Chapter 44

When the dragon beasts’ wings swept over the swamp, overlooking the so-called “tribe” below, a feeling utterly different from what they expected rose in their hearts. There was no chaotic stench, no disorderly clamor; instead, there was a tense, orderly precision.

All structures were built on the most defensible positions, connected by sturdy pine boardwalks. Drainage ditches were clearly visible, ensuring the tribe would not become a mud pit during the rainy season. The totem poles no longer bore primitive symbols of fear, but depicted druids transforming into elk, guiding lizardfolk and bringing harvest and order. This was a cultivated faith.

Here, nature was not destroyed, but harnessed. Thorns were cultivated into natural fences; toxic mushrooms were planted along key paths as botanical defenses. In one corner of the tribe, even a vast network of small fishponds existed, where several strong lizardfolk fishermen appeared to be scattering something into the pools.

If observed closely, one would notice numerous swamp giant crocodiles lurking beneath the main waterways and mudflats of the tribe. These crocodiles were larger than their wild counterparts, their scales a near-black emerald green, thickly encrusted with hard moss and barnacles, as if fused entirely with the swamp environment.

Their eyes were no longer filled with pure beastly madness, but instead held a calm, almost cold anticipation. Most strikingly, key areas of their heads and spines were covered in bio-armor meticulously woven from tough vines, hard wood, and polished beast bones. This was no simple binding—it seemed to symbiotically merge with their scales, providing extra protection without sacrificing flexibility.

The lizardfolk tribe’s watchtowers were not haphazardly constructed. They were built from massive, fire-treated hardwoods and vines, cleverly anchored atop the largest ancient trees or natural high ground, forming flawless overlapping fields of vision.

Each tower not only housed conventional lizardfolk archers, but its upper platform had been specially reinforced with actual weapons of destruction—ballistae. More crucially, living thorn vines wrapped around the tower bodies, capable of rapid growth under druidic command to entangle climbers. The harpies could clearly sense these vines as extensions of the druid’s natural perception network.

These ballistae did not appear to be standard-issue equipment. Their bows were composite, forged from swamp ironwood and tendons of some colossal creature, rugged yet formidable. The bolts were even more impressive—far larger than ordinary crossbow bolts, resembling giant spears, their tips not made of pure metal but of polished obsidian, etched with simple runes of armor-piercing and wind-running arts.

Igro sneered: “Hmph. A tamed poultry pen.” He spat sulfur-tinged sparks from his nostrils. “Look at those buildings—neat as a beehive. It’s infuriating. Such things shouldn’t exist. That druid turned lizardfolk into docile sheep. Conquering this holds no honor—it’s like crushing a delicate model. But it’s quite amusing.”

The white dragon beast Zelas asked, puzzled: “...Where are the treasures?” Her ice-blue pupils scanned below. All supplies—dried fish, gathered moss, polished stone tools—were neatly stored in specific huts or elevated platforms. “So poor! Not even a decent trophy in sight. They must’ve hidden the good stuff—definitely in that stone longhouse!”

The bronze dragon beast Aquilon murmured in admiration: “A... efficient order.” He observed with military precision. “Look at those warriors—their scales gleam identically, their spears held at identical angles. Their eyes hold no wild chaos, only vigilance and obedience. This druid has achieved what many commanders cannot. A remarkable figure.”

Vilanther: “Enough idle chatter. State your purpose. Don’t tell me you’re just passing through—I don’t believe it.”

Tali: “Auntie Vilanther, my father sent us to invite you to visit. Will you go willingly, or shall we drag you?”

Vilanther growled: “No wonder Cardowen has grown more chaotic lately—it’s that bastard again. I regret not killing him on the spot.”

“Tali, you talk too much!” With that, Vikes unleashed a linear bolt of lightning toward Vilanther—but she dodged effortlessly.

The druid struck back. She did not charge the enemy ranks; instead, she reared up and slammed her hooves down. Suddenly, the entire swamp ground heaved violently. Thick thorn vines erupted like giant serpents, wrapping around the limbs of the four dragon beasts, attempting to restrict their movement and spellcasting.

Then she let out a long, ancient deer call. From the surrounding swamp waters, several massive swamp crocodiles surged forth, while a band of fierce lizardfolk berserkers burst from the shadows, attacking the dragon beasts.

Vikes ignored the vines Chanrao his legs and unleashed several linear lightning breaths, precisely sweeping across the charging lizardfolk berserkers and crocodiles. The air filled with the smell of charred flesh; the first wave of ground troops collapsed instantly. Simultaneously, he cast “Mirror Image,” summoning several indistinguishable illusions to disrupt the druid’s targeting.

Zelas seemed furious at the vines binding her. She lifted her head and unleashed a cone of freezing breath—not aimed at the druid, but at the ground beneath her. Instantly, the swamp surface, the vines, and two charging crocodiles froze into massive ice sculptures.

“Excellent. A very clever druidic spell,” Aquilon praised. “But such tricks won’t hold us. If you have no other tricks, you’re finished.” This bronze dragon beast seemed more interested in watching than fighting, and made no effort to break free.

“Insect, you’ve angered me! Now you’ll feel the power of mighty Igro! Begging is too late!” With that, he flared his wings, forcibly tearing apart the charred vines. He locked onto the druid and unleashed a cone of searing flame. Where the fire passed, huts and trees turned to ash. The druid’s elk form leapt nimbly aside, but her mane still caught fire and blackened.

