Chapter 97: Twilight Dragon, Path of Immortality

Garos's dragon wings whipped up a gale, roaring forward, and the clouds above Crescent Moon Valley churned like boiling water.

As soon as his shadow swept over the bonfire at the valley bottom, the entire wolf pack erupted like an oil pool set ablaze.

"Dragon Lord! The Dragon Lord has returned!"

An old werewolf with half an ear missing suddenly reared up on its hind legs, slapping its chest with its forepaws, producing a dull boom like a war drum.

This sound seemed to open some gate; more and more werewolves burst forth, some still holding half-chewed bones in their mouths, others too hurried to even remove the claw guards they wore while sleeping.

The werewolf pups dozing in the dens were startled awake.

They did not understand why all the elders had rushed out, howling at the sky with a sound nearly like sobbing, and driven by curiosity, followed them outside.

Amidst the howling of the pack, Garos folded his wings and descended onto a clearing in the midst of the Crescent Moon Clan.

He noticed several newly grown pups crowding at the very front, their eyes wide as saucers.

These little ones had clearly never seen him before; they were desperately stretching on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the legendary Dragon Lord, and one particularly bold pup even tried to climb onto a roof, only to be swatted back into the den by a she-wolf with a single claw.

"Six years and four months!"

Russell's voice rang out.

The chieftain's mane had turned somewhat white, yet his posture while running remained agile; he cut through the wolf pack and appeared before Garos first, dropping to his knees and saying, "I knew you would return. The Howling Moon Clan awaits your homecoming."

At the same time, the old shaman, supported by Frostfang, stepped out of the stone house, approaching with a stumbling gait.

Garos looked at this old werewolf, whose fur had turned almost entirely gray and whose mouth held barely a few teeth left, and could not help but pause slightly in surprise.

He remembered the first time he met the old shaman; though the werewolf was old then, his steps were steady, and his spirit and energy were still abundant, but now he looked like a decrepit creature ready to draw his last breath at any moment.

These past six years.

Were but a flick of the fingers for the dragon kind, a single period of hibernation.

But for a species with a lifespan of only fifty or sixty years, it was already a long era.

"You have grown stronger."

The old shaman said respectfully: "One day, your dragon wings will shroud the entire Cel Wilds, and you will become a dragon unparalleled in the world."

It broke free from Frostfang's support, its body trembling, movements slow, attempting to kneel down to express its loyalty.

Garos lowered his gaze toward the old shaman, and his massive dragon wings flexed with agility, pressing against its body.

"No need to kneel."

He spoke bluntly, saying: "You seem close to death."

"Thank you for your pity," the old shaman said, squinting his eyes: "Werewolf lives are short; please understand."

After a pause, it said: "I can no longer serve you, but I have already selected a suitable successor; it is wise and will employ the shaman's knowledge to serve you in my stead, and the Howling Moon Clan will follow in your footsteps for generations upon generations."

Given the dragon kind's lifespan, unless cut short prematurely, or unless the Howling Moon Clan itself perishes before its time, always following.

They will, beneath Garos's dragon wings, see dozens of generations of their kin succeed and change.

The young shaman, the she-wolf Frostfang, showed no fear on her face; having grown up witnessing such things, she was instead filled with curiosity and awe toward the great dragon.

She took the elder's place and knelt upon the ground.

She pressed her forehead deeply before Garos's dragon claw, expressing her loyalty and awe.

"By the spirits of our ancestors, the Howling Moon Clan vows to become the claws and fangs beneath the dragon wings for generations; your enemies shall be torn apart by us, your lands shall be guarded by us, until the very last pup ceases to breathe."

Garos nodded slightly: "I accept your loyalty; rise."

Frostfang stood up and once again carefully supported the old shaman.

Seeing the old shaman in such a state, Garos suddenly thought in his heart that although the dragon kind are long-lived, they are not immortal, and there comes a day when they too reach the end of their lifespan.

Only after thousands of years, when one has grown strong enough.

