Border Area, northeastern part, Poison Tail Tribe border outpost, in the early hours of the morning.

The gray-blue sky stretched like silk infused with ink over Ten Thousand Snake Swamp.

The morning stars had not yet faded, and the eastern horizon was just turning a pale white. The sun had yet to rise officially, and the damp mist slowly flowed over the land, enveloping this border region in a hazy vapor.

Sentinel Commander Kesos coiled at the top of the serpentine watchtower, his gray-green scales perfectly blending with the moss-covered wooden railings.

His thick snake tail thumped against the weathered bricks, making a rhythmic "thud thud" sound.

As a veteran who had shed his skin four times, his amber vertical pupils could catch any anomaly even in the faintest light.

"Naji, your scale seams are reflecting light."

Kesos suddenly hissed, his forked tongue quickly quivering, capturing pheromones in the air.

His gaze locked onto the neck of the young sentinel below—there, two fresh serpent scales were exuding a faint pink courting pheromone, shimmering in the morning light.

"Trying to slip away to the Holy Nest to find that molting maid again?"

The voice of the Snakefolk sentinel commander carried a teasing hiss, the echo lingering in the moist air.

The young recruit Naji recoiled as if his tail had been stepped on, his scales instantly shifting to match the muddy brown of the environment. He stammered in defense, "N...no! I am dedicated to defending the tribe, how could I..."

A raspy chuckle came from the shadows.

The lookout Severs poked half his head from the dark corner of the watchtower, his amber vertical pupils as sharp as poisoned daggers.

This veteran, who had also shed his skin four times, lowered his voice and said: "Save it, kid. Lady Six Arms’ maids have high standards; they only fancy warriors who’ve shed their skins five times or more."

"You’ve only gone through your second shedding, your venom glands aren’t even fully developed yet."

Another veteran added, his scales quivering slightly with laughter, "If you really can’t hold it in, the constrictor pythons in the swamp aren’t a bad choice. Though a bit rough, the taste is..."

The veteran Snakefolk engaged in banter with the young one, outwardly appearing jovial and relaxed.

However, a keen observer would notice these seasoned warriors sporadically flicking their tongues rapidly, emitting dense "hiss hiss" sounds—a typical Snakefolk behavior to release inner tension.

Their tails were unconsciously tense, muscles poised to explode at a moment’s notice.

This seemingly light-hearted chat was merely a way for the veterans to ease the tension within.

In the stillness before dawn, an invisible pressure was gathering along the border line.

Suddenly, lookout Severs’ long tongue shot out like lightning, piercing a night moth flying by.

The scales on his throat bulged as he swallowed the prey, then he deliberately lowered his voice, "I’ve heard... the dragons of Molten Iron refused our allegiance. Those giant dragons... are angry."

The words dropped like a block of ice into boiling water, instantly solidifying the surrounding air.

All the Snakefolk’s scales involuntarily stood up, their tails stiffly stuck to the ground.

Severs continued in barely audible tones, "Lady Six Arms shouldn’t have..."

"Shut up!"

Sentinel Commander Kesos’ hiss suddenly sharpened, his tail whip lashing against the bricks, sending a few fragments flying.

"The decisions of the tribe’s leadership are not for us to discuss frivolously! Perform your duties and hold your tongue!"

To everyone’s surprise, the usually argumentative lookout did not retort this time.

The old Snakefolk turned in confusion, finding Severs staring intently into the distance, his tail stretched taut, a fine sweat covering his humanoid face, pupils contracted into narrow slits.

Following the lookout’s gaze, Kesos’ expression instantly froze.

Under the gray-blue sky, an army like a black tide was smashing through the morning dew, advancing.

The iron hooves of the Centaur Warriors kicked up clouds of dust, the heavy steps of the Ogres sent ripples across the marsh waters, the Werewolves’ ghostly green eyes flickered like floating will-o’-the-wisps... More terrifying still were the shadows of Dragons swirling above, and the massive White Tiger with each step causing the earth to tremble—that was the rumored Wild Monster Lord who could tear Giants apart alive.

"Surrender! We surrender!"

The alarm had no chance to sound; faced with an overwhelming disparity in power, the Snakefolk guards unhesitatingly chose to capitulate.

They walked out of the post one by one, abandoning their weapons in the mud.

However, it was too late.

"No mercy for the resisters."

The voice of Iron Dragon echoed coldly from the sky.

"The rest... randomly kill half, leave the other half."

Solrog’s order was like the judgment of death itself, devoid of any emotion.

As the ruler of the Lawful Faction, he typically did not prefer overly brutal means of control, but the prior inconsistency of the Poison Tail Tribe demanded cleansing through bloodshed; without such a purge, these Snakefolk might again breed disloyalty.

Perhaps out of fear of death, the majority of the Snakefolk chose to comply.

A few young warriors, brimming with reckless courage, raised their weapons only to be nailed to the watchtower by whistling arrows.

