Iron Dragon's Advancement Journey

Page 104

　Casalos shook his head: "Just watch the show."

　The bone dragon let out a piercing shriek as a declaration of war, the sound echoing in the mind like the noise of a blade scraping against stone. The blue flames in its empty eye sockets suddenly flared up, and it opened its jaws, which were full of sharp teeth, spewing out a beam of emerald green death energy that ripped through the night sky.

　The three golden dragons nimbly spread out, easily avoiding the direct breath attack. The smallest, youthful golden dragon circled behind the bone dragon, took a deep breath, and spewed out a bright flame that struck the bone dragon's spine, creating a piercing shriek as it collided with the negative energy.

　Black smoke billowed from the surface of the bone dragon's bones as it angrily swung its tailbone in an attempt to strike the young golden dragon, but its movements were interrupted by a series of dragon breaths and claw strikes from two other approaching teenage golden dragons.

　The Golden Dragon's body structure is quite different from most real dragons. Its body is not only as thick as before, but also more slender. It also has a tail that is almost twice the length of its body. Its wing arms are short, wide and flat, and the wing membrane extends from the wing arms all the way to the tail, connecting all the spiky floating bones on both sides of the body together, just like two huge sails.

　This structure gives the golden dragon an elegant flight posture, but makes it difficult for them to use their wings and tail as effective weapons.

　However, they also possess stronger and longer forelimbs than other dragons, with forepaws resembling those of birds of prey, making their talons exceptionally dangerous and deadly. Their strong, long bodies and tails further enhance their grappling effectiveness, allowing them to even use their bodies to constrict like pythons. At certain ages, golden dragons can be even stronger than iron dragons; their full-force constrictions can easily twist red dragons of the same age into a pretzel.

　A juvenile dragon seized the opportunity, wrapping its arms around the skeletal dragon's wing and breaking the black dragon's slender wing bone.

Chapter 324

　This caused it to lose its ability to fly stably—regardless of how Melkor made the skeleton fly, the structure that provided the bone dragon with the power and support for flight was still its wings.

　“Excellent teamwork,” Dracol praised, a smug look on his face, seemingly forgetting that Casalos was still a young dragon… This old dragon family had long since stopped regarding Casalos as a young dragon.

　The skeletal dragon, awakened by magic, was ultimately not a true dragon. Even with the skeleton and some of the power of an ancient black dragon, it was overwhelmed by the combined attacks of three golden dragons, all under adolescence. Whenever it turned to one of the golden dragons, the other two would launch fierce attacks from the sides and behind, and occasionally another golden dragon would pounce on it, sending bone fragments flying. The evil blue flames in the skeletal dragon's hollow eye sockets flickered increasingly weakly.

　Casalos turned to Isis and said, "See? Don't rely on magic for everything. A strong body is more useful than anything else."

　Midnight stared in astonishment at the battle in the sky, shaking his head repeatedly: "I have never seen such a... 'wonderful' battle."

　“That’s why I had you practice with the heavy staff,” Casalos joked, “so you have an extra weapon to save your life when you’re fighting one-on-one.”

　Midnight rolled her eyes, ignoring Casalos; her attention was completely drawn to the battle in the sky. The three golden dragons had gained a decisive advantage, the bone dragon's movements becoming increasingly sluggish and chaotic, even struggling to maintain flight, and finally shattering with a deafening roar amidst three intersecting dragon breaths, turning into countless bone fragments scattered across the ground. The eerie blue flames dissipated rapidly under the light of Suren, like blue smoke blown away by the wind.

　“Well done, kids!” Delacroix said with satisfaction.

　The young golden dragons descended with cheers, their golden scales shimmering as if they were clad in the armor of the god of dawn. They held their heads high, proudly displaying their spoils to Dracol and Casalos.

　70. Poor Melkor (2)

　“Grandmother, Casalos, did you see that? We won!” the youngest golden dragon exclaimed excitedly, his tail wagging high behind him.

