Chapter 467: He Is a Demon Dressed in Dragon Scales 4

Garoth and the Brass-Silver Dragon continued their conversation through the projection.

“Were there any drake-like beasts among them? As I recall, the metal dragons have methods to detect such situations in advance.”

The metal dragons on planet Bernardo advocated eugenics.

While the offspring were still developing inside their eggs, they used certain special methods to inspect them, ensuring no mindless drake beasts were present in the clutch.

Dragons inherit tremendous legacies, but that inheritance comes at a cost.

Besides the species traits and instincts deeply rooted by the inheritance, some dragons, when receiving that vast legacy inside their egg, cannot withstand its overwhelming magnitude—their minds burn out and they degenerate into drake beasts.

Drake beasts look exactly like true dragons.

However, drake beasts have no quasi-spell skills, no inheritance, and no intelligence. They possess a giant dragon body but only beast-like instincts.

If there is a drake beast among the offspring, the metal dragons usually halt the egg’s development and store it away.

The evil dragons handle things very differently.

Among them, the most bloodthirsty often eat drake offspring to gain strength; milder ones at least throw newly hatched drake beasts away without a shred of pity.

“They’ve already been checked.”

Deborah said happily, “All four children are perfectly healthy, not a single drake beast among them.”

As she said this, curiosity seized her. She held up one egg to her eyes, scrutinized it, then asked, “Garoth, you and your siblings were four as well. Back then, was there a drake beast in your cohort?”

She was a sole child herself.

However, when she was born another egg came out with her; sadly, that egg belonged to a drake beast and was disposed of before hatching.

Garoth shook his head, the dark-red scales at his neck rubbing together with a faint scraping sound.

“Not to my knowledge.”

A dragon brood commonly produces two to four offspring, and the chance of a drake beast appearing is not low.

For the Iron Dragon Mother to give birth to four offspring with no drake beasts at all, and to include Garoth—a red-iron hybrid—was exceedingly rare.

Now, Garoth’s descendants also had no drake beasts, and likewise numbered four.

Whether that hinted at hybrids or special constitutions aside, such a situation was uncommon.

“Is it because I’m special, or because the Ignas bloodline is unusual, or perhaps both?” Garoth thought silently.

Notably, the Red Dragon Father’s surname was also Ignas, whereas the Iron Dragon Mother’s surname was not.

In the world of great dragons, the rule of the strong even shows in surname inheritance: dragon offspring tend to inherit the surname of the stronger parent.

That meant the bloodline source called Ignas was probably stronger than the Iron Dragon Mother’s source.

Garoth did not dwell on the matter.

He changed the topic and chatted with the Brass-Silver Dragon about recent happenings.

As they spoke, the Brass-Silver Dragon seemed to find playing with dragon eggs amusing. She curled her tail and deftly rolled the other two eggs over.

With two claws holding two eggs each, she began to turn slowly, as if toying with two enormous gems.

Given her practiced movements, this was clearly not the first time.

Garoth did not mind.

Dragon eggs are not fragile; on the contrary, their shells are rather hard. For an egg to break a rock is more likely the rock getting dented.

If one of these eggs had been beside him, Garoth might have been tempted to rub it and test its texture himself.

They looked like they would feel quite nice.

At that moment, a face covered in silver scales barged into the projection.

“You careless little bastard! How many times have I told you not to treat dragon eggs like toys!”

With a sharp scolding, the Silver Dragon Edri appeared in the projection.

He snatched all four eggs from Deborah’s claws, cradled them carefully in his broad, solid chest, then glared at his daughter with his dragon pupils.

“I just had an itch in my claws, and they are fun right now…”

Deborah blinked innocently and muttered softly, her tail tip restlessly sweeping the ground.

“Hmph! You show no demeanor of an elder.”

Edri said coldly.

He adjusted his hold on the eggs so they rested more securely against his chest and belly scales, then turned to the red-iron dragon in the projection, his expression serious and stern.