As she landed, Vilanther sensed imminent danger and instantly transformed into a turtle, rolling backward while casting “Thorn Cage.” Moments later, a rain of ice spikes fell like hail, barely blocking the deadly strike—when Vikes surged forward like lightning. Just before reaching her, a thunderous explosion erupted, hurling the blue dragon beast backward into the mud.

Immediately, vines erupted from the ground, binding Vikes tightly and rooting into his body. The blue dragon beast’s form withered, screaming as it dried out. Then a small tornado appeared from nowhere, instantly shredding the dangerous vines.

Simultaneously, three spherical lightning balls flew toward Vilanther. After piercing two layers of shields, the storm spheres detonated, blinding lightning swallowing the druid’s form. The explosion’s shockwave flung mud and water in all directions.

The lightning faded. Half of the druid’s antler was shattered, her body charred black, kneeling in the muck, breath faint. The emerald glow in her eyes dimmed.

Seeing this, the four dragon beasts circled in from different angles—but none dared advance. Having witnessed the druid’s power, none could be sure she still held no hidden cards. They stood in tense stalemate, each waiting for her to collapse—though this was clearly wishful thinking.

Suddenly, a green light flared between the druid’s brows. Surrounding plants withered and decayed, yet her wounds healed miraculously. Seeing this, the four dragon beasts hesitated no longer—attacks came in rapid succession.

First to strike was Igro. He unleashed “Fire Domain,” engulfing the entire area in flames. With nowhere to stand, Vilanther transformed into an eagle and flew backward toward the swamp—perfectly playing into Zelas’s hands. She cast “Cold Current,” freezing the swamp solid. With no escape, Vilanther stood on the ice, facing them.

Before she could steady herself, several wind blades flew at her. Forced to dodge, she suddenly found the ice cracking beneath her—a blue dragon claw slammed into her, sending her flying. As she tried to rise, the harpy’s lightning spear was already at her face.

“Auntie Vilanther, your skills have improved since the old days—but today we’re many. No point in futile resistance.”

“Hmph. Never.” With that, the druid’s elk form gazed one last time at the ruined natural land, let out a low cry filled with sorrow and resolve, then dissolved into countless fluttering leaves and specks of light, merging into the swamp mist. She used her final strength to cast “Wood Escape,” fleeing the battlefield.

“Outstanding! Such battlefield calculation and analysis! Holding out against five masters? A true expert! If not for our numbers, we might’ve lost. Don’t you agree, Black Dragon Vikes?”

“Hahahaha!” As Aquilon spoke, all present burst into laughter. Vikes, covered in soot, looked at his own body and joined in.

Tali: “Stop laughing! If you laugh any longer, Vilanther will truly escape—and then how will you explain your failure?”

Aquilon: “I anticipated this. I borrowed the Hunter’s Compass from Krasuna—she won’t get away.”

………

This place felt like a forgotten corner of time. Giant ancient trees grew in a ring, their gnarled roots exposed like sleeping serpents, forming natural steps and barriers. The canopy intertwined high above, blocking nearly all sunlight—except for a few golden shafts, like holy light, piercing down to illuminate the center of the clearing.

There, a pool of crystal-clear spring water floated luminous water lilies, sharply contrasting the polluted swamp water outside. The air carried a rich scent of life—earth, flowers, and ancient trees—almost dispelling the sulfur, ozone, and blood stench the dragon beasts brought.

The druid’s elk stood beside the spring. Her charred wounds were healing, impossibly slow, nourished by surrounding life energy. Her eyes held no fear of escape—only deep weariness and an untouchable dignity.

Igro stepped forward first, his burning claws scorching the emerald grass to ash. He shattered the silence with a thunderous voice: “Run, old stag! Why don’t you run? Your forest traps and those slimy lizard brats couldn’t save you!”

The druid slowly raised her head, her gaze calm as it swept over the red dragon. Her voice, like wind through a forest sea, was hoarse yet powerful: “Run? No. I merely led you away from the place I poured my heart into. Every patch of land burned by your flames, frozen by your ice, cries out to me. This—this is the last sanctuary. You will not defile it.”

Zelas growled impatiently, her icy breath condensing moisture into frost: “Enough talk! Where’s your treasure? Hand it over, and I’ll give you a quick death!” She sniffed greedily—but only the clean scent of plants and water filled the air, leaving her dissatisfied.

“There is no such filthy thing here. Only the forest’s breath, the tribe’s peace, the cycle of life. These—you will never understand. Nor can you take them.”

Vikes stepped forward heavily, his voice cold and hard: “Your tribe has shown rare order. Worthy of recognition. But order must bow to stronger order. Surrender, druid. Your knowledge may yet hold value for our master.”

“Surrender?” The druid slammed her hoof down hard. The light in the grove seemed to tremble. “Nature never surrenders! I may fall here, but the forest will remember your scent. Vines will coil around your bones. Fungi will break down your scales. Rain will wash away every trace of your existence. Nature’s vengeance is slow—but it will come.”

Aquilon: “Druid, you may be right. But take a look at this.” He unfurled a scroll radiating an ominous aura, filling all with unease. “I think you know what it does. Will you talk about surrender now?”

The moment the bronze dragon beast revealed the scroll, Vilanther knew its purpose. She could only speak helplessly: “I surrender. On one condition: you leave every living thing in the forest and swamp untouched.”

Tali: “Agreed!”