Chapter 550: Dragon Father Is Just Here to Trap People 13

Arotala, Loki Plain.

The sun was sinking in the west, the sky burned a vivid crimson, the cloud edges rimmed with molten-gold light, and a north wind blew, carrying the stench of blood and scorched flesh that made one want to retch.

On the distant horizon, a cluster of black dots circled.

Like vultures, or something worse, drawn by the scent of battle.

They flew high, looking like floating ash against the sky; now and then one dove, then screeched back up, seemingly fighting over something.

At the same time, somewhere else.

A red dragon glided a thousand meters above the ground.

Laria folded his wings, adjusted his angle, and dove. The airflow formed visible ripples over his scales, the roar left trailing behind him.

His pupils narrowed into vertical slits, locking onto the target on the ground.

Five lava-corrupted rockback mane lions were tearing at the carcass of a giant deer.

The bony spines on their backs glowed an abnormal red, like molten lava coursing beneath the skin.

They were nearly half again larger than normal for their species, muscles bulging like bedrock; every bite tore away chunks of flesh. The giant deer was utterly dead, its belly ripped open, entrails scattered everywhere, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood.

At three hundred meters above the ground, a keen-sensed lion noticed something amiss.

Its ears twitched, then it jerked its head up, the reflection of an increasingly large red dragon appearing in its eyes.

The beast’s spine immediately arched, the red light on its spines flaring brighter. It opened its mouth and issued a threatening low roar from deep in its throat.

The other four mane lions lifted their heads at the warning and roared.

At the same moment, the red dragon spoke.

A rapid incantation echoed through the world, syllables short and clipped.

Countless fire elements rushed in from all directions, swirling, compressing, condensing before Laria.

Whoosh!

On the final syllable, Laria spread his wings to the limit; his diving speed abruptly eased, his huge body tracing an arc in the low air.

At the same time, the ball of flame before him had compressed into the shape of a spear.

Zip!

It drew a straight line of fire through the air, as fast as lightning.

One second it had formed, the next it was already frighteningly close to its target.

The targeted lion didn’t even have time to scream; the spear slid into its gaping throat.

Boom!

Its body exploded from within; bone fragments, brain matter, and blood sprayed, splattering the nearby lions.

Laria circled slightly in the low air to adjust his posture, then landed gracefully, all four claws touching the ground without kicking up dust.

He folded his wings back, slightly raising his hindquarters like a swordsman about to draw his blade, gazing fiercely at the seven remaining prey.

The remaining four mane lions stared at the red dragon with murderous focus.

The red glow in their bodies intensified. Their eyes turned into burning coals, saliva dripping from their mouths and hissing white smoke where it hit the ground.

These ferocious beasts were completely dominated by the frenzied flame, devoid of fear, driven only by the instinct to kill.

The first lunged.

It charged head-on with astonishing speed, jaws splayed, fangs interlaced, reeking.

Only at the last moment did the red dragon sidestep.

A left claw swept upward, slicing into the lion’s lower jaw; the claw ripped through flesh and carved up through the chest and abdomen, scalding innards pouring out and drenching Laria’s forearm.

His claw found grip within the abdominal cavity and clenched the spine, then he tugged outward with force.

Splat!

Half a spine, wrapped in nerves and flesh, was torn out.

A foul gust hit the back of his head.

Without turning, the red dragon swept his tail; the tail’s tip, like a spear, plunged into the beast’s eye socket and through the back of its skull.

He whipped his tail, the carcass’s head was pulverized and flew off like a torn sack, smashing into a nearby rock with a dull thud.

The third and fourth beasts struck simultaneously from left and right.

They coordinated, one left, one right, sealing off all escape. If either bite landed, it would be a big problem.

Laria did not retreat; he charged forward.

He rammed his forehead into the open maw of the left beast.

A horn pierced the upper palate, blood sprayed, and the right claw dug upward into the throat, clenched in the hot narrow esophagus, and tore.

A mangled mass of flesh and organs was ripped free.

It was the windpipe, still attached to part of a lung lobe.

The left beast’s eyes went vacant, its body went limp.

Taking advantage, the final lion leapt.

Its fang struck near the back side of Laria’s neck, the sharp tooth aimed to cut through the scales and pierce flesh.

However, the moment tooth met scale, the dragon scales lit up.

Crunch!

A radiant light burst from the scale surfaces, transforming into an invisible shock-wave that radiated out from the contact point.

The lion was hurled through the air, tumbling several times, and slammed heavily to the ground.

It snarled to its feet, the red glow on its body flickering.

