Chapter 98: Barreled Black Oil—Absolutely Perfect!

I can see you have a warrior’s heart.

Garos gazed at Mao Fa, speaking slowly and deliberately.

Your insight is as sharp as a blade!

Mao Fa lifted its chin and said.

Garos spread his wings wide, straightened his body, his gaze turning calm yet dangerous, his voice deep: “I’ve heard this saying.”

“The strong draw their blades against those stronger; the weak draw theirs against those weaker.”

Mao Fa didn’t fully understand Garos’s meaning, but nodded in agreement, striving to appear respectful, saying: “Truly a profound truth.”

Garos suddenly grinned.

“Since you agree, then challenge me. Prove your strength to me.”

He said.

Mao Fa froze slightly, staring at Garos’s massive form, the terrifying pressure radiating from him making his breath catch; his wolfish grin turned strained as he said: “You… you’re joking.”

Only now.

Did he realize he had just overstepped, tempering his fleeting arrogance.

Garos took a step forward, standing before Mao Fa, his powerful frame blocking the moonlight, casting a shadow that engulfed Mao Fa.

“So your words earlier were merely mocking me?”

His voice turned icy sharp, his eyes locking onto Mao Fa, causing every hair on the young werewolf’s body to bristle.

Still dare to bristle? Instead of kneeling and begging for mercy.

“I dare not. Forgive me, my lord.”

Mao Fa knelt to the ground, bowing his head.

Garos’s expression remained unreadable: “I admire your courage. If you can leave even a single scratch on me, you pass the challenge—and I’ll grant you the position of chieftain.”

Mao Fa’s eyes lit up, his body tensing with eagerness as he rose to his feet.

“Great Dragon Lord, I shall give it my all.”

He said.

Immediately, the other wolves scattered in fear, clearing ample space.

Russell and the old shaman sighed silently, already foreseeing Mao Fa’s reckless end; the Dragon Lord had offered him more than one chance, yet he failed to seize any.

Mao Fa retreated dozens of meters, drew a deep breath, every muscle in his body tightening like iron.

His hind legs gouged deep furrows into the earth, his eyes flashing with ruthlessness as he fixed his gaze on the dragon before him.

He had faced beasts larger than Garos before, leaving them covered in wounds, and with his pack’s cooperation, successfully hunted them down.

In his view, Garos as a dragon might be stronger than similarly sized beasts, but not by much.

At the very least, he could leave a wound on Garos.

Roar—!

With a deafening wolf howl, the muscles beneath Mao Fa’s fur swelled, and he launched upward, his hind legs exploding with astonishing power.

His claws gleamed coldly in the moonlight, aimed straight for Garos’s throat.

This strike channeled all his strength and skill, moving so fast it left afterimages in the air.

Garos didn’t even blink.

Snap!

A soft sound—as if swatting away an annoying fly—his dragon claw moved casually.

Mao Fa’s body halted midair for a bizarre instant, then shot backward at even greater speed.

Boom!

His body slammed into the rock wall, shaking the cliff, sending loose stones cascading down in a cloud of dust.

When the dust settled, the wolves stared in horror: Mao Fa’s body was deeply embedded in the rock, twisted into a grotesque shape.

Garos had suspected Mao Fa might have some hidden strength, so his first strike used only minimal force as a test.

The result left him deeply disappointed.

This young werewolf had no hidden strength—only slightly better innate talent than the others, making him foolishly overconfident.

He walked forward slowly, looking down at Mao Fa.

Mao Fa’s eyes remained open, his ribcage completely caved in, blood froth mixed with organ fragments oozing from his mouth.

“Too weak. Your arrogance is worthless.”

Garos said calmly.

The wolf pack fell deathly silent.

Frostfang’s claws unconsciously dug into the ground; only now did he understand why the old shaman always said, “Dragon’s aura is unfathomable.”

That arrogant Mao Fa wasn’t even a toy in the Dragon Lord’s eyes.

Roar… Mao Fa let out a low, defiant growl.

Crackling sounds erupted from within him; his mangled body began to warp, his fangs elongating, his frame stretching—within moments, he transformed into a massive, blood-splattered dire wolf, leaping forward with a roar.