“Garoth, you’ve always been reliable—calm and steady by nature.”

“Make sure you keep an eye on your companion. Don’t indulge her.”

I actually wanted to try that too...

The red-iron dragon made an inaudible chuckle in his throat, scratched the itching scales at his neck with a forepaw, and slowly nodded.

“All right, next time for sure.”

At the same time, Brass Dragon Serena’s figure hopped into the edge of the projection.

She struck an exaggerated pose, flaring her wings widely and pressing her forepaws to her chest as she told the red-iron dragon, “Wow! It’s the Giant Dragon Emperor of Aola! To see the Red Emperor in person is an honor—my scales are practically standing on end!”

Garoth remained unmoved, watching her calmly without even the twitch of an eyelid.

He knew the more obvious his reaction, the more energized Serena would become.

Sure enough, seeing his indifference, Serena pouted, dropped the performance, and returned to a normal expression.

Elsewhere, Edri lowered his gaze to the safe eggs in his embrace; the sternness on his face melted like an iceberg under the sun.

“My little ones, grandpa will take you to feel the sea breeze and bask in the sun. Ready? Let’s go.”

His voice was gentle, completely different from before.

Saying that, the Silver Dragon carried the generation-spanning eggs, spread his broad silver wings with graceful power, creating a cool breeze, and flew out of the cave.

Before leaving, he shot his irresponsible daughter a glare, then beat his wings and vanished beyond the projection’s sky.

Not long after, Garoth ended the projection with the Brass-Silver Dragon.

He stretched his immense body, joints crackling faintly, then beat his wings and flew toward the rear mountains.

There, aided by Shire and Mien, he undertook a high-intensity training session.

Heat waves mixed with dust clouds of battle rose from between his scales like rolling smoke.

When the last sliver of sunset sank behind distant peaks and darkness fully fell, the deep night stained the sky like ink. Before the stars had fully shown, his movement faltered slightly and he stopped.

“Shire, Mien.”

The red-iron dragon said calmly, “Bring out that Theo legend.”

The two legendary Heroic Spirits nodded, their forms turning into streaks of light as they flew back to the Hall of Heroic Spirits.

A moment later they reappeared,

but between them there now stood a corporeal human figure.

It was the Theo legend captured personally by Karu’s army formation: the spearman Balor.

Chains of light had condensed through his collarbones, ribs, and shoulder blades, fastening him tightly.

The other ends of the chains were held by the two Heroic Spirits; as they moved, the chains swayed and tugged at his wounds, adding to the pain on his already pale, blood-drained face.

He wore tattered armor, many wounds crudely bandaged and still seeping blood,

weak and listless.

Nonetheless, when brought before the red-iron dragon, Balor forced his body to straighten despite the agony of further tearing, struggling to stand.

He lifted his head and stared straight at the red dragon looming like a small mountain against the night, his eyes burning with unyielding fire.

“Garoth Ignas.”

Balor spoke first; his voice was hoarse from thirst and wounds but his diction was clear. “Kill me, then kill me. Don’t waste time on theatrical games. If you want anything from me, you’ll find nothing.”

His face was unusually pale from blood loss, stubble rough on his chin, signs of many days of captivity clear, yet those eyes remained sharp as a hawk’s.

A legend is not the common lot.

Balor might not be among the strongest of legends, but he possessed pride and dignity. He had long accepted the possibility of death.

Garoth watched him calmly, emotionless—neither mockery nor pity.

The wind through the valley tore across the thorny spikes at the dragon’s neck and ruffled Balor’s disheveled hair.

After a long pause, Garoth finally spoke, his deep voice rolling low across the mountains.

“Balor Fischer, second son of the Fischer family of the Kingdom of Theo. Enlisted at sixteen, formally began the Warrior Path at seventeen. You rose through bloody battles to become a legend and have protected Theo for one hundred and twenty-seven years.”

The red-iron dragon spoke with steady pacing.