Before it could attack again, a torrent of fiery breath rolled in.

Laria inhaled deeply, his chest swelling, then opened his jaw. Blistering flame surged from his throat, forming a cone-shaped pillar that engulfed the beast’s entire body.

The heat was extreme; rock began to melt.

The ferocious creature screamed and turned into a charred lump.

Snap.

Laria closed his jaws, the tail flicked with a sound like snapping fingers.

A cleansing spell’s ripple swept his body, washing away dust and blood. Even the blood clotted between scale joints was cleaned, his scales reflecting the sunset’s afterglow with pristine red sheen.

From landing to now, the whole process had taken less than a minute.

He looked down at the scattered carcasses by his feet, then lifted his head to the horizon where the black dots still circled, his eyes betraying little emotion.

Five high-level ferocious beasts corrupted by the frenzied flame were no real threat to a dragon of his rank.

But judging by his combat style—graceful, efficient, absolutely without waste—it was hard to imagine he was a red dragon.

In most intelligent beings’ minds, red dragons meant arrogance, volatility, bloodlust, greed. They loved head-on brawls, crushing opponents with brute force, roaring and spewing fire in battle, reveling in enemies’ fear and suffering.

Laria was different.

“Hunting has only just begun.”

The red dragon whispered, spread his wings and gave a powerful beat, rocketing skyward. The airflow lifted his massive body as he climbed fast; the carcasses on the ground shrank into little dots.

Two hours later, the sun had quietly set, the last afterglow gone beyond the horizon.

Stars hung in the night sky.

On Arotala, the stars were especially bright and clear, and between them two moons shone, one larger and one smaller.

Laria pulled a claw free from a giant beast’s carcass and shook blood from it.

This had been a rage-cursed cleft-hoof beast, mutated to twice its normal size, all muscles bulging like stone, veins beneath its hide pulsing an abnormal red.

Even dead, its eyes were wide open, madness still lingering in the deep of its pupils.

A dozen similar carcasses lay around.

Some were burned black, reduced to charred skeletons; some torn apart, guts and flesh scattered; some still twitched—nerve reflexes though the body was long dead.

The battlefield quieted, only occasional beast cries and the wind’s wail passing through the trees.

Laria lifted his head to the sky.

The elves’ moon was several times larger and purer than the moons he’d seen on Atlantis Continent, dazzlingly beautiful, but he knew clearly that beneath such beauty lurked dangers that could make legendary beings shudder.

Whoosh!

The red dragon unfolded his wings and flew toward a nearby high cliff.

He landed on the most protruding rock at the cliff top and looked out.

At the plain’s far end, smoke rose in wisps, visible in the night; behind him on the horizon was the area he and the soldiers had just cleaned out. Within a thirty-mile radius, the high-level monsters had been slaughtered; the remaining ones posed little threat and could be penning fodder and training prey for low-level soldiers in the future.

Further out lay areas to be cleared tomorrow.

Not long after, a wyvern burst from the night and folded its wings to land on the cliff top.

It was his scout captain, a mature flying dragon whose scales still bore blood and dust, evidently having rushed over straight from battle.

It touched down before Laria and lowered its head in respect.

“Your Highness, we’ve finished the last group.”

“Thirty-seven in total, twelve showing clear signs of the Fury Curse, far more violent than normal beasts.”

“We followed your earlier plan—kept distance from the enraged beasts, lured them in batches, and concentrated to kill. Those infected by the frenzied flame are fierce and tough, but not strategic. Once baited out, they have no coordinated tactics.”

Laria nodded.

“And casualties?”

“Six minor injuries, no fatalities.”

The scout captain hesitated, then added, “Of the six minor injuries, four were caused by the enraged beasts. We’ve followed protocol—cleansed and isolated them for observation. All are stable with no signs of frenzied flame infection.”

“Others who fought enraged beasts were checked as per your orders.”

The frenzied flame spreads easily, mainly through blood and an invisible emotional influence. But with tight prevention and proper handling, small-scale contamination can be managed.

“Good work.”

The red dragon said, “Let the soldiers finish cleaning up and rest. Continue with the plan tomorrow. Tonight add extra rations; process the few beasts with good meat. Give the troops a treat.”

He had been on Arotala for some time.

This base lay north of the Greenwild Kingdom, a no-man’s land technically belonging to no power, though in truth no major faction wanted to take it outright.

No-man’s land did not mean worthless.

On the contrary, it was rich—abundant veins, dense forests, many lakes. If the monsters here could be cleared, it would be a fine forward territory.

