Chapter 37: The Allure of the Dragon

The western sky’s afterglow had not yet faded, while the eastern horizon had already draped its gray-blue curtain with stars.

In this interval of light and darkness tearing at each other, Garos’s wings blazed with a layer of crimson flame as he soared across the sky, then circled once before diving toward the foot of a desolate mountain.

The ground was littered with pits of varying depths.

The mountain’s surface was riddled with collapsed and shattered traces.

Cracks, dense as spiderwebs and resembling lightning, crisscrossed everywhere, nearly omnipresent.

——This place was Garos’s newly chosen training ground.

Because it was remote and surrounded by barren mountains and wastelands, lacking all manner of resources, no powerful creatures roamed here.

As for his previous training site—the place where he had encountered the Copper Dragon—he had abandoned it, fearing that the wounded Copper Dragon might bring its parents to seek revenge.

He retracted his wings, and the flames vanished as the runes on the wing rings dimmed.

Garos, coated in black oil, shook his head and swayed, feeling boundless energy coursing through his body; he took a deep breath, exhaled cold air from his Silver Frost Ring to freeze and harden the mountain’s surface, then charged forward as usual, striking it with his body.

It had been over a week since the Earth Spider first brought back the oil-soil.

During this time, since underground tunnels had been dug, the Earth Spiders returned faster than before, occasionally bringing more oil-soil back.

After Samantha’s alchemical refinement, it became black oil that made Garos feel heady and invigorated; though scarce, it greatly improved his training efficiency.

This week equaled a month of prior training.

Combined with his earlier gains, his efforts were beginning to bear fruit.

He felt he was on the verge of evolution: beyond the tingling numbness in his body, it seemed as if a flame burned within him; the most obvious change was that the edges of his gray-black buffer scales had begun to show faint gradients of molten iron red—not sharp, but searingly hot, and now brittle.

“It seems the black oil’s energy has stimulated these buffer scales to evolve in some unknown direction.”

“They still dampen recoil, but they’ve become more fragile, more prone to shattering.”

“I don’t know whether this next evolution will be good or bad.”

Garos thought silently.

He could not precisely predict the direction of evolution, but so far, there had been no negative transformations; feeling his increasingly fragile buffer scales, he felt little concern—he would know their exact effects once the evolution was complete.

The Red Iron Hatchling collided with the ice-covered mountain, producing a dull, thunderous sound.

Some of the outermost buffer scales on his body shattered and exploded, their spinning fragments carving deep grooves into the ice.

The cold air radiating from the ice landed on Garos and was instantly evaporated by his scorching scales.

Amid the hissing clash of fire and water, hot and cold pressing against each other, a mist swirled around him, enveloping the Red Iron Hatchling, revealing only glimpses of scales and claws, faint and elusive.

Previously, whenever he collided with the ice-covered mountain and ice shards or cold air touched his body, Garos had felt severe discomfort—a needle-like icy pain.

But with this period of training,

the icy pain still existed, yet its impact had lessened somewhat.

He estimated his ice resistance had improved, if only slightly.

The last glow of sunset faded, and night fully swallowed the sky; Garos, while the black oil’s energy still lingered, kept training, the dull impacts rising and falling without end, echoing through the darkness.

Meanwhile,

in the wilderness about ten kilometers from Iron Cedar Hill, five adventurers pressed deeper into the wasteland, stepping across cracked earth.

Beneath the clear glow of twin moons, time passed slowly.

Soon, as the adventuring party crested the final rock ridge, they all noticed the towering hillside densely overgrown with Iron Cedars.

“We’re almost out of water in our storage rings.”

“The lush vegetation ahead suggests there must be a water source.”

The golden-haired warrior licked his dry lips and said.

Exploring the wilderness was no easy task; the group had faced no fewer than ten skirmishes in recent days, but fortunately, they had not encountered any overly powerful beasts or demons—beyond minor scrapes, claw marks, and dust-covered clothes, none had suffered life-threatening injuries.

“Wait.”

The spellcaster suddenly spoke, pulling from his robes a white crystal growing hot and glowing red.

He spoke with uncertainty, fear, and greed: “There seems to be… there seems to be a dragon’s presence in the hill ahead.”

At this,

the other members of the adventuring party stiffened.

“Harven, are you certain?”

The golden-haired warrior whispered.

“This crystal has a dragon-sensing enchantment—it’s a magical item that glows when near places where dragon energy lingers.”

The spellcaster Harven said: “Red light means it’s a fire dragon.”

Thinking of dragons’ power and reputation, the white-robed priest whispered: “Let’s bypass this hill. If we encounter a powerful dragon, it’ll be disastrous.”

The spellcaster mused: “Judging by the intensity of the crystal’s glow, the dragon here isn’t strong.”

He did not hide his desire and greed: “If it’s a hatchling or a weak juvenile, we have a chance to kill it—or even capture it alive.”

“Do we detour, or investigate further? What do you think?”

The rogue twirled his dagger and said:

“You’ve all heard—recently, a Red Iron Hatchling was presented to the young princess of the Lo Seen Federation, and the reward was more than any commoner could spend in ten lifetimes.”

This news had spread widely.

The necromancer chuckled softly: “That Red Iron Hatchling was captured from the Ser Wilds—this wasteland teems with evil dragons, and many lone hatchlings survive here. I’d love to capture one and turn it into a flesh golem—I’d sleep with it every night, armor it with the finest materials.”

Every dragon meant vast wealth.

After discussion, the group could not resist the lure of “wealth”; they decided to cautiously approach and scout Iron Cedar Hill—if the target proved weak, they would attempt to ambush and capture it.

If the dragon was absent, even better—they could set traps in advance.

Under cover of night, the group crept slowly toward Iron Cedar Hill.

When they reached a certain distance, they halted; the rogue pulled out an alchemical device resembling a telescope and peered intently at Iron Cedar Hill.

After several minutes,

the rogue suddenly stiffened, breathing heavily.

In her vision, a red hatchling was clearly visible—its rump raised, claws scraping at the ground; its dragon scales glowed like flames in the dark, shimmering like precious gems.

“Mysael, what did you see?”

Noticing her reaction, the golden-haired warrior urged.

The rogue tied the alchemical device to her waist and grinned, flashing white teeth: “I saw a fortune beyond measure.”

The alchemical relics rumored to be in the abandoned mine?

Just capturing this red hatchling—forget the relics—this wilderness expedition would make them rich beyond dreams.

(End of Chapter)