Garros's dragon wings stirred up a great gale, whistling as they came, and the clouds above Crescent Moon Valley churned like boiling water.
As soon as his shadow swept over the campfire at the bottom of the valley, the entire wolf pack boiled over like a pool of ignited oil.
"Dragon Lord! It's the Dragon Lord! He's back!"
An old werewolf with half an ear missing suddenly stood up on its hind legs, its front paws pounding its chest with a muffled sound like a beating drum.
This sound seemed to open a floodgate as more and more werewolves scurried out. Some still had half-chewed bones in their mouths, while others hadn't even had time to take off the claw guards they wore while sleeping.
The werewolf cubs dozing in their dens were startled awake.
They didn't understand why all their elders had rushed out, letting out long, almost whimpering howls toward the sky. Driven by curiosity, they followed along.
Amidst the howling of the wolves, Garros folded his wings and landed in an open space in the middle of the Crescent Moon Clan.
He noticed several young wolf cubs who had just reached adulthood crowding at the very front, their eyes wide and round.
These little guys had clearly never seen him before and were desperately standing on their tiptoes, trying to see what the legendary Dragon Lord looked like. One particularly bold cub even tried to climb onto a roof, only to be swatted back into the nest by a female werewolf's paw.
"Six years and four months!"
Russell's voice rang out.
The chieftain's mane had turned slightly white, but his running posture was still vigorous. He moved through the pack and was the first to appear before Garros, kneeling on the ground and saying, "I knew you would return. The Howling Moon Clan has been waiting for your return."
At the same time, the Old Shaman emerged from a stone house, supported by Frostfang, and approached with faltering steps.
Garros looked at this old werewolf, whose fur was almost entirely gray and who had few teeth left in his mouth, and couldn't help but be slightly taken aback.
He remembered that when he first met the Old Shaman, although the werewolf was old, his steps were steady and his spirit was full of vitality. Now, he looked so frail that he could draw his last breath at any moment.
These past six years...
For Dragonkin, it was just the blink of an eye, the duration of a single slumber.
But for a species with a lifespan of only fifty or sixty years, it was already a long period of time.
"You have grown stronger,"
The Old Shaman said respectfully. "One day, your dragon wings will shroud the entire Serel Wilderness, and you will become a peerless Dragon."
He broke free from Frostfang's support, his body trembling and his movements slow, as he tried to kneel down to express his loyalty.
Garros looked down at the Old Shaman, his massive dragon wing extending flexibly to support the old werewolf's body.
"There is no need to kneel."
He spoke bluntly, saying, "You look like you are about to die."
"Thank you for your pity." The Old Shaman squinted his eyes and said, "Werewolf lives are short; please understand."
After a pause, he continued, "I can no longer continue to serve you, but I have chosen a suitable successor. She is very clever and will use the shaman's knowledge to serve you in my place. The Howling Moon Clan will follow behind you for generations to come."
Given the lifespan of Dragonkin, if they didn't die prematurely and the Howling Moon Clan didn't perish along the way, they would always follow him.
Under Garros's dragon wings, they would transition through dozens of generations of clansmen.
The young shaman, the female werewolf Frostfang, showed no fear. Having been immersed in his influence, she was instead filled with curiosity and awe for the Dragon.
She knelt on the ground in place of the elder.
She pressed her forehead deep before Garros's dragon claw, expressing her loyalty and awe.
"I swear by the spirits of the ancestors that the Howling Moon Clan is willing to be the claws and fangs beneath the dragon wings for generations. Your enemies will be torn apart by us, and your territory will be guarded by us until the last cub stops breathing."
Garros nodded slightly. "I accept your loyalty. Rise."
Frostfang stood up and again carefully supported the Old Shaman.
Seeing the Old Shaman in this state, it suddenly occurred to Garros that although Dragonkin were a long-lived species, they were not immortal; they also had a day when they would reach the end of their lifespan.
Only by becoming strong enough over thousands of years...
