Chapter 64: Fear and Killing Intent

A strong wind blew across the fairy dragon, sending it tumbling through the air, cutting off its unfinished words and forcing them down its throat.

“Vera, I remember you said you saw nothing at all.”

Garos flicked his left wing, casting a threatening glance at the fairy dragon.

“Y-yes! Vera saw nothing! Knows nothing!”

The fairy dragon shuddered and shouted in protest.

Samantha’s gaze grew suspicious, flicking between the fairy dragon and Garos, sensing some secret between them.

She stepped in front of the fairy dragon Vera.

Samantha wanted to extract the truth from it.

But before she could speak, Garos interrupted her.

“Samantha, bring a metal bucket, and fill it with water.”

He said.

“Oh.”

The young red dragon cast one last glance at the fairy dragon, planning to interrogate it thoroughly later—threaten, bribe, force it to reveal its secret—then flapped its wings and flew low toward the alchemy workshop.

She had containers like buckets.

She had made some.

“Vera, there’s a saying: talk too much and you’ll get yourself killed.”

After Samantha left, Garos smiled gently at the fairy dragon, revealing a row of gleaming fangs.

The fairy dragon shut its mouth, clamping its claws over it, nodding rapidly like a chick pecking grain.

Less than two minutes later, Samantha returned from the alchemy workshop with a metal bucket, filled it with water from the river flowing through the needleleaf valley, and carried it to Garos.

At this moment.

Garos’s wing blades were coated with serpent-dragon venom blood; his severed tail had shriveled.

He used his claws to tear the tail into pulp, stirred it into the water, and instantly the clear liquid turned green, emitting a pungent stench.

Splash!

Garos poured it over himself; green smoke rose from his body with a hissing sound, then he closed his eyes slightly, coiling to rest in place.

Because of extensive contact with the diluted poison water.

Green blotches appeared on his body, but much paler than those formed by pure venom blood—a faint green, with only mild pain.

Diluted poison water was far less potent than pure venom blood.

Otherwise, Garos wouldn’t have done this.

Watching Garos turn into a “green dragon,” though he claimed he was fine, Samantha and the fairy dragon remained uneasy, pacing around and taking up guard positions.

A week later, at dusk.

Flame-like twilight light poured from the sky, draping Garos’s scales in a veil of fiery gauze.

He soared through the sky, locking his sharp gaze onto a beast on the ground, then dove to strike.

Within minutes, Garos finished his hunt, devoured the slain great rhino on the spot to replenish his energy, then returned to the needleleaf valley.

He landed on a protruding rock slab on the valley slope.

From here, Garos’s gaze could command the entire valley’s view.

Bathed in the evening breeze, he turned his head to look at his own wings.

On his wings, the areas directly stained by venom blood had returned to normal; the edged blades along the wings looked unchanged from before, and his previously green scales had all reverted to their original color.

Serpent-dragon blood is poisonous.

But the quantity was simply too small.

“My poison resistance must have improved slightly, right?”

Garos thought.

In this world, many creatures wield toxins; poison damage is a major category.

For instance, when relocating due to dwarf threats, Garos had once considered the Graystone Ridge, home to a swarm of giant-tailed steel scorpions, each carrying potent venom.

Before his poison resistance rose, being struck by even a few of their tails would be unbearable.

Among dragons, aside from green dragons who specialize in poison, most dragons have only minimal poison resistance—not enough to matter.

“I’ll go to the Crescent Valley again soon.”

“The venom blood and toxic claws of the Cliff Serpent Dragon are excellent materials to enhance my poison resistance.”

“If I use enough venom blood to temper myself, I might even infuse my wing blades with poison damage.”

Garos flicked his massive wings; the edged blades gleamed sharp and hard, radiating cold light.

At that moment, he recalled the Cliff Serpent Dragon’s explosive speed boost.

At the time, vast amounts of hot air had erupted from beneath the serpent-dragon’s scales, nearly jetting forward to instantly accelerate its speed.

“I’m strong in every aspect, but I lack explosive power.”

“Ramming, slashing—all require distance. Diving to gain speed enhances impact, but in close combat, it’s useless.”

“How can I evolve a trait that grants me instant bursts of speed?”

Garos pondered.

Minutes passed; he shook his head, having no good ideas yet.

But he felt the key lay in his wings.

If he could evolve a jet-like structure, powered by his own magical energy or heat from scaled bursts, his speed burst capability would skyrocket.

Then, against powerful foes, if he couldn’t win, he could simply flee—his survival rate would surge.

Like his earlier encounter with the Cliff Serpent Dragon: because it couldn’t catch him, no matter how furious it became, it could do nothing. He held full initiative—strike when he wished, leave when he wished.

Speed, high defense, thick health, strong attack.

These were the directions Garos strived toward.

Meanwhile, the fairy dragon was tormenting Mober.

While the giant bear slept, the fairy dragon braided the fur on its forehead into a comical ponytail, painted pink eyeshadow on its face, and sprinkled tickle powder on its back where it couldn’t reach.

“Hehehe.”

The fairy dragon chuckled gleefully, eager to see Mober’s reaction upon waking.

At that moment, it noticed Garos on the valley slope.

Flying toward Garos, the fairy dragon circled him, sniffing curiously.

“Why do you still smell like a serpent-dragon?”

It asked.

Garos: “I don’t smell anything.”

The fairy dragon said seriously: “Serpent-dragons are my natural enemies. I’m far more sensitive to their scent than you are. I can detect a faint but intensely concentrated trace on you.”

As if remembering something.

The fairy dragon suddenly shot upward, circling Garos and sprinkling magical dust rapidly.

The dust settled on his scales, finally revealing a serpent-shaped mark on a patch of back scales.

“Just as I thought—it’s the scent-tracking mark of the Cliff Serpent Dragon.”

The fairy dragon said anxiously: “Garos, the Cliff Serpent Dragon has locked onto you. Through this scent mark, it can pinpoint your location within a thousand li.”

Scent-tracking mark?

Garos’s inheritance never mentioned this.

Inheritance stems from ancestral knowledge; each dragon’s inheritance differs. In understanding the Cliff Serpent Dragon, the fairy dragon is superior.

Garos frowned.

Locked onto me?

So now the enemy is hidden and I’m exposed? That’s not good news.

Garos paced on the rock slab, feeling his life was threatened.

The Cliff Serpent Dragon isn’t strong in direct combat, but it has many treacherous tricks. If it shadows me and strikes in ambush, I could die.

These past days have been calm.

Garos guessed the Cliff Serpent Dragon was likely healing its wounds, waiting to resume pursuit and ambush once recovered.

This creature—hidden enemy, exposed target—is a grave risk.

Whether to kill it or capture it, I must act soon!

Garos felt unease, danger, fear.

And these emotions all transformed into cold, lethal intent.

A flicker of ferocity slowly rose in Garos’s dark dragon eyes.

The Cliff Serpent Dragon’s recovery speed can’t outpace mine—it’s probably still hiding in the Crescent Valley, perhaps plotting how to ambush me. I can’t leave it alone any longer.

Fire curse?

Let the resistance drop—it’ll recover with my innate talent, and this curse might even help me train fire resistance.

Strike first, seize the initiative!

Whoosh!

The setting sun blazed like blood as the Red Iron Dragon decisively flared his wings and shot straight into the sky.

(End of Chapter)