Upon hearing the Red-Silver Dragon's words, Garros fell somewhat silent.
At this moment, the Red-Silver Dragon introduced him, saying: "My grandfather, titled [Gilded Wings], is a pure Gold Dragon, a true Legendary being, and he resides in the Boiling Sea together with my Silver Dragon grandmother."
"As long as he arrives, he can wipe away this Abyssal Rift as easily as dust."
Upon hearing this, the Red-Iron Dragon fell even more silent.
After a few seconds passed without a response, the Red-Silver Dragon blinked and said: "Say something, do you need me to call for reinforcements from the elders above?"
Garros looked at the Red-Silver Dragon without answering directly.
He asked: "Hypothetically, suppose your grandfather still couldn't solve the problem, what then?"
The Red-Silver Dragon said in a matter-of-fact tone: "What else could we do? We'd just keep calling for help from above; my grandfather still has elders above him."
The higher the age tier of a Dragonkin, the stronger they inevitably are.
The Red-Silver Dragon herself is a Young Dragon in her early forties, yet she can call upon older Dragonkin; it's like beating the young only to have the old show up—totally unfair.
Unless they are creatures of extreme chaotic evil that completely disregard the consequences, other intelligent beings are unwilling to mess with Metallic Dragons.
There is a reason for this.
Dammit, why can't Chromatic Dragons and Ferrous Dragons be as united and protective of their own as Metallic Dragons?
Garros hadn't even met his own Red Dragon father.
He found it hard to imagine how wonderful his life would be if he were born a Metallic Dragon, with layers of protection above him and thick thighs to hug; at the very least, he certainly wouldn't need to fight Goblins for resources.
"Deborah, does your grandfather want to adopt an Evil Dragon as a foster son? Look at me, a naturally evil Red-Iron Hybrid Dragon—do I meet the standards?"
The Red-Iron Dragon used a joke to mask the envy in his heart.
"You want to be a dragon of my father's generation? In your dreams."
The Red-Silver Dragon rolled her eyes at Garros, then straightened her expression: "I can ask my father for help; he will be very happy to come over once he hears the news about the Abyssal Rift."
After hesitating for a second, she continued: "However, I am not sure what his attitude towards you would be."
The Red-Silver Dragon looked at Garros's rugged, fierce, strong, and imposing body, and said in a low voice: "My father has always been very strict; he adheres to the principles of justice and loves to educate Evil Dragons."
"He might ignore you, but he might also have a sudden whim to capture you and imprison you for education."
Garros shook his head and said decisively: "The matter of the Abyssal Rift is currently not a major issue; it can even provide me with some resources, so let's not trouble your father."
He had always detested risks that were beyond his control.
Although the Abyssal Rift is a hidden danger, its scale is limited, and there are always subordinates watching it, so it won't stir up too much trouble. Even if something were to happen, he wouldn't be the first to bear the brunt of it.
An Adult Silver Dragon is different.
If an 18th-Rank Adult Silver Dragon really set its sights on him, it would be extremely troublesome, and the consequences would be unpredictable.
"Let's go, follow me back to Dragon Valley," Garros said, looking at the Red-Silver Dragon.
By binding the Red-Silver Dragon to his camp first—since Metallic Dragons value family bonds—if the Silver Dragon Frosttrace really wanted to attack him, he would have to consider his daughter's thoughts to some extent.
Additionally, if he were unlucky enough to encounter a terrifying enemy he couldn't resist, having a Metallic Dragon by his side would at least make the opponent wary.
He thought to himself, taking precautions for the future.
Soon after, the Red-Silver Dragon and Garros returned to Dragon Valley together.
Just as before he went into deep sleep, the Red-Silver Dragon accompanied and assisted him in various types of training, and Garros would give the Red-Silver Dragon riddles or gold coins as a reward.
Time passed day by day.
The friction and conflict between the Golden Tooth Tribe and the Molten Iron Tribe around the riverbank outpost continued.
Guerilla raids led by Centaur elites caused many losses to the Goblin outpost, but the Goblins also designed and planned ambushes and counterattacks.
