The cost of constructing the Blood Kin Chain for the first time was not small. Gorton seemed to have some unspeakable secret, so he remained silent for a long time, and as time passed, Solrog began to struggle to hold on.
"Do not resist; let me finish the Blood Kin Chain first."
"We will talk in detail in a moment."
As he spoke, Solrog began to construct the final strand of the Blood Kin Chain, extending it toward the fat Iron Dragon's psychic form.
Gorton hesitated for a few seconds—was it really necessary to keep in touch with a poor brother who was likely still struggling in the wilderness?
He was no longer the naive and foolish Wyrmling he once was. He knew that Solrog's words back then were all just bluster. They had spent very little time together, their relationship could not be called deep, and he did not believe Solrog could have achieved anything; his situation was likely dire.
If it were Garros, who was reliable and powerful, that would be worth trusting.
While he hesitated, the Blood Kin Chain had already extended to him.
In the end, although Iron Dragon Gorton was somewhat hesitant, he did not resist and accepted the Blood Kin Chain.
"Blood Kin Chain, complete!"
Solrog opened his eyes.
He could clearly perceive Garros's presence and could even vaguely sense the other's emotions—calm, vigilant, like a deep and vast ocean.
As for Samantha, her mental fluctuations were like a ball of volatile fire, ready to burn through the connection at any moment.
As for Gorton, because the distance was too great, the connection was unstable, flickering in and out.
But regardless, the Spell was a success.
Now, no matter how far apart they were, as long as they were within the same continent, the Ignas Siblings could communicate on a psychic level.
Of course, the Blood Kin Chain was not a very Advanced psychic Spell.
It would still be subject to interference and could be blocked, but for daily communication, it was sufficient.
The Iron Dragon looked down at his chest. With the Spell construction finished, the blood had stopped flowing, making him feel much better.
Meanwhile.
The Borderlands, northeast, Ten Thousand Snakes Swamp.
Swamp gas hung like rotten silk on the dead trees, the air was filled with damp moisture, and sunlight was cut into mottled light and shadow, falling in beams.
This was the base camp of the Poison Tail Tribe.
Including their tails, the Snake-men, who averaged over six meters in length as adults, constantly patrolled the swamp, with all sorts of secret curses and witchcraft quietly woven throughout.
Deep in the swamp.
The council chamber of the Poison Tail Tribe was built inside the ribcage of a giant snake skeleton half-submerged in the mire.
The Snake-man Psion Sargon was currently coiled on the mossy stone dais of the main seat, his slender snake tail silently slapping against the foul, wet ground.
Before him, two visitors were emitting a scent that made his scales crawl.
Urom, the Orc Warlord of the Ironblood Tribe, wore blood-stained copper rings on his tusks, his heavy breathing clearly audible from over ten meters away; Bretta, the Barbarian female warrior of the Dawn Tribe, had twisted tattoos covering her bare shoulders, yellowed bones braided into her thick hair, and her entire body steamed with the heat of sweat and blood.
These two were the envoys sent by the Ironblood and Dawn Tribes, respectively.
The commotion caused by the Molten Iron Tribe defeating and annexing the Golden Tooth Tribe had not escaped the notice of humans and Orcs.
Although they despised the treacherous and despicable Goblins in their hearts, the Alchemy Legion of the Golden Tooth Tribe could not be underestimated.
Regarding the rapidly rising Molten Iron Tribe that had defeated the Golden Tooth Tribe, humans and Orcs felt a deep sense of vigilance and caution, unwilling to let this strange tribe continue to grow and strengthen.
To this end, they had reached a unified idea, preparing to unite against the Molten Iron Tribe and strike before the Molten Iron Tribe could digest the fruits of victory and become invincible.
Now, only the stance of the Poison Tail Tribe was missing.
The Snake-man Psion Sargon was a tribe leader, currently responsible for speaking with the tribe envoys.
"Snake-fellow!"
Urom broke the silence first, his voice like two pieces of raw iron rubbing together, harsh and unpleasant: "That red-iron bastard Dragon of the Molten Iron Tribe swallowed Golden Tooth; the next one will be us! Poison Tail, Ironblood, Dawn, we must be like three fangs and crush his throat!"
He slammed his massive fist onto the stone table, shaking several poisonous scorpions hiding in the cracks, causing them to scurry away in panic.
Bretta crossed her arms, her bronze skin gleaming with oil in the dim light.
Her voice was deep and husky as she said: "Urom is right. Those Dragons use ruthless methods. The Goblins of the Golden Tooth Tribe have already submitted. Once he finishes digesting Golden Tooth, if the three of us face him alone, we will all be skinned and gutted. Only by twisting into a single rope, while his wings have not yet fully hardened, can we grind him and his kin into dust."
