At dawn, Garros returned to Dragon Valley, covered in wounds but with eyes bright and spirited.
"Such severe injuries? Who did this to you!"
Deborah, who had been guarding Dragon Valley, was shocked at the sight, followed immediately by a burst of fury. The scales on her body bristled slightly, and a dense, biting chill permeated the air around her.
"It's nothing."
Garros landed on the ground, a smile appearing on his face: "The enemy suffered greater losses than I did. From now on, The Borderlands belong to me."
Noticing that although the Red-Iron Dragon's aura was a bit sluggish, there was nothing fundamentally wrong with him, Deborah's anger gradually subsided.
She asked suspiciously: "What happened last night?"
Garros recounted how he had been ambushed and then almost completely wiped out the enemy's leadership in a calm and composed tone.
"Those barbarians really don't know what's good for them."
"It's fortunate that you are strong enough, otherwise the consequences would have been unimaginable."
The Red-Silver Dragon looked at Garros's rugged and strong body, her gaze lingering on those wounds.
For Dragonkin, scars were not ugly remnants, but marks of merit and honor. Any Dragonkin who had been through battle would see their dragon scales become thicker and harder after repeated shattering and healing. Furthermore, the surface would develop some subtle, crack-like visual marks that required careful observation to notice, representing their extensive battle experience—these were known as battle-scarred patterns.
The Frostburn Scales on Garros's surface existed to be shattered, so they didn't have these marks.
But on his underlying black-Red Dragon scales, some battle-scarred patterns had now appeared.
The appearance of these things meant extensive and intense combat. They basically wouldn't appear on a Young Dragon, and even a prime white dragon like Tereshi didn't have them.
"battle-scarred patterns? Garros, when I was in the Boiling Sea Dragon Domain, I never saw any Young Dragon with battle-scarred patterns."
"Only adult, prime, or elderly Dragonkin have them."
The Red-Silver Dragon couldn't help but step forward, reaching out her claws to gently touch the fresh battle-scarred patterns still oozing blood on Garros's chest.
"Does it hurt?"
She asked in a low voice.
"I'm used to it."
The Red-Iron Dragon said dismissively, then took a few steps back, lowered his head to look at these so-called battle-scarred patterns, and said happily: "The Legacy says that after these battle-scarred patterns cover the whole body, they will form a special network, which helps energy flow rapidly. It has the same effect on my Dragon Qi. Once they are fully formed, I will have one more method at my disposal."
Having battle-scarred patterns cover the entire body is usually a trait of an Ancient Dragon.
If one lives in seclusion for years and does not participate in conflicts, even an Ancient Dragon might not be covered in battle-scarred patterns.
By then, the buff it provides to an Ancient Dragon isn't actually high, but its very existence signifies power, making others afraid to provoke them.
Opposite him, the Red-Silver Dragon had different thoughts.
"To be so relaxed despite such heavy injuries... if it were me, I might have already been screaming in agony."
"Garros has endured too much pain since he was young."
Deborah felt a pang of heartache and pity.
The strong, ferocious Hybrid Dragon before her had turned into a little beast in her eyes that needed care.
Pitiful, weak, and helpless.
The Red-Silver Dragon hurriedly fished out something that looked like a red crystal or a pill from her neck scales; it was bright and translucent.
"This is a magic potion my father refined using his own dragon blood. It can quickly heal injuries. Eat it."
Garros's eyes lit up, and he said: "Give it to me first. My injuries aren't serious right now; I can save it for later." He could heal his own injuries slowly.
Such a precious magic potion was better used during battle.
"Eat it now, or I won't give it to you."
The Red-Silver Dragon guessed Garros's thoughts and stuffed the magic potion directly into Garros's mouth.
Feeling his body's instinctive craving for this magic potion, and the Red-Silver Dragon's determination, Garros lightly bit the Red-Silver Dragon's claw, rolled the magic potion with his tongue, and simply swallowed it whole.
As soon as it reached his stomach, it melted instantly.
It felt like a cool stream of water gently brushing through Garros's body. Everywhere it passed, he felt comfortable. The shattered blood vessels and injured internal organs immediately felt much better, and even his scales began to itch as if bitten by ants, with the regeneration speed increasing.
"This is truly good stuff."
Garros stretched his body, realizing he was no longer in pain, and couldn't help but want more.
"I'll give you another one."
The Red-Silver Dragon took out another magic potion made from the essence blood of a prime Silver Dragon, handed it to Garros, and said: "Garros, keep this for yourself."
"How many do you have left?"
Garros asked.
"I have plenty." To prevent Garros from doubting, the Red-Silver Dragon emphasized: "Don't forget, I am a Metallic Dragon. I have plenty of things like this."
The Red-Iron Dragon nodded, then extended his claw.
"Then give me a few more."
He shamelessly asked for more directly.
"In your dreams! You greedy Evil Dragon."
The Red-Silver Dragon snorted lightly and turned her head away as if angry.
After waiting for a while, she didn't hear any follow-up from the Red-Iron Dragon. She turned back in displeasure and found that the Red-Iron Dragon had already curled up on the spot and fallen asleep, his mouth emitting hot and steady breaths.
