The setting sun was like blood, drenching the sky in a flowing scroll of molten fire; the sinking sun was like a pierced wound, oozing thick twilight upon the horizon.
Garros bathed in the blood-like, flame-like afterglow, every black iron-like scale on his body reflecting a dangerous light.
His wings beat, fine scales rubbing against each other to spark trails of fire; his body streaked straight through the clouds and the air, hurtling toward Crescent Moon Valley, toward the habitat of the Cliff Snake Dragon, like an unsheathed blade slicing through the deepening dusk.
Whenever he felt danger.
Whenever he felt his life was threatened.
Garros could never suppress his boiling killing intent, wanting to erase the source of the danger.
This wasn't an influence brought by his Dragonkin Bloodline.
As far as Garros knew, few Dragons shared his mindset. Most Dragonkin, due to their innate arrogance and conceit, felt they could overcome any danger, that the world should crawl beneath their wings, and that they were indestructible, thus lacking much sense of crisis.
Garros had analyzed this seriously.
In the end, he felt...
...it was most likely because he had been lucky enough to die once before. Having felt the despair, fear, regret, and resentment before death, he cherished this life as a Dragon exceptionally. He hoped to live a long time, and thus, from the bottom of his heart, he wanted to nip all risks and factors affecting his survival in the bud.
This seemed a bit paranoid.
A bit like a persecution complex.
One could also say it was a flaw in Garros's character.
Just as he absolutely couldn't stomach two Magic Gems in a row, when faced with risks threatening his life, he found it difficult to suppress his killing intent and wanted to use any means necessary to crush them. If the gap was too large and it was truly impossible, he would choose a strategic retreat to a safe place.
However, for now...
...this character 'flaw' actually had certain benefits for him.
In such circumstances, whether it was a flaw or a virtue became somewhat blurred.
But regardless, the Cliff Snake Dragon had to be dealt with.
Garros didn't like a displaced life. He had just settled down in Coniferous Valley; was he supposed to relocate again because of the hidden threat of the Cliff Snake Dragon?
This Snake Dragon wasn't strong enough for that.
Garros didn't want to relocate, nor did he want to be ambushed by the Cliff Snake Dragon while it remained in the shadows and he was in the light.
Since that was the case, dealing with it in advance was the best course of action.
"Fighting it to the death regardless of the consequences might leave me poisoned and severely injured."
"I need to think about the battle strategy and try to take down this Cliff Snake Dragon with the minimum cost."
The Red Iron Dragon took a deep breath of the cool night air, his eyes flickering.
The killing intent filling his chest didn't make him lose his head; instead, it made him increasingly calm.
His wings beat, forming threads of starlight that trailed like fireflies in the dusk. As time passed, Garros drew closer and closer to Crescent Moon Valley.
Crescent Moon Valley.
Now the night was deepening, and the moonlight fell from the sky, as calm as water.
The valley appeared peaceful as well.
But beneath the peace, undercurrents were surging.
Giant Wolf Knights, Howling Werewolves, and Werewolf Archers—the young and strong combat forces of the Howling Moon Clan—were fully armed and patrolling inside and outside the territory as usual. However, if one looked closely from high above, it could be faintly seen that their positions formed an encirclement, ready to strike across obstacles at an open space in the middle of the territory at any moment.
Besides that...
The elderly werewolves and werewolf cubs.
The old, weak, sick, and disabled of the Howling Moon Clan had been moved out of the valley at some point, leaving none in the territory.
While the young and strong patrolled normally, the muscles beneath their fur were taut. Their expressions were occasionally nervous, but that was instantly replaced by resolve.
Grey-mane Werewolves were naturally brutal, but they valued Bloodline bonds and their fellow clansmen.
For the future of the clan, they were prepared to die in battle.
"Elder, everything is ready."
Werewolf Chieftain Russell lowered his voice, sounding both excited and nervous.
The Old Shaman nodded and said solemnly, "Remember, we must wait until Rogers walks into the formation I set up. Once the formation is activated and binds it, wait for my signal before we strike together. Only then can we minimize the clan's casualties."