“You’ve fought in three major external wars, suppressed seventeen internal rebellions and border conflicts. You specialize in spear techniques—your style is fierce and direct. You are upright and incorruptible, disdainful of political maneuvering, loyal only to duty and the kingdom itself. You hold great prestige within the Theo military and are beloved by Theo’s people.”

Balor’s eyes shifted slightly.

This meant the Red Emperor had clearly gathered a wealth of information on Theo.

His expression remained unchanged, lips tightly pressed.

“You’ve done your homework,” he said coldly, “So? Want to prove you know everything and force me to make you submit?”

Garoth inclined his massive body forward; his huge head cast a shadow as he lowered it close to the chained human legend.

His breath was scorching, smelling of sulfur, and blew across Balor’s face.

“So, a soldier like you will not want to see the kingdom you’ve defended for over a century suffer needless bloodshed and avoidable ruin because the upper echelons cling to needless stubbornness.”

Balor sneered and tried to step forward but was held back by the chains; he could only keep his chin up.

“Needless stubbornness? It was you Aola who greedily provoked this war! It was you who crossed borders and burned our lands!”

“You were the ones who first sent legends to sweep the wilds and act against us.” Garoth interrupted, “This war had no innocent initiator, Balor. There are only victors and the vanquished, survival and annihilation.”

“Now you are the defeated, and you are about to suffer utter ruin.”

Balor gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles taut, silent but staring at the dragon.

“The Sky Eye satellite was taken by my hand personally. The Impregnable Wall defenses have collapsed. Countless Theo soldiers lie buried in scorched earth; their souls may yet wander that battlefield,” Garoth continued.

His cadence was unhurried, but each word struck Balor like a hammer.

“The Emerald Ridge is your kingdom’s last geographic shield. Your Shield of Theo and the Unyielding Shield have joined. Heavy troops garrison Norton Pass—your so-called Dragonbreaker Gate.”

“But do you think one treacherous pass can stop Aola’s forces?”

Balor drew a deep breath, suppressing chest pain, and said in a low voice, “You cannot pass Dragonbreaker Gate! With the two royal shields in place, the treacherous mountains, and impregnable fortifications, and with constant reinforcements from the kingdom’s heartland, it will stand unbreachable. You will batter your heads bloody against the gate!”

The red-iron dragon baring his maw revealed dagger-like fangs.

“Dragonbreaker Gate is indeed troublesome, no denial there. But what if I choose to go around it?”

“What do you mean?!”

Balor felt a sudden chill and unease.

“My war princes, my blood relatives, have already made a detailed plan.”

“Soon, my demon legions will mass and launch an unprecedented assault on Dragonbreaker Gate, drawing all your attention, pinning Theo’s garrison and reinforcements in place.”

Garoth paused to let Balor digest the information, then continued,

“At the same time, I will personally lead my drake forces and all of Aola’s air corps to fly over the Emerald Ridge from another direction, bypass Dragonbreaker Gate, and strike straight into your undefended rear—the fertile plains of Theo.”

Balor’s pupils constricted sharply then returned to normal.

He sneered, “Without your command and air cover, Aola’s legions under the gate will suffer grievous losses, and you, deep in our heartland without supply or backup, will be trapped by our legends and defending forces—an easy target.”

“You would be sacrificing yourself and your army for nothing, undermining your kingdom’s foundation.”

At these words, Garoth’s gaze narrowed, and dark scales reflected a hard metallic sheen.

“Cost?” he echoed softly, a touch of bemusement in his tone. “Why do you human commanders always assume the same error? You think I, like your kings, depend on the kingdom, constrained by nobles, needing to weigh every interest and fear casualties that might shake my rule.”

His huge head lowered again, the vertical pupils reflecting the smallness of Balor’s figure.

“But the fact is, Aola exists because of me, it consolidated because of my power.”

“All citizens pledge loyalty to me—give me life and fealty. That is their honor and their choice.”

