matter what, there is always a glimmer of hope. I will find ways to obtain things that can improve the success rate of the transformation, and I am in no rush to transform now."
"Even if the transformation fails, my soon-to-be-born child and the Family I develop will still be loyal to you."
Just as the human finished speaking,
the Red-Iron Dragon suddenly raised his head, narrowing his eyes as he looked toward the sky.
An extra chill had entered the air, as if a cold front were sweeping in.
More importantly, he scented the aura of a Dragon, cold and savage like an arctic glacier.
Then, a white dragon silhouette streaked across the night sky, surrounded by surging frigid air. It drew closer and closer, causing a commotion among the Centaurs.
"It's Pale Wing, she's back!"
Silvermane's expression changed slightly as he spoke.
Pale Wing, the Evil Dragon who had been driven back by the White Mane Clan twenty years ago.
By feigning submission and then launching a surprise ambush, the Centaurs had nearly killed Pale Wing, but Pale Wing had also made the Centaurs pay a price.
The previous Clan Chief of the White Mane Clan had died because he was heavily injured in the battle with Pale Wing; his body grew weaker by the day due to the lingering effects.
The younger generation of Centaur Warriors had only heard of the glory of the clan hunting the White Dragon, but they did not know the price paid back then.
"It's the White Dragon that was driven back by the White Mane Clan back then."
Garros had heard of this White Dragon's existence.
The sixteen-meter-long White Dragon circled in the sky, her cold eyes staring at the ground below. She simultaneously noticed the Red-Iron Dragon in the Centaur camp, and her gaze couldn't help but freeze.
"White Scale? Why have you come?"
Garros looked at the White Dragon in the sky and asked subconsciously.
The Bloodlines of the Red Dragon and the Iron Dragon made him instinctively refer to her as 'White Scale.'
Hearing this, White Dragon Tereshi, who had originally intended to inquire about the situation, saw her dragon face darken instantly. The cold air around her grew denser, almost solidifying. Her eyes were full of rage as she glared fixedly at the Red-Iron Dragon below.
Her original purpose was to take revenge on the Centaurs.
But now, the Centaurs had been ignored by her.
Damn it! Arrogant Hybrid Dragon!
A mere Young Dragon dares to so despise the great Pale Wing!
White Dragon Tereshi was enraged.
At the same time, realizing he had been influenced by stereotypes, Garros politely added a follow-up.
"Oh no, I mean White Dragon. My apologies, I had a bit of a slip of the tongue just now."