Hearing the word 'casualties,' Russell's expression grew much heavier.
He gripped the hilt of the blade at his waist and said, "Everyone has been instructed."
"When you blow the Bone Whistle for the second time, all the warriors of the Howling Moon Clan will rush forward immediately and kill it!"
After some deep thought and discussion...
The Shaman and the Chieftain decided to eradicate the Cliff Snake Dragon rather than relocate.
The wilderness was fraught with danger; relocating the territory was no simple matter.
Leaving a familiar place and heading to a strange land to start anew was a process full of hardships; it would be lucky if half the clan survived.
Since casualties would be heavy either way...
...they might as well fight the Cliff Snake Dragon to the death!
The warriors of the Howling Moon Clan did not fear battle!
Shiu—
The sound of the Bone Whistle rang out for the first time.
The Old Shaman stood in the middle of the open space, which was filled with fresh prey.
Hearing the sound of the Bone Whistle, the Cliff Snake Dragon crawled out of its cave, its long body winding as it landed before the Old Shaman. Without ceremony, it opened its bloody maw and bit into one of the prey, tearing at it cruelly.
While eating, the Cliff Snake Dragon would inject a venom into its prey that intensified the sensation of pain.
The prey let out a shrill wail as its skin and flesh were torn away by the dragon's fine, sharp teeth like a slow execution.
The process was so bloody that even the Old Shaman couldn't help but frown slightly.
At the same time, he noticed the Cliff Snake Dragon's tail.
Granulation tissue had already grown where it was previously severed, forming the prototype of a tail. Given a Dragonkin's recovery speed, it would likely be fully regenerated in a few days.
Initially, the Old Shaman had wanted to find the Dragon that had injured the Cliff Snake Dragon and cooperate with it.
However, he had no idea of its origin or whereabouts.
With no channel for communication, the idea of enlisting its strength became a pipe dream. Thus, he finally made up his mind to gather the clan's power and eradicate the Cliff Snake Dragon.
The feeding continued.
The Cliff Snake Dragon gradually moved to the center of the clearing.
Beneath the ground where it couldn't see, a pre-arranged magic formation was ready to be activated at any time.
A trace of nervousness flashed across the Old Shaman's wolf face. Taking a deep breath while the Cliff Snake Dragon's attention was focused on the food, he prepared to blow the Bone Whistle and activate the formation.
Shiu—!!
The air was compressed into a sharp whistling sound, approaching from the distance.
Wait, I haven't blown the whistle yet?
The Old Shaman widened his eyes in confusion. Before he could activate the formation, he saw the Cliff Snake Dragon suddenly straighten its upper body, its tail slapping the ground. Its face was full of rage, and its blood-red dragon pupils were filled with ferocity as it stared fixedly at the night sky.
Including the Old Shaman...
...many werewolves looked up at the night sky, their breath catching simultaneously.
A crimson meteor dove down from between the clouds.
No, it wasn't a crimson meteor.
It was a Dragon that looked like a crimson meteor.
Its size couldn't be called 'giant' yet, but the momentum and pressure it carried caused the only fitting image to spring into the minds of all the werewolves the moment they saw it.
—A Dragon, a powerful Dragon!
Garros tore through the night, charging straight at the Cliff Snake Dragon.
His speed, having been accelerated, was now extremely fast. Dense sparks flew as his wings beat, as if countless sparks were flowing over them. The shrill whistle produced by the friction of his feathers and fine scales against the air sounded like ten thousand blades being unsheathed at once.
The sound began as a high-frequency metallic vibration, then gradually evolved into a continuous boom like muffled thunder as his altitude dropped.
The Cliff Snake Dragon's newly raised head was pressed low by the sound waves, and its bifurcated tail tip curled up involuntarily. Faced with Garros's unstoppable, rolling Dragon Might, it felt a hint of terror in its heart.
But this trace of terror was instantly replaced by the Cliff Snake Dragon's innate ferocity and madness.
Sss—!
It let out a hiss, and high-temperature steam hissed from beneath its scales. With a burst of speed, it soared into the air.