　Dracoll nodded and smiled: “Well done, but don’t get cocky. Remember, this is just a bone dragon, and you have Wozniak and Benedict backing you up. When you encounter a real enemy, the danger will be far greater than it is now.”

　Casalos snapped its dragon beak shut and chuckled softly: "Quite an improvement. The last time I saw you, you were only spewing little sparks."

　The three golden dragons felt both proud and somewhat embarrassed upon hearing this. The largest one puffed out its chest: "We train every day, for the honor of the golden dragons."

　Isis and Midnight exchanged glances; this captivating performance had greatly enriched the romantic element of their adventure. Casalos couldn't help but wonder if his meddling might turn this upheaval of the gods into a honeymoon for the young girl and Midnight.

　"That's... a creation of the God of Death?" Eden asked in a low voice, a hint of fear on his face.

　Casalos nodded. "It was indeed Melkor's doing, but it's just a third-rate puppet." It tilted its head towards the bone dragon's remains. "But I'm curious, what exactly is Melkor's backup plan?"

　On the other side of the forest, several kilometers away from the Dracol family cave, a humanoid figure draped in a black cloak stood silently beneath a secluded rock.

　Cyric squinted, watching the dragon's shadow gradually disappear in the sky, a twisted anger appearing on his face.

　"Dragons, dragons, more dragons!" He slammed his fist on the rock, his knuckles bleeding from the force. "Damn dragons everywhere!"

　Cyric had been lurking in the distance, observing how easily the golden dragons dismantled the skeletal dragon. He was both shocked and furious, yet utterly helpless. As a wanderer, even one dragged back from the underworld by the god of death, he was no match for dragons.

　“Even Melkor’s minions are so easily defeated,” Cyric muttered to himself, “how am I supposed to reclaim the Tablet of Fate?”

　"Perhaps you need some... help."

　A deep voice suddenly came from behind him. Cyric turned around abruptly and saw an old human shrouded in a black cloak standing not far behind him. The stench of decay, even stronger than that emanating from Melkor, made Cyric feel as if he had fallen into an ice cellar. He couldn't recall when this person had appeared there.

　"Who are you?" Cyric took a step back warily, his hand already on the dagger at his waist.

　The old man didn't answer, but slowly walked forward: "Are you very interested in dragons? For the dead whose souls are controlled by others, I can give you freedom and turn you into a dragon—a dragon that is dead yet eternal. Do you accept this deal?"

　Cyric's tense body jolted suddenly, and he involuntarily touched his chest, where an amber-green light was pulsating—the control mark implanted by Melkor.

　"You...know about my situation?" Cyric asked, bewildered. "My soul is controlled by the God of Death, I've become a puppet, yet you say you can give me freedom?"

　The old man let out a low laugh: "The God of Death? He's nothing more than an inexperienced guardian of the realm of death. True death is far more complex than he imagines."

　Cyric's breathing became rapid: "Who are you?"

　“I’m just someone who…likes to give others a chance,” the old man replied vaguely. “You see, in this critical moment of upheaval among the gods, there are always some…gaps that can be exploited.”

　Cyric swallowed hard, eyeing the mysterious old man before him warily: "What kind of dragon?"

　“Death Dragon,” the old man answered softly, “no longer fear death, for you yourself are death itself. You need no food, no sleep, and will never age. You have obtained the power you’ve always dreamed of, enough to fight those living dragons that terrify you.”

　A glint of greed flashed in Cyric's eyes, but it quickly dimmed: "It sounds like an undead, not a real dragon."

　"Do you care about that?" the old man countered. "How much meaning does the feeling of being alive have for you? As Melkor's puppet, you're nothing but a walking corpse. What I offer you, however, is true power and freedom."

　"What's the price?"

　"The price, of course, is to become a dragon that symbolizes death, to become an enemy of dragons, and to become a nightmare of dragons—as for the rest, what you want to do is up to you."