Her sharp eyes swept across the Snake-man Psion and she said: "The Psion Shamans of Poison Tail, plus the warriors of Ironblood and our Barbarians, are enough to tear the Molten Iron Tribe to shreds. When that happens, The Borderlands will still belong to us."
Compared to the primitive directness of the Orcs.
A Barbarian who was not angry was easier to communicate with.
Opposite them, the Snake-man Psion's tongue swept silently across his lips.
"Hiss, hiss, hiss, the rise of the Molten Iron Tribe has indeed made the vipers in the swamp feel uneasy."
His voice was slick and cold, like a venomous snake slithering over wet, cold rocks, completely different from humans and Orcs.
"The bravery of the Ironblood Tribe and the decisiveness of the Dawn Tribe are things we in the Poison Tail Tribe have always admired."
His words were not as direct as those of humans or Orcs; his tone was effeminate and obscure.
The Orc Warlord snorted impatiently, letting a stronger body odor permeate the damp air, and said: "Stop beating around the bush, Sargon! Just tell us, will the snake swarms of Poison Tail join us to bite that Red Dragon bastard to death, or are you waiting to be plucked out one by one and made into snake soup?"
The human envoy was also somewhat displeased. He stared at the Snake-man Psion and said: "We come with sincerity; do not continue to prevaricate and beat around the bush. The Molten Iron Tribe is growing stronger every moment; we need to make a decision as soon as possible."
Both the Ironblood Tribe and the Dawn Tribe liked to be direct.
The only difference was that the Orcs were cruder while the humans were slightly more rational, but when the Barbarians of the Dawn Tribe were angry, they would be even more ferocious than the Orcs.
"Your requests... hiss... are very direct."
The Snake-man Psion said: "War, especially against top-tier monsters like Dragonkin, is not wrestling in a gladiatorial arena. It requires precise venom, not blind charging. The strength of the Poison Tail Tribe lies in silent strangulation and patient waiting."
What are you rambling on about?!
Urom slammed the table and stood up, roaring impatiently: "Sargon! Stop talking nonsense! Give us a straight answer!"
The surrounding Snake-man guards looked coldly toward the council chamber.
The thick-nerved Orc did not care, only glaring irritably at the Snake-man Psion.
Bretta slapped a few venomous mosquitoes that were sucking blood on her arm, her gaze also gradually becoming somewhat impatient.
Two barbaric, vulgar, brainless idiots. The Snake-man Psion leaned forward slightly and said: "The dosage and timing of poison determine whether it is a life-saving medicine or... a curse that accelerates death. We need a more thorough plan; we need to know where the most fragile scale of the Molten Iron Tribe is. Blindly attacking will only lead to being burned to ash by Dragonfire."
The Orc's eyelids twitched; he could not stand the Snake-man Psion's long-windedness.
Nagging and indecisive.
No wonder he only liked to hide in the back playing with curses and Spells; he had no blood-courage or honor.
He wanted to raise his fist and smash it into the Snake-man Psion's face, crushing his head.
But considering the purpose of this trip, and that he was on someone else's territory, the Orc Warlord tried hard to suppress his anger.
Finally.
The Snake-man Psion got to the point.
"Three days... hiss... the eldest Ancestral Spirit Shaman of the Poison Tail Tribe will perform a channeling to spy on the weaknesses of the Molten Iron Tribe and find the gap most suitable for the venomous fang to pierce."
"At that time, the Poison Tail Tribe will give you a concrete answer."
The Borderlands, southeast, Steel Nail Outpost.
"Let's communicate with Garros and Samantha first to test the effects of the Blood Kin Chain, and talk about Gorton's matter while we're at it."
Iron Dragon Sorog eased the cost of constructing the Spell, and after his spirit had recovered quite a bit, psychic light lit up in his eyes.
Immediately after.
With a feeling like a gentle tapping on his Bloodline, Garros and Samantha simultaneously received the communication sent by Solrog on a psychic level through the Blood Kin Chain. Moreover, with the Psion as a relay, through Iron Dragon Sorog, Garros and Samantha could also sense each other's thoughts.
"Something big has happened."
The Iron Dragon's voice was serious and earnest.
"Gorton is still alive; I used the Blood Kin Chain to locate him."
He presented the psychic form he saw to Garros and Samantha.
"What a fat swine. He has the characteristics of an Iron Dragon. Is it a Dragonblood Swine?! He looks very oily; if roasted with flames and sprinkled with some spices, it should be very delicious."
The Red Dragon drooled.
The first time she saw the fat Iron Dragon through the connection, she did not realize who the other party was.