The problem was many monsters here were infected by the frenzied flame.

Infected life gradually lost reason, growing crazed and bloodthirsty while their bodies mutated—strength, speed, and endurance increased, at the cost of becoming killing machines.

They were not easy to clear, and one had to guard against catching the frenzied flame oneself.

The scouting wyvern raised its head. “Your Highness, any other orders?”

Laria considered briefly, then said, “When you carry out tomorrow’s tasks, mark all mineral veins and monster lairs along the way.”

“Mark mineral types, scale, extraction difficulty; for monster lairs mark species present, number, threat level. Don’t rush—advance steadily. After clearing an area, set up a temporary supply point with water, basic defenses, and stored provisions.”

“Yes.”

He then looked at another flying dragon perched at the cliff edge.

“You, go tell the quartermaster to compile all recent patrol reports, resource consumption logs, and surrounding topographic maps, and put them in my lair. I want to review them myself.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

Laria’s voice was calm, emotionless, but the unmistakable tone made the flying dragon straighten its spine.

“We are no longer mere fighters; we are pioneers.”

“This flying territory will need a fortress, a garrison—it will become the kingdom’s claw on Arotala.”

“If we don’t lay the foundations properly now, future problems will be plenty.”

“Resource consumption must be calculated—what is necessary, what can be economized; patrol reports must be analyzed—what areas are safe, what remain risky; topographic maps must be memorized—where to build fortresses, where to set ambushes... these are not small matters.”

The two flying dragons exchanged a glance, then bowed in reverence.

For the son of an emperor before them, their respect was genuine.

Under his leadership, territory development had proceeded smoothly and efficiently, with relatively few soldier casualties.

“Yes, Your Highness!”

They withdrew.

Not long after, Laria spread his wings and took to the air, circling and sweeping across the land from high above.

His gaze scanned the ground inch by inch, inspecting his territory.

The focus was on traces of the enraged beasts.

Not a single frenzied-flame-infected monster could be left alive; all must be slaughtered.

Otherwise, the plague would spread and worsen.

Another hour passed.

After confirming no misses, a tired Laria turned back to the stronghold.

The base sat beside a large freshwater lake at the Loki Plain’s edge, the lake at its back, facing the plain—open ground but defensible.

With construction underway, it had taken shape.

Outer walls reinforced with runes enclosed neat rows of tents and simple huts inside, a central square reserved for mustering and storing materiel; a dock and water collection point stood near the lake.

Aola people bustled with industrious energy.

Some carried supplies, some reinforced fences, some processed daytime kills—skinning, boning, butchering—every step orderly.

Craftsmen built new structures, their hammering rising and falling; against the night it sounded lively.

When Laria landed, the workers didn’t stop.

Previously, they would have paused to salute him first.

At other times Laria would have enjoyed the reverence—dragon pride ran in his bones—but now he favored efficiency.

So when he first came to this flying territory, Laria ordered no salutes at work; do the job and save time.

Reports had already piled up in his lair.

His lair was at the camp’s center, adjacent to the lake for defense and water access, roomy enough to accommodate his bulk. The floor was layered with dry grass mats, supplies stacked in a corner, and deepest inside a massive stone bed where he rested.

The reports sat by the stone bed.

Daytime bloodshed, nighttime studying reports.

Ordinary dragons would hate such a life.

To them, battle was pleasure and rest was enjoyment; reading reports was a waste of time.

But Laria felt satisfaction and pleasure in it.

To him, territory development was paramount.

Each report was a record of growth; every datum a basis for decisions. Often collating information was more important than fighting; mastering them paved the way for the future.

He moved to the stone bed and bent to open the first report.

At that moment, an aura arrived from afar.

Dragonkind’s presence.

Not like Aolan dragons’ scent, it was thick as morning mist in a deep forest, carrying the crisp sap of greenery and floral fragrance—gentle yet profound, as if containing some ancient, powerful force.

Laria’s expression hardened, and he left the lair.

On the camp clearing, a green dragon was folding her wings.

Her scales were a lush green, gleaming smoothly in moonlight like top-quality jade.

She was enormous, larger than any dragon in the base, but with long, elegant lines; each scale perfectly arranged as if polished and maintained with care.

The Green Dragon Queen, Cerora.

She had come personally.

Laria showed no surprise, folded his wings, and approached with measured steps.

He stopped tens of meters away and bowed his head slightly in respect.

“Your Majesty, King An.”

Cerora waved a claw, indicating he need not be overly formal, then glanced around, eyes sweeping over the fledgling constructions, patrolling guards, neatly stacked supplies, and finally resting on the red dragon before her.