　Cyril was silent for a moment, then looked up, his eyes flashing with determination: "I accept."

　The old man nodded in satisfaction, and a withered hand emerged from his cloak, its knuckles protruding and its nails as black as ink: "Take my hand, wanderer."

　Cyric hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grasped the old hand tightly.

　In an instant, Cyric felt an indescribable force surge into his body, freezing his blood and stopping his heartbeat. He instinctively tried to break free, but found his muscles were beyond his control. Pain washed over him like a tidal wave; he opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

　“Change is always accompanied by pain,” the old man’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, “but pain is temporary, while strength is eternal.”

　Cyric's skin began to dry and tighten, then cracked, revealing a skeletal structure beneath. He knelt, his fingers and spine elongating, his tailbone regrowth into a tail, his nails transforming into sharp claws, his flattened human chest expanding into a cylinder, more bones forming, his shoulders separating into two pairs of joints, and bony wings growing from the pair on his back like sharp, white bone blades. His head and neck stretched and deformed, becoming a dragon-shaped skull, with three pairs of horns, shrouded in a bluish-green aura, extending from his sides and rear, arranged in descending order of size. Then, grayish-white muscles and internal organs formed, covered with fluorescent connective tissue and blood vessels, followed by dragon skin, scales, and thorns.

Chapter 325

　……

　“Feel the power,” the old man’s voice was soft and seductive. “From this day forward, you are the hunter of death.”

　Cyric—now Deathhunter—spread his dragon wings and turned his neck in astonishment at his new body. He felt no pain, no fear. The shackles Melkor had placed on his soul had been shattered by a more ancient and powerful force. He felt a terrifying power coursing through him, enough to destroy Bane's army with just a wisp of it. He sensed that his soul had been transformed, no longer bound by any mortal constraints.

　“Go,” the old man said, “chase after that iron dragon and seize the Tablet of Destiny. Once you have it, bring it to me…”

　The Death Hunter nodded at the dragon's head, which resembled an elongated bird's head, and pale flames, symbols of the most primal power of the underworld, ignited in its empty eye sockets. It spread its wings with transparent membranes, soared into the sky, and flew in the direction Casalos had gone.

　The old man watched the death hunter depart, a deep, unfathomable smile playing on his lips. His face, hidden beneath the cloak, appeared indistinct in the morning light, as if it might melt into the surrounding shadows at any moment.

　"An interesting game, isn't it?" he murmured to himself, before his figure gradually blended into the shadows and disappeared.

　71. I have so many friends.

　Baal gripped his scepter tightly, glaring at the evil throne before him, a structure made of countless skulls. On the throne, Melkor leaned languidly, one hand supporting his chin, the other toying with a stone slab shimmering with strange patterns. Rotten flesh hung like rags from exposed bones, pus dripping and pooling on the throne.

　“What are you thinking?” Baal growled, his voice laced with suppressed rage. “First Bane, now that ridiculous bone dragon—is your plan just to keep failing?”

　Melkor glanced at Baal, his pale face devoid of any emotion: "Your impatience is always so annoying, Baal."

　"Impatient?" Baal almost laughed out loud. "We've been exiled to the mortal realm for three months! Three months! And your so-called plans have failed time and time again. Bane's soul has been completely annihilated, our followers have been pointlessly sacrificed by you two fools, and even a bunch of pathetic mortals can easily take the Tablet of Fate!"

　Melkor remained expressionless: "Isn't this the problem with the kingdom? You gods are always so short-sighted. A few months is nothing but a blink of an eye for us."

　"For us?" Baal clenched his fists, veins bulging on his forehead. "Look at this decaying body, Melkor! We have begun to be assimilated by this material world, losing the glory of our divinity! If this continues, we will be no different from those lowly mortals!"

　Melkor finally turned his head, a ghostly blue flame flickering in his empty eye sockets: "You're afraid, Baal? Afraid of becoming... no, afraid of turning back into a mortal?"