Garos flicked his tail.

Boom!

The dire wolf’s body exploded instantly into a mist of blood, ripped apart midair.

A few warm droplets splattered onto the faces of the nearest wolves, but none dared to wipe them away.

“Now.”

Garos’s voice echoed through the valley.

“Who else wishes to prove their warrior’s heart?”

In response, every wolf bowed low in unison.

Under the moonlight, their foreheads pressed flat to the ground, their breathing barely audible.

This was submission—and relief, relief that they possessed a heart of reverence.

The old shaman loosened his grip on the bone staff, a look of profound relief softening his aged face.

“Your Dragon’s Aura grows stronger each day—now it dims even sun and moon.”

He flattered.

Russell whispered: “Please spare these wolves. They were misled by Mao Fa, meant no offense, and will be transformed into dire wolves, serving you faithfully under our tribe’s command.”

The wolves he referred to were Mao Fa’s loyal followers, now trembling and paralyzed with fear.

Garos gave a slight nod, signaling Russell to handle it.

After this minor incident, Garos turned to the old shaman and Russell: “Tell me what happened in these six years.”

The old shaman now spoke with slurred, slow speech.

Russell began: “Shortly after your last departure, the Gnawbone Clan began its savage expansion.”

He recounted the events in detail.

Because the highest point of New Moon Valley housed a watchtower, the wolves spotted the approaching ogres at once, and decisively abandoned their territory to flee. Later, they learned the ogres consumed all remaining food stores in their land and left—then returned again.

Subsequently, along the Scaled Earth Rift Pass.

Since the ogres seized the best routes and raided with high frequency, the Howling Moon Clan’s wolves failed to make contact with any caravans.

The good news is:

Before the ogres rose to power, the smooth-talking, cunning merchant Nick brought back large quantities of black oil, stored in the clan’s cellar—and the ogres, uninterested in inedible oil, left it untouched.

But only the first shipment.

When Nick returned to the Howling Moon Clan again, he brought communication stones, enabling contact across distance.

After the ogres seized the Scaled Earth Rift Pass, to prevent this trade route from being destroyed, the old shaman used the communication stones to instruct Nick not to come again for these years, awaiting further instructions.

Over six years,

Nick checked in via the communication stone nearly every month.

He feared neither the wolves nor their ways; on the contrary, his trade with them had brought him great gains and renewed hope of resurgence—he valued the Howling Moon Clan deeply.

“My Lord, the Gnawbone Clan has gained a powerful leader, unlike ordinary ogres.”

“Under his command, the Gnawbone Clan now flourishes, growing rapidly.”

Russell wanted to warn Garos not to underestimate the Gnawbone Clan.

He had heard dragons were often arrogant and complacent, making them vulnerable to ambushes.

Yet before he finished speaking, his eyes widened—he heard Garos say casually: “No need to worry. The Gnawbone Clan has already submitted to me, and now shares the status of Dragon’s Kin with you.”

“Your Dragon’s Might is supreme!”

Russell immediately offered flattery.

Six years ago, when he was young, he didn’t know such phrases—he merely stood beside the old shaman, listening as the elder praised and fawned. Now, with age, he had grown nimble, learning to curry favor with the dragon.

“Go, bring me some black oil first.”

Garos said.

Russell nodded and quickly returned with clan members carrying one iron barrel of black oil, weighing roughly fifty kilograms.

“The clan has ten such barrels total, weighing about a thousand jin.”

Russell said.

Garos’s eyes gleamed as he lifted the barrel.

He missed the taste of black oil dearly—and this barrelled quantity far surpassed the meager amounts he once stole from oil pits and refined himself; now he could drink without caution.

His claws pried open the lid; the pungent odor surged into his nostrils.

He tilted his head back and opened his mouth, gulping down the black oil in loud, continuous swallows.

“So so so so strong!”

“This is the taste! This is the feeling!”

Whoosh whoosh whoosh!

Dark red flames surged from the ends of Garos’s wing bones, thicker and more violent than his previous limit state—as if oil had been poured onto fire—in an instant, his body became a comet, breaking the sound barrier and shooting straight into the sky.

(End of Chapter)