The Silver Dragon's magic potion could only stop pain and heal wounds; it had limited effects on restoring physical strength and mental state.
After the intense battle, the Red-Iron Dragon's spirit relaxed, and after taking the magic potion, he couldn't resist the sleepiness and fell asleep.
Not long after.
After the news spread that the high-level leaders of the Dawn Tribe and the Ironblood Tribe had almost all died in the Battle of the Raging Torrent River, the morale of the Molten Iron Tribe soared.
Being ambushed but counter-killing all the enemies made the Lord of the Crimson Wings appear increasingly invincible.
In stark contrast to the Molten Iron Tribe, the two major tribes were shrouded in gloom, their morale completely shattered. The humans and orcs no longer resisted stubbornly, but they didn't have the intention to surrender either. They scattered into many small groups and turned to flee into the deeper, snow-covered, and bone-chilling Permafrost Tundra.
After this.
The Vassal Legion of the Molten Iron Tribe was unstoppable, crushing through the north inch by inch, occupying and controlling the strongholds that originally belonged to the Dawn and Ironblood Tribes.
And unlike the Golden Tooth Tribe before.
Because these two tribes advocated glory and battle, even though their leaders were dead, their resistance remained exceptionally fierce when their fleeing clansmen were caught up. Those who couldn't escape fought to the death without retreating, and only a very few individuals chose to surrender.
Time passed slowly like this.
About a month later.
At the end of the new calendar year 249, when the intelligent creatures of the Southern Federation were preparing holiday celebrations for the upcoming New Year, The Borderlands had already welcomed its uncrowned King.
At this time, The Borderlands were almost covered with flags belonging to the Molten Iron Tribe.
Except for the Poison Tail Tribe, all other lands and resources belonged to the Ignas Dragon Flight, to Garros.
"The finishing work is basically complete."
"The Borderlands now only have the Poison Tail Tribe and us left. Should we wait for them to come and surrender, or should I go and recruit them?"
Solrog's inquiry came through his mind.
The Red-Iron Dragon paused his polishing and training of his dragon wings, narrowed his eyes slightly, and said slowly: "The snake-men are watching the fire from across the river, wanting to reap the greatest benefits. Even now, they still want to hold out for a better price. Heh, they are being too presumptuous."
After a moment of thought.
Garros said: "Ignore them for now. I want to see when they will be willing to come and pledge their allegiance."
Five days later.
The Poison Tail Tribe, having never waited for the dragon to come and recruit them, finally couldn't hold back and sent envoys to Dragon Valley to express their desire to pledge allegiance and surrender.
However, Garros refused.
"Solrog, gather the legion and go to the Poison Tail Tribe, crush the strongholds along the way, and surround the Ten Thousand Snakes Swamp."
"Decide based on their attitude afterwards. If there is any further resistance or cleverness, trample the Ten Thousand Snakes Swamp as well, kill all those who resist, and turn those who surrender into slaves."
The soaring Molten Iron Legion bared its fangs again, biting towards the poisonous snakes entrenched in the northeast.
For such wavering fence-sitters, Garros couldn't rest easy if they were to absorb their entire tribe without loss. Such killing would waste some future vassals or slaves, but it was very necessary.
Meanwhile.
When the King of the Borderlands gave the order to punish the cunning Poison Tail snake-men.
The sunset on the edge of the Serel Wilderness was stained blood-red.
In the ruins of a dilapidated Duchy outpost, the last few wisps of black smoke twisted and rose toward the sky.
A dragon slowly retracted its wings that covered the sky. Its massive body, twenty-eight meters long, cast a terrifying shadow on the ground. Its blood-red scales were densely covered with battle-scarred patterns, resembling countless burning wounds.
This was a prime Red Dragon.
The Red Dragon's front claw playfully pressed down on the last struggling guard, feeling the sensation of human bones gradually shattering under his claw.
The guard's shrill wailing sounded like the most beautiful music in his ears. The dragon snout, filled with sharp teeth, gradually split open, revealing an intoxicated smile.
"What a wonderful sensation, what a melodious sound."
His cruel, low self-talk echoed through the ruins. He deliberately slowed down the speed of crushing the chest with his claw tip, so that this death symphony could last longer.
And as time passed.
When the last scream dissipated in the evening breeze, Gorthax took a deep, satisfied breath.
Years of exile had made the scent of this homeland even sweeter; it was a fragrance mixed with fear, blood, and the smell of burning.
Sniffing the air in the wilderness, the muscles under his scales twitched with excitement. The hatred and tyranny that had accumulated for many years finally found an outlet.
Immediately afterwards, he spread his wings that covered the sky and looked up, letting out a roar that shook the world.
Invisible and scorching dragon might swept across the ruins like a wave.
"Now, it's time to let the Serel Wilderness recognize its master again!"
"Insects, get ready to tremble in dragon flames and turn into ashes!"
The spines on the Red Dragon's back stood upright one by one. His exhaled breath ignited the nearby ruins. Then, surrounded by countless flames, he flapped his wings and soared into the sky, disappearing into the horizon before the reinforcements of the Federation's experts could arrive.
×=×
My bad for being late. I was preparing for my exam.