　“I just don’t want to waste any more time,” Baal said through gritted teeth. “Your plans are thwarted at every turn. That iron dragon, the Waterdeep mage, and those two girls—they wield the Tablets of Fate, and your minions are utterly ineffective!”

　Melkor gave a cold laugh: "So you have a better idea?"

　Baal was silent for a moment, then took out a stone tablet similar to the one in Melkor's hand from his robes: "I no longer need your plan."

　A flicker of surprise crossed Melkor's eyes: "You want to go solo? Interesting..."

　Though he feigned surprise, the God of the Dead's rotting legs, hidden beneath his robes, trembled uncontrollably—not with anger, but with terror. He could bear the failure of his plans, and even watch with amusement as his brother, the God of Murder, betrayed him, but there was one thing he could never forgive.

　That is, the mortal souls that should have been completely under His control had actually lost their control.

　The traitor's soul, Cyric, whom He had painstakingly rescued from the power of the Iron Dragon Nur, had suddenly vanished, and the spell controlling Cyric's soul had been dispelled. Yet He, the God of the Dead, knew nothing of what had transpired.

　“The taste of fear,” Melkor exhaled a long breath, struggling to straighten his saintly body from the throne. “How “nostalgic” it is. It has been a very, very long time since I have tasted anything like this since I became a god…”

　Casalos, along with Isis, Midnight, Kevoran, and Eden, bid farewell to Dracol at dawn and left the old Golden Dragon family's territory to continue their "journey".

　“Stretch out your bodies,” Casalos said to the four. “It’s going to be a long journey ahead.”

　"Are we going to fly over the entire Enoch Desert in one go?" Eton asked nervously.

　"Otherwise what?" Iron Dragon shook his head and asked, staring straight ahead with a glint in his eyes. "Do you want to be drained dry by Felin Magic Sunflower, or roasted by Blue Dragon with lightning and then chewed up and swallowed whole, bones and all, or buried in the sand by Brass Dragon and chattering nonsense for half a month without even noticing that you've starved to death?"

　“Mentor!” Isis tapped Casalos’s leg with her greatsword staff to stop his intimidating behavior, then secured the baggage inside the “Dragon Transport Pod”: “You should have a complete plan for how to get through the dangerous Enook Desert, right?”

　“Indeed,” Casaloz’s beak clicked slightly. “The Enoch Desert is one of the traditional territories of the blue dragons, and most of the blue dragon clans there are led by an ancient blue dragon named Sustherhilasis.”

　"Will they attack us?" Midnight asked anxiously.

　Casalos shook his head: "No need to worry. Blue dragons may be evil, but they usually uphold order. I have met Sustherhiras once. In any case, you just need to stay in your cabin and keep quiet."

　“A brief encounter?” Kavoran raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

　Casalos did not answer, but simply gestured for the four to enter the transport capsule. After ensuring the capsule door was securely locked, it took off, turned, grabbed the four carrying rings, spread its wings, and leaped into the sky.

　The Delacor family of golden dragons stood on the edge of the cliff and watched them leave until Casaloz disappeared into the clouds.

　As the flight altitude increased, the scenery below gradually unfolded. Dracol's territory was located in a valley, surrounded by dense forests. And at the edge of the forest, a golden sea of ​​sand began to appear—that was the Enoch Desert, the largest and most dangerous desert on the continent of Faerûn, bar none.

　That is the ruins of Netheril, the eternal battlefield of Felyn and the Saronian monsters. Even before the turmoil, it was a place teeming with dead magic and wild magic, a place where ghosts and monsters roamed freely.

　For long-distance flights, Casalos adopted a segmented climb, slowing down as much as possible after reaching the stratosphere and spreading its wings to conserve energy and dragon magic, only occasionally adjusting its posture to adapt to changes in airflow.

　Inside the transport cabin, Isis looked through a small window at the gradually changing scenery below, her face filled with excitement.