“Laria, Garoth’s fourth son.”

She spoke, “You are far smarter than the average red dragon. I see none of the arrogance or recklessness typical of red dragons in you. Instead I see caution, efficiency, planning, and foresight... traits rarely found in red dragons.”

Among common dragons, males of the red variety were often striking in appearance.

But their fury and rage kept others at bay.

Not so with Laria.

His father was different still.

Laria lifted his head and met her gaze calmly.

“You flatter me, Your Majesty. May I ask what brings you here in person?”

“Nothing urgent.”

Cerora flicked her tail and again looked around.

“Just wanted to see how Garoth’s son fared in this place.”

Her tone was casual, as though making small talk, but Laria knew a queen would not visit without reason.

The Greenwild Kingdom had many matters; as queen she was busy. Making time to fly here meant there was a cause.

He had a general idea what it was.

“I gave you this flying territory; by Arotala standards it’s relatively safe. Compared to areas heavily ravaged by the frenzied flame, this place is secure.”

Cerora withdrew her light and looked at Laria again.

“But even so, to clean up this chaotic land so fast and establish a defensible base... if your father knew, he would be pleased and proud.”

Laria’s face remained unchanged; his voice calm. “My father taught me well.”

Cerora smiled lightly. “You know how to speak.”

She raised her right claw and waved gently.

Silhouettes of several giant dragons appeared in the night sky.

They dove from the clouds, folded wings, and landed on the clearing outside the camp, each clutching boxes of supplies in their talons.

They set the boxes down, then rose and flew off into the distance, disappearing into the night.

“These are for you.”

Cerora pointed at the pile of supplies.

“Refined metal ingots, much higher quality than ordinary mine output—suitable for forging weapons and armor.”

“Some potions and scrolls for emergencies. I know your supplies were insufficient when you arrived; this is my support.”

Laria glanced at the supplies and at Cerora.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“You deserve them.”

Cerora stepped forward, her gaze growing serious, her tone no longer casual.

“I have something to ask you.”

“Please ask.”

“Your father...”

She paused as if choosing words carefully.

“Besides being obsessed with training, does he have other hobbies?”

Laria was not surprised.

In truth, he knew why the Green Dragon Queen had come and was willing to trade trivial information for urgently needed supplies.

That his Dragon Father was obsessed with self-training was a fact he’d disclosed.

It wasn’t a secret; anyone who’d stayed in Aola a while would know. But it was clearly valuable information to Cerora.

Laria looked at the green queen.

“Besides training... do you mean in what way?”

Cerora smiled, that smile especially gentle in moonlight.

“I mean his daily life. What he likes to do normally? What he likes to eat? What kind of company he prefers... how he likes to be treated?”

Laria considered.

These questions seemed simple but required careful handling.

Too much and it would be risky; too little and it would be unhelpful.

After weighing it, he decided to reveal a little more about his father.

“My father...”

Laria chose his words, “He seems tough and even cold on the surface, but that’s from having gone through too much. He survived alone from youth, step by step getting to where he is, relying on caution and suspicion.”

“In short, my father walks on thin ice, every step careful, but he can burst out and injure at any moment.”

“Walking on thin ice... that’s an interesting metaphor.”

Cerora asked, “In that case, how does one make him relax?”

“I know he’s wary of me—green dragons have a poor reputation, so his reaction is understandable. I just want him to be a little more at ease, at least not constantly on his guard in my presence.”

Laria cracked a smile.

“Your Majesty needn’t rush. My father, though stern and cold, can appreciate roses. Deep down he’s delicate, he just doesn’t show it easily. As for getting close...”

He paused, then said, “No need for trickery.”

“Be sincere and warm.”

“With his acuity, if he senses no malice, he won’t resist. But anyone approaching with hidden ill intent will only suffer—I've seen it too often.”

Cerora’s eyes brightened like melted jade shining in the moonlight.

“You mean I should pester him a bit?”

“Something like that.”

Laria nodded. “Of course you must keep limits—too much and he’ll be repelled, too cold and it won’t work. But with your status and wisdom, it shouldn’t be hard to manage.”

Cerora flicked her right claw; a warm jade gem flew from between her claws, arcing through the air. Laria caught it steadily.

It was a full green gem with shifting inner light, warm to the touch, like holding a living energy.

“A gift.”

Cerora said, “A specialty of the Greenwild Kingdom, a gem I created. It helps dragons sleep more comfortably and improves sleep efficiency. It also has some mitigating effect on the Fury Curse.”