“Do you think I would mourn casualties like a human king mourns coin? For victory, for greater gain, any price can be paid.”

“As long as victory belongs to me in the end, Aola will not fall; it will only grow stronger.”

Under night, the shadow cast by the red-iron dragon fully enveloped Balor as if dragging him into endless darkness.

Breathing grew harder for Balor, not only because of his wounds and chains but because of the overwhelming pressure born of the dragon and his words.

“Imagine, Balor.”

Garoth’s voice, demonic, continued to echo in his ear.

“When all of Theo’s attention is fixed on the front of Dragonbreaker Gate—when both your shields and every reinforcing legend keep watch over the Aola army at the walls, wary of my frontal assault.”

“With your satellite gone, I, Garoth Ignas, will lead an elite force to appear behind the Emerald Ridge.”

“I won’t assault fortified cities at first.”

“I will destroy everything in my path.”

“Unharvested grain fields, crucial roads linking towns, fleeing civilian hamlets, supply convoys—burn their granaries, cut the rivers, annihilate signs of life. I don’t need to immediately take your cities; I only need to create the widest possible chaos and panic, let fear spread through your rear like a plague.”

“Then the garrison at Dragonbreaker Gate will find their supply lines severed, no more messages of reinforcements—their position becomes an island. And your civilians will see the legendary evil dragon and its war beasts above their homes.”

“Flames will devour houses and crops. Cries will echo across the plains.”

“They will drown in the blood and fire I unleash.”

“And I promise you, when I focus entirely on destruction, on killing and ruin, rather than occupation, no one within Theo can stop me, no one can catch me.”

“Your legends may confront me, but they cannot hold me, while I leave devastation in my wake.”

Hearing this cold, detailed depiction, Balor’s complexion completely changed.

He seemed to already see that hellish scene:

burning villages, broken roads, terrifying draconic silhouettes sweeping overhead, and comrades gradually succumbing to despair.

“Cruel... barbaric evil dragon!”

He squeezed the words through clenched teeth, voice trembling with rage and fear. “You would slaughter unarmed civilians! Trample the basic laws of war!”

“Do you have no baseline of dignity as a strong being?”

“Such a victory—even if achieved—will be spurned by all races!”

The red-iron dragon shook his massive head slightly.

“Cruel? Barbaric? In the perception of evil dragons, such words often read like praise, descriptions of us efficiently fulfilling our nature.”

“Besides, war never had dignity—only victory and annihilation.”

“And I... choose victory.”

“For victory I will use any necessary means.”

He paused and shifted tone; the sharp light in his vertical pupils subsided, but the pressure remained.

“However, you of Theo are fortunate. You encountered me, Garoth Ignas, an evil dragon not entirely pure. I pursue power and rule, but I do not take pleasure in torment or meaningless slaughter.”

“I want victory.”

“Death and killing are merely paths to victory—tools, not ends.”

“If there is an easier, more efficient, and less costly way to win—for example, making Theo yield, sign a treaty under the walls, cede land, pay reparations, open trade privileges—then I will not bother with a plan to bathe the land in blood.”

Balor fell silent, only his heavy, labored breaths audible in the night.

His mind raced, analyzing the truth and falsehoods in Garoth’s words and weighing every possibility.

He knew Garoth aimed to shatter his will, but the plan was too real, too operational for him to dismiss as mere bluff.

“You tell me these things...”

After a long time, he rasped, “Is this to make me betray my kingdom, to trade intelligence so you’ll abandon your plan? In exchange for your so-called easier victory?”

“No.”

Garoth slowly shook his head.

The movement set his neck scales chiming faintly.

“Whether that plan is executed does not ultimately depend on you speaking, but on the stance of the Theo court, the decisions of your king and the noble council.”

“If they are willing to negotiate and pay a reasonable price to end the war, the fighting can stop and Theo can avoid devastation.”

He fixed Balor with his gaze.