　“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured. “From this height, the desert looks like a frozen golden ocean.”

　Midnight, equally captivated by the scenery, leaned against Isis, admiring the spectacular natural landscape with her.

　Such wonder gradually became tedious and monotonous with the unchanging scenery, even causing the four people crammed into the small space to feel bored and anxious. Fortunately, the desert lived up to its reputation for danger, always providing a bit of excitement to lift everyone's spirits.

　Less than half an hour after entering the desert, Casalos sensed an unusual airflow. It slightly adjusted its flight angle and warily scanned its surroundings.

　"What's wrong, mentor?" Isis asked from the window, feeling the transport capsule shaking.

　“Something’s approaching,” Casalos whispered in reply. “It might be Fe.”

Chapter 326

　Lin Mokui.

　Midnight asked, voicing her doubts: "Wasn't the Demon Sunflower sealed underground in the desert...?"

　“It’s normal for a few to occasionally escape, let alone with the current chaotic state of Faerûn magic. Hold on tight!” Casalos reminded the four people in the cabin, then suddenly accelerated, trying to maintain a steady spiral while spewing a stream of electric sparks from his throat.

　The dragon's breath, a mixture of flames and electricity, instantly pierced through the bodies of several demon sunflowers, causing them to emit silent, piercing screams before being torn apart by the flames in the wind.

　The golden desert churned, and countless Felin Magic Sunflowers emerged from beneath, while the unique magical fluctuations of the Salon sprites rippled and surged with the passing sands. Another war was about to begin.

　Casalos continued to accelerate, hoping to break through the battlefield. Unfortunately, considering the safety of the four people inside the transport pod, it couldn't accelerate or maneuver too violently. Just as more and more demonic sunflowers were closing in on the stratosphere and about to block its path, and just as it was considering whether to launch an indiscriminate bombardment, several flashes of light appeared behind the Felin demonic sunflowers, and several bolts of lightning tore open an exit.

　"Looks like we have reinforcements," Casalos muttered to himself, turning to look at the source of the lightning.

　Five elderly blue dragons were flying in from afar, their broad, thick scales gleaming from the sand, with arcs of electricity leaping within them. Their prominent ears, more striking than a backhoe excavator bucket-like chin, and their unique rhinoceros-like armor drew even more attention.

　The leading blue dragon unleashed another bolt of lightning, clearing away the surrounding demonic sunflowers. Then, it led the other blue dragons, adjusting their flight path and slowly approaching Casaloz from behind by making a large circle.

　“Iron Dragon Casaloz,” the leading blue dragon called out in dragon language, “Our overlord sensed your entry into our territory and sent us to escort you.”

　Casalos nodded in acknowledgment: "Please give my regards to the sect leader and convey my gratitude."

　“We will escort you through the heart of the Enoch Desert,” the blue dragon replied. “There are far greater dangers hidden there, and even we are reluctant to venture there lightly.”

　Casalos clicked his dragon beak: "Thank you very much."

　The blue dragons spread out, forming a triangular formation that surrounded Casalos in the center. They were slightly slower than Casalos, but with Casalos deliberately slowing down, they were fast enough to accompany it through the heart of the desert.

　Inside the transport cabin, the four people stared in astonishment at the blue dragon outside the window.

　"Blue dragons are protecting us?" Kevoran said incredulously. "I thought they were..."

　“Evil?” Isis smiled and continued, “As our mentor often says, the world of dragons is far more complex than we imagine. Alignment is merely a tendency, not an absolute code of conduct.”

　Eden nodded thoughtfully: "Just like humans, dragons also have their own personalities and choices."

　Thus, Casalos led the four safely through the most dangerous core area of ​​the desert. Along the way, the blue dragon also helped repel several attacks by wind elementals and wiped out a few ferocious vultures that, for some inexplicable reason, attempted to ascend into the stratosphere to intercept the dragon horde…