“These are scarce; even my senior dragons don’t all have them. Consider this repayment for your information.”

Laria looked at the gem in his palm and then up at Cerora.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“No thanks needed; as I said, you deserve it.”

As she spoke, Cerora stepped forward.

Her scales began to emit an otherworldly glow, a jade halo rippling across them, growing brighter and denser, and as the light dispersed, her enormous form vanished as if she had never been there.

Laria stood watching the gem in his palm and the boxes of supplies.

“My dear father, forgive me for trapping you.”

He muttered and quickly stored the gem in his personal storage.

“I’m choosing you a new mate—this queen is quite suitable. Ruler of Greenwild, strong and beautiful, a perfect match.”

“Besides, your sharp eye will surely see through any malice.”

Before his words finished, a voice sounded deep within his mind.

“Laria.”

Low and sonorous, achingly familiar.

The red dragon’s scales suddenly exploded outward.

He jerked back a half-step, his tail knocking over a nearby weapon rack, causing a clatter.

“Fa... Father?”

Laria's tone held a hint of guilt.

“Yes.”

Garoth’s voice was calm and unreadable, emotionless.

“How are things over there?”

Laria inhaled to steady himself.

“All is going smoothly. The base is established; the most dangerous areas cleared. Follow-up plans are proceeding methodically, supplies are ample, and the soldiers’ morale is high.”

A two-second silence.

“The investigation I asked for—any findings?”

“Yes.”

Laria steadied himself, keeping his tone even.

“Basically confirmed: the young dragons around the queen are generally higher-ranked, and not by a little—by a noticeable margin.”

“Elaborate.”

“For example, the adult green dragons who followed her early are already at legendary rank, and there are quite a few of them.”

Garoth said nothing.

Laria continued, “Also, around the Greenwild Kingdom there’s a widespread rumor.”

“Speak.”

“It’s said the Green Dragon Queen shortens resting time and improves sleep efficiency for dragons. Because of this, many wild dragons voluntarily came to her. The kingdom now has many dragons.”

“Source?”

“Unknown. But the rumor’s been around since her rise. Also, the kingdom’s dragons lack much training scars compared to our Aolan dragons, yet their ranks are generally higher than same-age dragons. I think there’s some truth to it.”

Silence again.

This time it lasted longer.

Laria held his breath waiting for his father’s response.

“Hmm.”

Finally Garoth’s voice returned.

“Be careful yourself. That region is foreign; royal support will be difficult. Report any situation promptly.”

“Yes, Father. Understood...”

“By the way.”

Laria’s heart leapt.

“The Green Dragon Queen, Cerora.”

“She seems to know my preferences. Do you know why?”

Laria opened his mouth, feeling more guilty.

“...Yes. I told her.”

“When I first came to Arotala she asked me, and brought many gifts helpful to our territory’s development and stability. I thought some information wasn’t confidential and could be traded for supplies.”

“So you, my son, traded information about your father for supplies?”

Garoth’s voice sounded faint, whether amused or chastising Laria could not tell.

Laria hurried to explain.

“What I told her wasn’t really secret.”

“You seek strength, are cautious, keen-sensed, and weathered—those can be summarized from observation. Not classified intelligence.”

“If I hadn’t told her, she’d have asked others.”

“Better she learn from me than from those who don’t know details. At least what I gave her is useful but not harmful to you.”

He paused and added, “Besides, Father, with your eye and wisdom, you’ll see her true intentions. My little action won’t harm you.”

Silence for a few seconds.

Then Garoth’s voice returned.

“Tell me exactly what you told Cerora.”

“Yes! I planned to contact you; it was just busy here and I put it off...”

Laria relayed everything he had said.

“She may ask for more of my information later.”

“You judge for yourself what to say—say what’s necessary, don’t say what’s not.”

Laria’s eyes brightened—authorization granted?

“Yes! Father, rest assured. I will complete the task!”

The link cut off soon after.

Laria exhaled long and slow where he stood.

“Does Father guess it was me even across continents?”

He muttered to himself, Garoth’s deep, abyssal eyes appearing in his mind, seeming to see through all things—no matter the distance, nothing escaped his gaze.

“Truly, nothing hides from Father’s eyes.”

“Next time I’ll report immediately—better than being caught red-handed.”

He turned toward his lair to continue reading the territory reports.

Arotala’s open dangers were greater than those on Atlantis Continent; vigilance was essential, no neglect allowed.

Behind him, the night thickened.

Two moons hung in the sky, shedding cold light; a chill wind carried unknown beast cries, rustling the trees like an endless susurration.