Chapter 8: Management

After training the lizardmen and fishmen, Sakavi decided to observe for a while before sleeping—falling asleep only to wake up and find his hard-won followers slaughtered would be no fun at all.

During this time, Sakavi discovered that the bog toads showed extraordinary talent in crafting potions; among their mere hundred-odd tribespeople, he found over sixty alchemists.

But the bog toads did not engage in production; previously, they had enslaved fishmen and lizardmen to fish and gather, but since Sakavi forbade slavery, all their supplies now came from nearby fishman tribes.

Sakavi decided it was necessary to initiate production-line mode: fishmen would cultivate herbs, lizardmen would fire glass or ceramic containers, bog toads would produce potions, and the finished potions would be sold by lizardmen to nearby towns.

The towns were merely larger boarman tribes; after the legendary Bog the Bloodaxe led the boarmen out of the wilderness, they established a feudal system similar to humans’.

Several tribes that followed Bog settled in key cities, smaller tribes claimed or called themselves towns, and the tiniest became villages.

To consolidate his rule, Bog even ordered that governors of major cities had the right to tax and conscript from surrounding villages and towns.

Had the boarmen not been so fiercely territorial—even other boarman tribes couldn’t settle in their towns—their influence might not have been confined to arable plains.

Despite their xenophobia, they treated all trading races equally, never harboring hostility toward any one group—a marked improvement over human empires. As for their occasional habit of playing bandits on their own turf, Sakavi admitted he shared that preference.

Potions were essential for every adventurer or warrior venturing into the wild, especially healing potions, and their production was always minuscule—always in high demand, scarce supply. The Great Swamp’s ability to mass-produce potions would inevitably draw many rival factions to compete for them.

Sakavi planned to use these opportunistic factions as test subjects to gauge the combat strength of his trained followers—after all, if his identity were exposed, boarman governors would immediately launch a punitive expedition.

The opportunity arrived unexpectedly fast: right after the lizardmen returned from selling their first batch of potions, wolfman scouts appeared near the swamp. This was Sakavi’s territory—nothing stirred without his knowledge.

Several days later, deep in the night, a steady drizzle that had lasted two days still fell, shrouding the swamp in mist; apart from the occasional cry of an unknown bird, no other sound disturbed the water.

In this pitch-black night, the wolfman Luo Ge Bloodclaw led his men in dugout canoes, silently approaching the lizardmen’s tribe.

Condensation gathered on Luo Ge’s face as droplets trickled down his beard onto the canoe; his single remaining eye fixed intently ahead. As if sensing something, he suddenly signaled the fleet to halt and turned to his son.

The young warrior instantly thrust his spear into the water—blood instantly stained the surface; when he pulled it up, a fishman impaled through the skull dangled from the tip, dead before he could react.

Luo Ge nodded silently and signaled the fleet to proceed; as they neared the lizardmen’s settlement, he halted them again, drew an iron-tipped arrow from his quiver, and shot it toward a direction—immediately, a lizardman sentinel on a watchtower tumbled into the water, splashing violently.

“Ambush! Ambush! Sound the alarm!”

A frantic gong rang out; the lizardmen tribe descended into chaos. Their chieftain, Lei En, shouted: “The weak, elderly, women, and children to the chieftain’s longhouse! Archers to the high platform! Warriors, hold the front wall with me! Shamans, provide support!”

As Lei En barked orders, the lizardmen rapidly prepared for battle—but Luo Ge, a professional bandit, had no intention of attacking head-on; that earlier arrow had merely been a probe.

As the lizardmen’s panic subsided, Luo Ge’s wolfmen had already landed in the lizardmen’s herb fields and were stealthily advancing. Lei En seemed to sense something—he hurled a javelin into the thick mist, and a scream echoed from within.

“Spread out! Fire arrows!”

Realizing they were exposed, Luo Ge immediately ordered counterfire; the lizardmen responded just as fiercely.

“Shamans retreat to the flanks! Archers, free fire! Javelin throwers—on my command—fire!”

But neither side could see the other; their ranged attacks were ineffective. Seeing this, Lei En ordered infantry forward for close combat.

Cunning Luo Ge refused to charge blindly—he ordered poison grenades thrown. Lei En, sensing the danger, commanded shamans to disperse the gas—but still, dozens of lizardmen warriors collapsed, writhing in convulsions from the poison.

