Chapter 56: The Value of the Fairy Dragon

The night was illuminated by glittering dust, the surrounding area suddenly as bright as daylight, dispelling darkness and shadows.

But it lasted only an instant.

Garos’s massive, powerful wings stirred a gale, scattering the glittering dust, turning countless light particles into fireflies that scattered in all directions, the blinding white light shattering apart.

He narrowed his eyes, his dragon pupils vertical, locking onto the fairy dragon ahead.

Whoosh!

Sand and stones flew, broken rocks and dead branches whirled everywhere.

Garos ruthlessly sliced through the trees blocking his path, charging straight toward the fairy dragon.

The fairy dragon glided lightly over the treetops.

Hearing the growing, thunderous approach behind her, she flapped her silver-gray glowing butterfly wings, producing a melodious sound like water cascading down from a snow-capped peak.

Illusionary Sound Art!

The sound pierced Garos’s ears, making his spirit tremble, the scenery before him twisting and warping.

Stones littering the ground, towering trees surrounding him—all seemed to come alive, sprouting limbs and feet, hopping and swaying in place, while newly grown mouths sang out ear-splitting nursery rhymes, forming a bizarre, surreal scene.

“Illusion?!”

Garos’s heart tightened; he raised a claw and slammed it hard against his own head.

In the absence of a counter-technique, physical impact to the head could, to some extent, suppress the effects of illusions.

Thud!

Garos’s skull jolted, a faint dizziness washing over him.

Under the shock of dizziness, the chaotic nursery rhymes in his ears vanished; the hopping stones and dancing trees froze, returning to their original forms.

Taking advantage of the illusion’s distraction, the fairy dragon Weila fled farther away.

She darted between the treetops, curled her tail around a branch to swing her body, then hurled three small dolls woven from earth-colored fur toward Garos.

Illusory Puppet Art!

In the instant the dolls hit the ground, they swelled into three roaring, ferocious bears, lunging at Garos.

These bears were lifelike, their movements accompanied by heavy, thunderous force, as if truly alive.

“This little thing has no shortage of flashy tricks.”

Garos raised his right wing, slicing through the three bears like a giant guillotine, cleaving them in half—but they remained unmoved, continuing their charge.

The Iron Dragon hatchling did not dodge or evade, letting the bears’ attacks strike and pass through his body.

Whoosh!

The fine scales on his wings scraped together, spraying dense sparks; Garos smashed headfirst through the three bear illusions, turning them back into fur.

Garos, now moving at greatly increased speed, skimmed low to the ground, closing the distance to the fairy dragon in an instant.

He extended his claw and seized the fairy dragon’s tiny body.

Yet, he felt no solid substance.

Garos stopped, opened his claw—and saw only dust-like particles in his palm, no trace of the fairy dragon.

He lifted his head, scanning the surroundings, but found no sign of her; he crouched low, spread his wings, and carefully sensed vibrations in the air—still nothing.

He paced in place for a while.

Garos angrily slammed his tail against the ground, carving deep gashes, venting his fury for several minutes, then shot into the sky and vanished into the dark night.

After he left.

About half an hour later.

The fairy dragon Weila, hidden in a crack between rocks, exhaled in relief; her invisibility and breath-concealing arts expired, revealing her cat-sized form.

“Clumsy dragon with dull senses—couldn’t catch me, got mad, huh?”

Her mood lifted again; her earlier tension and fear vanished.

Red dragons and iron dragons, the two major dragon types, excel in direct combat—barbaric and powerful—but neither is known for keen perception; the red-iron hybrid’s perception likely isn’t exceptional either.

The fairy dragon felt her fear had been unnecessary.

If she had been more careful from the start, focusing fully on maintaining invisibility and breath concealment, that stupid hybrid dragon would never have spotted her; her earlier exposure was due to her own panic.

“If it still lives in Bear Ridge.”

“Next time, I’ll sneak up on it, pluck its dragon scales, or while it sleeps, stuff a stinking flower into its nostrils, dust it with ash, and get sweet revenge!”

The fairy dragon Weila had spent her life in the Fairy Wilds, living among friendly spirit creatures, disliking combat and killing; the worst malice she could conceive was this.

She crawled out from between the rocks.

The fairy dragon was delighted by her vengeful plan.

Imagining the evil dragon sneezing or even vomiting from the stench, she rolled over the leaf-strewn ground, laughing uproariously, belly-up, gazing at the sky.

Then, the fairy dragon’s smile froze.

She saw a crimson meteor descending from the sky.

No—not a real meteor, but the red-iron dragon, wings flapping and dragging dense sparks, resembling a crimson meteor.

Having accelerated from high altitude, its speed was unmatched, far exceeding its earlier low-altitude pursuit; its twin wings, like terrifying blades, tore through the night, emitting a shrill shriek that sent panic through the fairy dragon’s heart.

The fairy dragon’s frozen smile.

Shifted to Garos’s dragon face.

He smiled, his expression fierce: “Little thing, the chase is over.”

The fairy dragon flapped her wings, taking flight again—but within two seconds, Garos swooped down and seized her, this time the real body; her magical energy had nearly exhausted during her escape, leaving her unable to cast the costly Illusory Body Art.

“Woo-woo-woo, I’ll never be curious again.”

Clutched in his claws, danger pressed in from all sides; tears welled in the fairy dragon’s eyes as she whimpered, pleading: “Please spare me! I swear, I’ll never stuff a stinking flower in your nose!”

Garos looked down, studying the fairy dragon.

Judging by her size, she should be an adult.

Yet.

The fairy dragon’s adulthood differs from other dragons’.

Fairy dragons have short lifespans; those over twenty are considered adults, and their life rank is low—around level six—though they excel at escape and survival.

“Her speech is childish, her mind immature—not like a dragon over twenty, more like a hatchling under six. Her origins must be abnormal.”

Garos thought silently.

“As you see, I am not an evil dragon.”

He spoke to the fairy dragon.

Not an evil dragon? The fairy dragon blinked, then nodded rapidly, agreeing: “Yes, yes! Weila saw it at once—you’re not evil, you’re a kind, noble dragon!”

Garos smiled and said: “So, I won’t kill you.”

Before the fairy dragon could rejoice, he paused, then shifted tone: “But you still must pay for your offense against me.”

The fairy dragon’s illusions could train his mental resistance.

In the wilds, ferocious beasts with illusion arts are rare; in civilized society, illusionists are few. Now that he’d caught a fairy dragon who wielded illusions, he must exploit her thoroughly to strengthen his mental resilience.

Moreover.

The fairy dragon herself has value.

The lineage records mention it.

The scale dust on her butterfly wings stimulates the spirit, repairs mental fatigue and tension, enhances perception, reaction speed, and mental strength—even for fellow dragonkind, and even more effectively than for other creatures.

(End of Chapter)