Could their life leap and transform into immortal life, thus breaking free from the shackles of lifespan.
And this was also one of Garros's goals.
He didn't want to one day become like the Old Shaman.
With the unique Physique of Dragonkin, aging didn't make them weaker; it was just that when a Dragon reached a certain age, they would inevitably enter a 'twilight' state.
Just like during dragon sleep, the Dragon would feel exceptionally drowsy.
A twilight Dragon would also feel a weariness coming from the Soul, wanting to just sleep it off. In this state, if they truly fell asleep, they would never wake up again.
Eternal sleep is the natural death of a Dragon.
It was worth mentioning that if an Ancient Dragon could resist the influence of the twilight period and 'battle' with themselves, they would continue to live until they further became an Elder Dragon. They would then leave the twilight period, transform into an immortal life, step onto the path of immortality, and break free from the shackles of lifespan.
Every Elder Dragon is at the absolute limit of the world.
Below the gods, there is no creature more powerful than an Elder Dragon.
Every Dragon has becoming an Elder Dragon as their ultimate goal.
As for standing equal to the Dragon God, that was too far away; even the proudest and most conceited Dragon would not set such an unreachable goal.
Garros composed his emotions, his gaze sweeping over the werewolf pack.
Frostfang's oath echoed in the air, but a sudden commotion broke out in the wolf pack.
Manefire pushed aside the clansmen blocking his way and, surrounded by several confidants, strode into the center of the clearing. His red mane was exceptionally striking in the night, like a wildfire that refused to be extinguished.
"Dragon Lord!"
Manefire's voice rose as he said, "Since you are back, why not be a witness for me—"
He suddenly turned toward Russell, fangs bared. "I want to challenge this old guy for the position of chieftain!"
The commotion in the pack grew even louder.
The Old Shaman's claws tightly gripped his bone staff, his knuckles turning white. Frostfang's ears perked up alertly, and her neck fur bristled slightly.
Garros narrowed his eyes, calmly observing this unfamiliar young werewolf.
Although Manefire called him Dragon Lord, there wasn't much awe in his eyes.
He walked up to Garros and, instead of kneeling respectfully, stood with his chest out and his tail held high, maintaining a highly confident posture.
"Do not be insolent and presumptuous before the Dragon Lord! Manefire, kneel!"
Russell said in a low, angry voice, then looked back at Garros and said submissively, "Please forgive this reckless werewolf. He is young and crude, and does not know respect or awe."
Manefire grinned and spoke directly on Garros's behalf. "The Dragon Lord won't care about such trivial matters."
"Russell, stop being so hypocritical. Are you afraid to accept my challenge? Then just admit defeat and hand the chieftain position over to me."
He bared his fangs, which glinted with a cold light.
"According to tradition, challenges must take place on the night of the full moon."
Russell glanced at Garros, and seeing that Garros didn't speak up to stop him, he said this.
"To hell with tradition!" Manefire interrupted rudely. "Don't you always say that the Dragon Lord's will is above all else?"
He turned to Garros with an exaggerated smile. "Great Dragon Lord, you must also want to see who the truly strong one is, right?"
He used an honorific for Garros, but Garros still didn't feel any awe from him.
Moreover...
Directly speculating on his thoughts and presumptuously speaking for him...
This made Garros feel displeased.
Have you ever been a Dragon? To take things for granted like this.
Garros stared at the young werewolf.
He spoke slowly and deliberately, "Are you saying that you are the truly strong one?"
"Of course!"
Manefire puffed out his chest and said.
What a boast.
Strong? Garros rarely considered himself a strong person; he always thought of himself as weak, unable to afford arrogance or conceit. Because of this, he could respond more cautiously to various events and avoid risks.
Now, a tiny werewolf was directly calling himself a strong one in front of Garros.
This made him feel a bit amused, yet also a bit puzzled.
Where did his confidence come from? He didn't have the talent of a Dragon, yet he had the arrogance of one?
Perhaps he had some sort of trump card or backing.