Chapter 21: Soul Essence

A crescent moon hung like a hook above the Chewrock Tribe, stretching the shadows of the low hills into twisted shapes.

Galos’s dragon eyes were deep and dark in the night, his body crouched low, faint glimmers of crimson patterns shimmering across his obsidian scales.

“Let your deaths soothe the unease in my heart.”

His tail swept out, crushing the leaping goblin warrior into a radial smear of pulp; the finely tanned and alchemically enchanted leather armor he wore disintegrated like waterlogged paper at the slightest touch.

“Damn dragons!”

His eyes reflected fire and ruin; Broken Tooth Gork reacted, letting out a furious growl.

Vrrrrr!

The engine ignited, black oil burning rapidly into energy.

Black oil—formed over long periods from the decayed bodies of monsters—is a thick, viscous black substance, a foundational energy source for many alchemical devices, similar to petroleum but far more potent.

The abundance of black oil, magic stones, and source crystals.

This is a major reason for the high level of alchemy on the planet Bernardo.

As the engine’s hum rose.

Steam billowed from the Giant Arm Miner; alchemical runes etched into its steel plates glowed one by one, its heavy frame trampling forward toward the red iron hatchling.

If on the ground.

If on the ground.

Riding the Giant Arm Miner, Broken Tooth Gork was confident he could kill any hatchling.

And given the hatchling’s low intelligence, arrogance, and pride, it might forget its aerial advantage and stay grounded to fight.

“I’ll tear off its wings first—by the time it tries to fly again, it’ll be too late!”

Broken Tooth Gork had already planned his battle strategy.

The Giant Arm Miner wasn’t designed for combat, but its massive arms could crush rock into powder and bend steel—perfect for a direct clash with a hatchling.

On the other side.

The shaman Groz of the Chewrock Tribe hunched his back; the largest, hump-like abscess on his upper body burst open, spewing foul fluid as a massive black-purple spider leapt out.

The spider had dark red compound eyes, a jet-black carapace, and legs covered in fine bristles, the size of a goblin’s head.

At first glance, it seemed a living creature—but it was in fact Groz’s spirit-spider, his primary offensive weapon.

Spirit-Spider Web!

Groz cast his spell; the spirit-spider clung to his back, opening its mouth to spit a thick, sticky, toxin-laced web toward Galos.

On one side, the spell-formed web.

On the other, the charging Giant Arm Miner.

Galos crouched slightly, muscles beneath his scales tightening like steel cables, then exploded outward with immense force, his wings snapping open.

Whoosh!

A gust of wind, laden with dust, surged outward in all directions.

Before the web could fall, the red iron hatchling shot skyward.

Gork, riding the Giant Arm Miner, looked up helplessly—the alchemical golem had no anti-air capability.

“Just like the red hatchling before—scared off by me again?”

Having driven off two hatchlings in succession, Gork felt invincible; perhaps even young dragons could be feared.

“Call out my name! The mighty Gork has once again driven back the dragon!”

The goblin roared.

Other goblins, confused but instinctively obedient, echoed his praise, hailing Gork’s strength and bravery.

Only Groz knew this wasn’t over.

“Stay alert! It hasn’t left!”

Galos rose into the sky, gazing down at the tiny goblin tribe below.

His wings beat, tearing through the air; the fine, feather-like scales along his membranes emitted a piercing shriek.

When the distance closed.

Galos folded his wings into a cone; the crimson patterns on his scales glowed faintly, like molten fire flowing over steel.

The red iron hatchling descended like a small black-red meteor, crushing down with overwhelming force upon the conspicuous Giant Arm Miner.

Broken Tooth Gork felt a flicker of fear.

But that flicker was instantly shredded by his recent, swollen confidence.

He manipulated the Giant Arm Miner to raise its massive arms toward the red iron hatchling, shouting excitedly: “My tribe, witness this! Witness mighty Gork’s dragon-slaying moment!”

Each goblin gazed at Broken Tooth Gork with worshipful eyes.

His confident tone even infected Groz, making him think—perhaps this creature truly could.

CRACK!

The instant the red iron hatchling struck the Giant Arm Miner.

The ground cracked in a spiderweb pattern; the shockwave flung every nearby goblin into the air, smashing them against cliffs or weapons, leaving heavy casualties.

The eight-meter-tall alchemical golem collapsed like a crushed can; riveted steel plates twisted and shattered, black oil spurted like blood.

Broken Tooth Gork’s scream died mid-cry—a broken metal pipe pierced his throat, pinning him dead to the twisted control console.

His final sight: Galos rising from the flames and smoke.

“Dead! Run for your lives!”

One goblin scrambled to his feet, screaming to flee—but before he took three steps, his head flew high into the air, his terrified expression frozen as he watched his own headless body twitching uselessly.

Galos spread his wings like two giant guillotines, skimming low over the tribal encampment.

Wherever the wing edges passed, goblins, tents, stone huts, weapon racks—all were cleanly severed.

Swoosh!

A dark shadow suddenly leapt from the side.

Galos swiped his claw—but felt no physical resistance.

The spirit-spider landed on Galos’s back, its fangs sinking between his scales, vanishing entirely—not tearing through scales or flesh, but as if dissolving directly into him.

A stinging pain pierced him.

The spell-formed spirit-spider bypassed his hardened scales entirely, inflicting damage—minor, but enough to make Galos frown.

“My resistance to magical attacks is still too low.”

A dragon’s magical resistance grows with age; adult dragons ignore most spells, but hatchlings have very limited magic resistance.

“And pure physical attacks are useless against spirits, spell-formed entities.”

Spell-like ability—Minor Fireball!

Swoosh! A tiny fireball coalesced beside Galos, striking the spirit-spider and reducing it to ash.

His claw strikes were far more powerful than the fireball, yet far less effective against the spirit-spider.

“I need to master more spell-like abilities—I know too few.”

Galos thought to himself.

He focused on becoming invulnerable, swift, and with immense health—hard to kill—but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a brute who relied solely on raw physical strength.

Dragons are born sorcerers; he would never abandon this advantage.

Yet adaptation in this area evolves far slower than physical growth; so far, Galos has only mastered a few spell-like abilities ahead of other hatchlings.

(End of Chapter)