Chapter 3: Negotiation

The dragon’s scales were thick and layered, a deep iron-black, their surfaces covered in fine serrated textures like forged metal ingots, as if cast from steel and iron, with metallic protrusions resembling exoskeletons at the joints and a row of heavy, shark-fin-like spines along its back.

It sat quietly upon the high platform.

Its wings and limbs were not fully extended, its massive form held in restraint.

But even so.

A crushing pressure swept over him like a tidal wave.

The destruction and annihilation such a dragon could unleash in rage was enough to make one shudder at the mere thought.

The dragon was gazing at Garos with black eyes, identical to Garos’s own.

It was Garos’s mother—Iron Dragon Mother Letizia.

“Mother.”

The young dragon bowed its head in greeting to the colossal dragon upon the platform.

Iron Dragon Mother was a traditional iron dragon: she believed in no dragon gods, was lawfully evil, upheld efficiency and utilitarianism as supreme principles, followed a rigidly hierarchical lifestyle, and yearned to build a world ruled by dragons, dominated by iron dragons, with a deep-seated sense of class.

In her eyes, even her own offspring could not overstep.

They must obey her rules and show her respect and awe.

“Garos, my child, crystallized from flame and steel.”

Iron Dragon Mother looked down at Garos with a cold, resonant voice: “Six lunar cycles have passed since your soft scales fell away; now your armor is as hard as iron.”

Her voice scraped like sandpaper on a steel ingot, each syllable making the metal particles in the air hum in resonance.

Garos nodded, silently sensing trouble.

Dragons divided themselves into age tiers based on maturity.

For example, ages one to five are hatchlings; during this period, hatchlings receive maternal protection—food, shelter, safety, and more.

Above that, ages six to twelve are the juvenile stage.

Evil dragons have weak familial bonds and little interest in raising offspring.

When offspring reach the juvenile stage, evil dragons often expel them, forcing them to leave the territory and survive alone.

Garos had an older dragon brother, expelled two years ago, now lost to fate.

As for himself, Garos had long anticipated this day—only not so soon.

This fantasy world is not safe: supernatural beings are not limited to dragons, magic is not exclusive to them, and dragons, with their bodies composed of top-tier materials, are constantly coveted.

Adult dragons fare better—they possess great power and can defend themselves.

But juveniles?

Compared to humans, juveniles are like toddlers who can barely stand, wobbling as they walk; for a juvenile left alone without protection, danger lurks everywhere, survival is excruciatingly hard.

The mortality rate of evil dragon offspring before adulthood is extremely high.

Expelling juveniles to survive alone struck Garos as deeply unreasonable—and no wonder the dragon race is declining.

Moreover,

he mused, it was likely precisely because of their brutal childhood survival struggles that evil dragons grew into violent, cruel adults.

“When I was your age, my claws were not as sharp.”

Iron Dragon Mother continued: “My scales were not as hard—but I had already left my mother’s protection and claimed my own territory.”

When speaking of her territory, her gaze flickered, her tone hollow.

The so-called “territory” was merely a stinking ditch.

Iron Dragon Mother’s face was covered in fine steel scales, thick-skinned, expression unreadable.

She leaned back slightly and said: “Garos, you must leave here and begin your own life.”

“Before tomorrow’s dawn, your scales must no longer be stained with the dust of this place.”

Indeed, they want to drive me away.

This is a damned custom—just because you got rained on, you tear others’ umbrellas apart, Dragon Mother!

Hearing Iron Dragon Mother’s words, Garos’s heart turned cold.

At the same time, two stifled laughs came from behind.

Red Dragon Sister and the newly arrived Iron Dragon Brother, two five-year-old hatchlings, stared at Garos with gleeful malice, their tails swishing behind them in clear delight.

Due to their evil nature, they often provoked Garos—and were repeatedly beaten by him.

They both hoped Garos would be expelled.

“Two fools—don’t they realize I am what they will become in a year?”

Garos shook his head slightly, too lazy to waste effort on idiots.

These two hatchlings cared only for the present, never thinking ahead.

Raising his lowered head, Garos looked at Iron Dragon Mother and said: “Mother, I wish to remain in your territory a while longer—I am not yet prepared.”

Iron Dragon Mother spread half her wing, casting a shadow that swallowed half the nest.

She refused flatly: “No.”

Garos had anticipated this moment; he sighed and said: “I had hoped to trade treasure for food and shelter. Since your mind is set, then so be it.”

As he spoke, Garos shook his head and turned to leave.

Treasure?

Iron Dragon Mother’s pupils snapped into vertical slits.

“My dear Garos, wait!”

Normal dragons cannot resist treasure.

Garos knew this well—treasure was nearly every dragon’s weakness, and Iron Dragon Mother was no exception.

Though rigid and traditional, believing six-year-olds must live alone, she was still a pure utilitarian; if Garos could bring her treasure, she would not mind keeping him.

Her cold expression softened considerably.

Iron Dragon Mother asked, pleasantly: “Where did you get this treasure, and how much are you willing to trade for food and shelter?”

Garos sat upright, limbs folded, looking up at the colossal iron dragon, speaking calmly: “I have a keen perception of minerals, especially precious metal ores—I sense them with exceptional clarity.”

“I guarantee you at least three pieces of precious metal ore each month, each weighing over ten catties.”

“In return, you must provide me shelter and the same high-quality blood meals as before.”

The blood meals Iron Dragon Mother provided were high-grade magical beasts—beyond Garos’s current ability to obtain alone.

Garos needed high-quality blood meals badly; his adaptive evolution talent did not arise from nothing—it required substantial energy during evolution.

Hearing Garos’s words, Iron Dragon Mother nodded slightly.

Reasonable.

Iron dragons possess an innate sensitivity to metal ores, though this talent rarely manifests in juveniles.

“You’re willing to mine?”

Dragons are inherently proud; mining is the work of slaves and servants—dragons normally disdain doing it themselves.

Speaking of treasure, Iron Dragon Mother switched to a miserly tone: “If you want to command my vassals to mine for you, you must pay extra—amount depends on the rank of the vassals you wish to requisition.”

Rank refers to biological level.

This is the most direct indicator of individual strength: Garos’s current biological level is 7, comparable to a golden dragon of his age, even superior to most.

Red dragons and iron dragons, normally, are weaker than golden dragons at the same age.

Among the chromatic dragons, white dragons average only level 3 at age six.

“No, I have two mine slaves under my command, and with my own whip to drive them, their mining efficiency won’t be low.”

Garos rejected Iron Dragon Mother’s proposal.

Two mine slaves? Red Dragon Sister and Iron Dragon Brother stared in shock.

“When did Garos get two mine slaves?”

Red Dragon Sister whispered to Iron Dragon Brother beside her.

“I don’t know either.”

Iron Dragon Brother shook his head, eyes clear.

The two hatchlings exchanged glances, racking their brains, utterly unable to imagine where Garos had found two mine slaves.

(End of Chapter)