The wind scattered the mist; seeing the lizardmen’s morale still high, Luo Ge ordered a retreat. He had only thirty men—though armored in leather and armed with iron weapons, they might win in melee—but he couldn’t afford to lose them all here.

Lei En unrolled a scroll—the night blazed with sudden light, blinding the lizardmen temporarily; when their vision returned, the wolfmen were gone. Lei En immediately ordered boats to pursue.

The two sides chased each other across the swamp; the lizardmen shaman seized his chance and fired a water arrow at Luo Ge’s head—only for Luo Ge to block it with his axe.

Estimated to be at least a mid-tier warrior, Lei En decisively ordered to abandon the pursuit; if the enemy fought to the death, he might not survive—thinking of it, Lei En broke out in a cold sweat.

But Luo Ge wouldn’t escape so easily, for the one commanding from the swamp was the bog toad high priest, Mo Ge Rotthroat. This master of traps, who had ruled the Great Swamp for centuries without ever failing, had no intention of letting the wolfmen leave.

Watching the lizardmen vanish into the mist, Luo Ge exhaled in relief—but over a decade as a bandit had taught him: danger wasn’t over until he left the swamp.

Listening to the distant, cheerful croaks of frogs, Luo Ge’s gloom lifted; he grew drowsy, relaxed.

Suddenly, Luo Ge sensed something—he drew his dagger and stabbed his own thigh; the searing pain jolted him fully awake.

As expected, dugout canoes surrounded him, each manned by fishmen with short crossbows. Luo Ge roared: “All of you—alert! Alert!”

As a level-four warrior, his voice carried powerfully—but too late. The bog toad high priest, realizing exposure, ordered immediate volleys; dozens of wolfmen without shields dropped dead on the spot.

The fishmen immediately dove beneath the water; enraged, Luo Ge slashed his axe into the water several times—over forty fishmen floated up, dead.

But the high priest cared nothing for fishman casualties—his plan continued, while Luo Ge’s situation grew dire.

Well-traveled and experienced, Luo Ge knew he’d been targeted by the bog toads—and for such situations, he had a prepared response.

He pulled out a wind flute and began to play; the bog toad priest seemed to vanish entirely. Long before, during the human empire, merchants had invented this special flute to counter bog toad illusions, using specific frequencies to repel them.

With the flute, the path ahead grew clearer—even the mist dispersed. Perhaps due to the night’s tension, the wolfmen thought they smelled faint flowers in the wind—and as they breathed it in, they collapsed into the swamp.

Luo Ge kept blowing his flute, feeling his canoe slow; he growled: “Row harder! Get out of this damned place!”

No one answered. He turned back—only he remained. He knew now: he would never leave this swamp.

As expected, countless fishmen with crossbows surrounded him. Even a level-four warrior couldn’t sweep through an army—and he himself was poisoned, limbs weak. Moments later, he was riddled with arrows like a hedgehog.

Watching the last wolfman fall to arrows, the serpent chieftain and two shaman subordinates vanished into the mist. Sakavi had witnessed the entire battle—the bog toad high priest had been dispatched by him, and to prevent things from spiraling, he’d even assigned three mid-tier serpent warriors to monitor.

But it seemed he’d overestimated the danger—the lizardmen, capable of surviving the Great Swamp, were no fools. The bog toad high priest’s performance, however, truly stunned him—thankfully, he was an ally.

With the battlefield drill over, it was time for rewards. The wolfmen’s iron weapons and leather armor were useless to the bog toads, so all went to the lizardmen. Sakavi considered himself a dragon who kept his word—he had promised to convert those who earned merit, and so he immediately converted Mo Ge.

Becoming a follower had one advantage: it raised one’s potential ceiling, and the extent of the increase depended directly on the dragon’s power. When Sakavi reached his youth stage, these followers had a high chance of becoming mid-tier or high-tier.

But as a chromatic dragon, one must never lower one’s guard. Thus, Sakavi decided to observe for another year—then, once certain, sleep until his youth stage.

Dragons generally spend 0–5 years as hatchlings, 5–15 as juveniles, and 16–26 as adolescents. Once a dragon reaches adolescence, if he wishes, no one below legendary status can stop him from fleeing.

Over the coming year, Sakavi planned to thoroughly study the magical texts sent by Wei Lanshe. Wei Lanshe, considering Sakavi’s condition, had provided mostly water-element magic books, along with a few on healing spells and alchemy. Since he could skip incantations entirely, learning water magic came easily to Sakavi.