“But if you and the Theo upper echelons you serve insist on stubborn resistance, demand to fight to the end, using countless soldiers and civilians as meat to buy time while hoping for miracles or outside intervention...”

“Then I promise you, I will turn that plan I described into reality.”

“And I will keep you alive to watch it happen, to see what your stubbornness brings.”

Garoth knew clearly that with Aola’s current strength, they could defeat Theo and severely wound it, but utterly annihilating a long-standing human kingdom was difficult.

Not to mention Theo’s last-ditch countermoves and potential desperate retaliation.

Other human nations would not sit idly by while a dragon-founded state swallowed a major human kingdom—it could provoke unpredictable coalition intervention.

This second Romania nations war aimed mainly to reshape the balance and gain profit, not to annihilate a kingdom.

Garoth’s true aim at this stage was to secure victory at minimal cost, reap substantial gains, and consolidate Aola’s rise.

According to his and Sorog’s simulations, if they could break Dragonbreaker Gate directly or pressure it into collapse, Theo’s will to resist would likely shatter and the war would not drag on.

But Dragonbreaker Gate was no small hurdle.

Moreover, this war involved more than the two Ao kingdoms; neighboring nations’ stances and hidden diplomacy complicated things. Each Ao had overt and covert allies and stakeholders.

The red-iron dragon put aside wandering thoughts and refocused on the human before him.

He leaned closer again; the facial spikes on his massive head nearly pierced Balor’s skin.

“Tell me, human.”

“Why do you spill your blood? You protected Theo to defend people’s lives and livelihoods on this land, or merely to defend the king’s authority and the nobles’ interests?”

“When your king and those nobles in safe rear positions would let the frontline soldiers bleed to the last drop, let civilians be consumed by war rather than sit down to negotiate, rather than spend coins, land, or face for the people’s survival...do you still pledge loyalty to them?”

“To whom does your loyalty truly belong?”

Balor opened his mouth but could not immediately force a sound.

“Where are the weak points in Dragonbreaker Gate’s defenses?” Garoth pressed in a low voice. “What flaws does the Unyielding Shield’s Domain have? Where are the teeth of the mountain chain weak? How many hidden legends does Theo still have? Are there concealed legendary artifacts?”

“Tell me everything you know, Balor.”

“Each piece of information might bring the end of this cruel war forward by a day, a week, even a month. Each day saved could spare thousands of Theo soldiers, dozens of villages from burning, tens of thousands of families from ruin.”

“This is not betrayal but a path to peace and to the duty you swore to defend your country.”

“Or would you rather see them die in order to preserve your foolish loyalty?”

Balor sank completely silent and dropped his head.

Loyalty and duty, guardianship and sacrifice, victory and cost—thoughts clashed inside his mind, almost tearing his reason apart.

In the end he slumped his head.

“Let me... think... let me think.”

The voice was almost inaudible, a wispy breath.

Garoth heard it.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

“Very well.”

He slowly straightened, his shadow sliding off Balor. “I will give you time to think, Balor Fischer, but my patience and the time for the Kingdom of Theo are limited.”

Immediately, Shire and Mien’s lights flashed, the chains clattered, and began to tighten.

Balor offered no resistance as the chains drew him into the Hall of Heroic Spirits’ pale glow.

Silence returned to the place; only the night wind swept over the rocks.

“Sire, within your imposing and fierce dragon form, it seems resides a demon who skillfully plucks at the strings of hearts.”

Shire, having witnessed the whole process, exclaimed.

He recalled the earlier conversations with the red-iron dragon—equally unsettling, finding inner weaknesses in a few words.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Garoth warned Shire with a glance.

“Of course. This is a heartfelt compliment; I swear by my soul—no falsehood.”

Shire bowed slightly and swore.

This Red Emperor of Aola not only possessed unparalleled power and extreme self-discipline but could, with a gaze, pierce and discern inner weaknesses.

Any being who opposed him—

be it human, elf, giant, or another great dragon—would face the most dreadful calamity.