Both sides traded blows, with losses on both sides.
By comparison, the Goblins, who were reluctant to abandon the outpost and relied on Golems and alchemical constructs to fight, were at a greater disadvantage.
However, the Goblins seemed to be enduring and waiting for something; although there were occasional ambushes and counterattacks, their overall reaction was not intense.
Just like that, a month slipped away quietly.
Boom! The hills covered in cold-resistant pine trees shook violently.
The Red-Iron Dragon and a giant black-scaled snake were thrashing and fighting on the ground.
Gravel splattered, the earth cracked, and giant trees collapsed; the momentum of their battle was like an earthquake, leaving deep gullies in the ground.
The giant black-scaled snake was nearly fifty meters long, its slender body coiled around the Red-Iron Dragon, every muscle fiber beneath its scales as tough as steel wire.
Scales rubbed against scales, making a clanging sound, and the sparks that were sputtered out were immediately crushed and swallowed by the dense cold air.
The giant black-scaled snake tightened and constricted inch by inch, attempting to strangle the Red-Iron Dragon; clear sounds of straining muscles rang out from within its body, yet no matter how it constricted, it could never stop the Red-Iron Dragon's heart.
The cold air continuously invaded its body. The sword-like spines sliced through the snake's scales, like a slow slicing execution.
The weapon-like dragon wings and tail slashed and stabbed repeatedly, leaving terrifying wounds that were deep enough to see bone.
However, the giant black-scaled snake seemed to have no sense of pain, nor much of a brain; it stubbornly constricted its body, sinking its fangs into the Red-Iron Dragon's back and pouring in venom.
A few minutes later. Crack!
With the surging of dark red Qi, the dragon wings acted like blades, descending with the fierce momentum of severing everything, decapitating the giant black-scaled snake. Even in death, its snake head remained bitten into Garros.
"That's the last one." Garros removed the snake head and thought to himself: "The Wild Monster Lords in the southwest have been completely eradicated; the final piece of the puzzle is complete."
With this, the Molten Iron Tribe had completely taken over the southwest; every inch of land here belonged to the Molten Iron Tribe, and belonged to Garros.
"Among the Wild Monster Lords, only the White Tiger has been tamed."
"The others are either like the Chimera, naturally chaotic and evil with no thought of allegiance, or like this giant snake, cold-blooded, brutal, and fighting to the death without retreating."
Garros secretly sighed in regret. He picked up the body of the giant black-scaled python and flew toward Dragon Valley.
If it couldn't be tamed, then he would use it to nourish his body; Garros couldn't eat such high-level meat every day.
Not long after. Night fell.
Campfires were lit in Dragon Valley. The Ogre chef, skilled at preparing meat, carefully roasted the snake meat, skillfully sprinkling various spices. The fat sizzling from the roasting flames made crackling sounds, and the aroma of the meat mixed with the spices, permeating the valley.
Roasted snake meat, snake meat soup, snake meat sashimi. Three ways to eat one snake.
Garros enjoyed the delicacy while watching the duel ahead.
The campfire illuminated the clearing. The Lizardfolk Ulos and the Kobold Doug stood in the center of the firelight, pacing slowly, cautiously and carefully sizing each other up.
The Lizardfolk looked like a standing giant lizard. As for the Kobold, its name was quite inconsistent with its appearance; it looked more like a Dragonkin, with no canine features on its body. It was only because they were overly sycophantic towards dragons and most individuals were relatively weak that they were labeled as Kobolds.
After the Gnoll Hodge died, the Iron Will lost its Warband Leader.
Garros was not very familiar with the new generation of monsters and had no preferred candidates, so he simply adopted a martial selection method.
The Lizardfolk and Kobold before him. They had gone through layers of selection, fought their way out, and were the final candidates, as well as the strongest of the new generation of both tribes.
Garros tore off a piece of roasted snake meat, the grease dripping down his jaw, and watched with interest as the two leaders sized each other up.