Can life leap forward into an immortal existence, breaking free from the shackles of lifespan.

And this is one of Garos's goals.

He does not wish to one day become like the old shaman.

With the dragon kind's special constitution, aging does not make them weaker; it is simply that when dragons reach a certain age, they inevitably enter a state of 'twilight.'

Just as when dragons sleep, they feel an extraordinary drowsiness.

Twilight dragons also feel a soul-deep weariness, wishing to sleep and never wake; and in this state, if they truly fall asleep, they will never awaken again.

Eternal sleep is the normal death of a dragon.

It is worth mentioning that if an Ancient Dragon can resist the influence of the twilight period and 'battle' itself, it will continue to live on until it advances further to become an Elder Dragon, breaking free from the twilight period, transforming into an immortal life, stepping onto the path of immortality, and escaping the shackles of lifespan.

Every Elder Dragon is the supreme limit of the world.

Below the gods, no creature is more powerful than an Elder Dragon.

Every dragon takes becoming an Elder Dragon as its ultimate goal.

As for matching the Dragon God, that is far too distant; even the most proud and arrogant dragon would not set such an unattainable goal.

Garos gathered his emotions, his gaze sweeping over the wolf pack.

Frostfang's oath echoed in the air, and suddenly a commotion arose within the pack.

Mane Fire pushed aside the clan members blocking his path, and with several close aides flanking him, strode to the center of the clearing; his red mane stood out starkly in the night, like a wild fire refusing to be extinguished.

"Dragon Lord!"

Mane Fire raised his voice, saying: "Since you have returned, why not bear witness for me—"

He suddenly turned toward Russell, baring his fangs: "I challenge this old creature for the chieftain's seat!"

The commotion in the wolf pack grew greater.

The old shaman's claws gripped his bone staff tightly, knuckles turning white; Frostfang's ears pricked up alertly, and the hair on her neck bristled slightly.

Garos narrowed his eyes slightly, calmly observing the unfamiliar young werewolf.

Although Mane Fire called himself the Dragon Lord, there was little awe in his eyes.

He walked up before him, did not kneel directly in reverence, but instead stood with his chest puffed out, tail held high, maintaining a posture of supreme confidence.

"Do not be rude and presumptuous before the Dragon Lord! Zonghuo, kneel!"

Russell's eyes flashed with anger as he spoke in a deep voice, then turned to Garos and said respectfully, "Please forgive this rash werewolf; he is young and rude, and does not understand respect and awe."

Zonghuo grinned, speaking directly for Garos: "The Dragon Lord will not care about such trivial matters."

"Russell, stop being hypocritical. If you dare not accept my challenge, you are afraid. Then simply admit defeat and yield the chieftain's seat to me."

It bared its fangs, which gleamed with cold light.

"According to tradition, challenges must take place on the night of the full moon."

Russell glanced at Garos; seeing that Garos did not speak to stop him, he then said this.

"To hell with tradition!" Zonghuo rudely interrupted: "Do you not always say the Dragon Lord's will is above all else?"

It turned to Garos, flashing an exaggerated smile: "Great Dragon Lord, you surely wish to see who is the true strong one as well?"

It used an honorific for Garos, yet Garos still felt no awe from it.

Moreover.

It directly guessed his thoughts, presumptuously speaking on his behalf.

This made Garos feel displeased.

Have you ever been a dragon? To assume things so casually.

Garos stared at this young werewolf.

He spoke slowly, unhurriedly: "Your meaning is that you are the true strong one?"

"Of course!"

Zonghuo straightened his chest and said.

Truly shameless boasting.

The strong one? Garos rarely claimed to be the strong one; he always considered himself weak, unable to be arrogant or conceited, so that when facing various events, he could respond more cautiously and avoid risks.

Now, a tiny werewolf stood before Garos and directly called himself the strong one.

This made him feel somewhat amused, yet also somewhat puzzled.

Where did its confidence come from? No dragon talent, yet dragon arrogance?

Perhaps it had some reliance and backing.

(End of this chapter)