The rest trembled and huddled together, silently praying the butcher’s knife wouldn’t fall on their heads.

The fall of this border outpost was merely the beginning of disaster.

The Molten Iron Legion advanced into the belly of the Poison Tail Tribe, in an unstoppable manner like a hot knife cutting through butter.

Outposts along the way were ruthlessly crushed, and the Snake-man Guards faced a cruel choice between "kill one, leave one."

In particularly fierce resistance points, the Iron Dragon showed no mercy and completely wiped them out—a flattened building, guards slaughtered, not even given a chance to surrender.

Solrog knew very well that these brutal tactics would bring some trouble to future rule.

But rather than leaving hidden troubles, he preferred to spend more time rebuilding order.

The Snakefolk of the Poison Tail Tribe were too naive, their small cleverness insignificant in the face of absolute power; since they chose to vacillate, they must pay the corresponding price.

As time passed, the army advancing with unstoppable force finally approached the core of the Poison Tail Tribe—Ten Thousand Snake Swamp.

On the swamp’s outskirts, led by Six-armed Snake Woman Naris, the Poison Tail Tribe had gathered all their strength.

The poisonous fog summoned by the Mages hovered in the sky above the swamp, giant snakes trained by Shamans lurked underwater, fully armed Snake-man Warriors stood ready... yet strangely, no sword had been drawn.

Opposite them, the formation of the Molten Iron Legion was even more terrifying.

Well-equipped Centaur Heavy Cavalry lined up in a charge formation, Ogre Warriors carrying giant wolf fang clubs, Alchemy Golems with dangerous red lights flashing in their eyes... not to mention the Wild Monster Lord and the Giant Dragon circling in the sky.

The Snakefolk’s tails slapped uneasily against the mud, their forked tongues flickered rapidly, trying to alleviate inner fear.

Facing the fully exposed fangs of the Molten Iron Giant Beast, even the bravest warriors felt a deep sense of oppression.

Both sides stood off at a distance of several kilometers.

"Stop!"

With a roar mixed with psychic deterrence from the Iron Dragon, the monster legion stopped sharply.

Yet the bloodthirsty warriors still burned with battle intent in their eyes, their claws and weapons flickering with cold light in the dawn, victorious streaks made them eager to tear more enemy flesh.

Whoosh—!

Solrog’s wings folded like steel gates, his massive body transformed into a shadow descending from the sky, at less than ten yards from the ground, the dragon wings suddenly expanded, whipping up a gale, precisely controlling the descent.

With a muffled "boom," the weighty dragon body landed solidly on the hard ground at the swamp’s edge.

Shockingly, he had come alone before the enemy front!

The Snake-man Warriors tensed their bodies, their scales rubbing into a continuous "swoosh," some young warriors’ tails unconsciously curled up, a reflex of sheer tension.

The Iron Dragon walked with a graceful and steady stride towards the alert Six-armed Snake Woman.

Lifting his well-defined dragon’s kiss, he looked down at this tribal leader, with dangerous sparks leaping in his vertical pupils.

"Meeting again, Naris."

Solrog’s voice carried a unique metallic resonance, his dragon’s kiss slightly raised, revealing sharp white teeth: "Is this scenario as you wished?"

His gaze swept over the snake woman’s tightly drawn sword.

Those blades capable of carving a hundred scars on dragon scales now seemed bound by invisible chains, hesitating to unsheathe.

Before the Iron Dragon, Six-armed Snake Woman Naris displayed a suffocating combat posture.

Her six arms spread like blooming petals, each tightly gripping an icy cold iron longsword, the blades’ edge glinting, seemingly cutting the air, surrounding air slightly distorted by these weapons.

At level 16, Six-armed Snake-man Sword Saint Naris, in life level terms, equaled an adult Red Dragon.

Meanwhile, Solrog, at 35 as a young Iron Dragon, had a life level around level 12—though an outstanding case of advanced development among Iron Dragons, yet still a considerable gap compared to the snake woman. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

At this moment, the distance between the two was just ten meters.

For a Sword Saint, this distance passed in an instant.

Naris’s sharp gaze could clearly see the jumping blood vessels beneath the dragon’s scales—just a single sword there could trigger a blood cascade.

But she never took action.

Naris knew better than anyone, a dragon’s extraordinary physique would erase the level gap.

Even if she gained the upper hand, it would be impossible to end the battle quickly, and behind the Iron Dragon stood the entire Molten Iron Legion, not to mention the Master of Red Wings, from whom she felt no resistance.

Thinking of that terrifying presence capable of counter-attacking during the ambush by Dawn and Ironblood Tribe, Naris tightened her grip on the sword.

She couldn’t understand.

Why did the Giant Dragon with such strength bother to play tactics with those barbarians? Wouldn’t it be simpler to crush past directly?

Unfortunately, she would never understand.

Galos was entirely different from other young giant dragons.

The Master of Red Wings acted with caution, always seeking to win with minimal cost, never blindly crashing due to arrogance, a key factor in his growth until now.