"Begin." The Red-Iron Dragon's voice was deep and majestic.
The larger Lizardfolk Ulos attacked first; he flicked his tail, strode over with long steps, and swung his battle-axe at Doug, the wind pressure from the axe blade causing the campfire to flicker unsteadily.
The Kobold did not take the hit head-on; he ducked and rolled, his body disappearing as he merged with the night.
Boom! With a violent tremor, the ground was fiercely split open by the giant axe, and a deep gully extended forward for more than ten meters, demonstrating the power of this strike.
At the same time, taking advantage of the gap in the Lizardfolk's attack, Doug appeared silently at the Lizardfolk's side. His attack had no great noise or momentum; his dagger slashed upwards insidiously, stabbing towards the Lizardfolk's crotch.
Ulos's eyelids twitched. He jumped back to avoid it, his thick tail slapping the ground to launch him, and he pounced on the Kobold with even greater speed.
Just then, the Kobold suddenly pulled a handful of sand from his waist and threw it at Ulos's face.
The Lizardfolk instinctively closed his eyes, his movements slightly sluggish.
Doug seized the opportunity; a pair of bat-like wings suddenly unfolded from behind him, his speed increased explosively, as fast as a ghost. The dagger went straight for the Lizardfolk's throat, but at the last moment, he changed his move, the tip of the blade lightly touching Ulos's carotid artery.
"You lost." Doug's voice was high-pitched but firm.
Ulos opened his eyes, looking in disbelief at the dagger pressed against his neck.
His heavy breathing gradually calmed down, and finally, he slowly lowered his battle-axe.
"Well done, little guy," the Lizardfolk said in a muffled voice.
The Kobold Doug wagged his tail and turned to look at the Red-Iron Dragon.
The firelight shone on the dragon's scales, the flickering reflection making him appear even more imposing and majestic.
"Ulos's strength is superior," the Red-Iron Dragon said, "but Doug is better at using his brain to fight; the win is impeccable."
The overall level of the Lizardfolk and the Kobold was on par.
But when it came to fighting, the Lizardfolk just attacked fiercely without any thought, whereas the Kobold Doug understood the true essence of a shadow assassin, fought with his brain, controlled the rhythm, and delivered the fatal blow at the best moment.
The strengths and weaknesses of both sides were easy to distinguish.
"Doug, the position of Warband Leader of the Iron Will is now yours; perform well."
The Kobold put away his dagger and immediately prostrated himself on the ground: "My Master, I am willing to die for you, to fight to the death."
The campfire crackled, and sparks rose into the night sky. The figure of the Iron Dragon Sorog appeared above Dragon Valley; he circled briefly, folded his wings, and landed in front of the Red-Iron Dragon.
"Garros, my dear brother, I have a major discovery," he said, unable to suppress his excitement.
"What is it?" Garros asked.
The Iron Dragon lowered his voice and said slowly: "In the territory of the Golden Tooth Tribe, it is very likely that there is a Black Oil Field."
Garros was slightly stunned at first. The next second, his breathing became heavy, his pupils suddenly contracted into thin lines, and a few sparks sprayed from his nostrils.
"Are you sure?!"
Anything that can be called a Black Oil Field has a minimum recoverable reserve that can produce over ten thousand tons of black oil, enough for Garros to swim in; it is an extremely precious strategic resource.
"Eight or nine chances out of ten," the Iron Dragon nodded heavily.
Black Oil Field, Black Oil Field. Garros's eyes shone, revealing intense longing, as well as a trace of dangerous light.
"Sorog, tell me the specific details of the discovery," the Red-Iron Dragon said, taking a deep breath and speaking in a deep voice.
For a strategic resource like a Black Oil Field, as long as its existence is confirmed and there is a possibility of taking it, one must strike hard; it must absolutely not be missed!
×=×
15PS = 1 Extra Chapter. ✓
30PS = 2 Extra Chapters. ✓
50Ps= 3 Extra Chapters. ✓
75PS = 4 Extra Chapters.
100Ps = 5 Extra Chapters.