Balthazar’s voice exploded in the depths of her mind without any warning.
This warning carried an echo that seemed to come from an ancient abyss; every syllable was like a heavy hammer, striking fiercely against the mental tentacles Olga had just extended.
“Ugh…!”
Olga opened her eyes abruptly, her body jolting violently as if struck by an invisible electric current.
The obsidian mirror in her hand became uncomfortably hot, almost slipping from her fingers.
Having accumulated a great deal of experience in sparring with mental attacks against her own kind, Olga instinctively prepared to counter the incoming counter-spell.
Yet, Olga soon discovered that there was no exquisite counter-attack, nor was there any fluctuation of a mental defense spell; it was purely a raw, brute-force venting of willpower.
In reality, Balthazar was not defending at all; he was like a giant beast coiled upon a treasure, even when dozing, he would open one eye the moment a mouse approached, relying on that hair-raising intuition.
That was the innate intuition of an absolute powerhouse, a sharpness bordering on cunning.
In other words, he had simply thought about this idea in his mind, nothing more.
“Damn it… this dragon… is it bluffing me?”
Olga’s heart beat violently, and her breathing became rapid and chaotic.
She quickly severed the probing mental tentacles, retracting her mental energy back to the most basic communication state, trying her best to calm the loss of composure from that instant.
Outside the palanquin, the whistling wind could be heard, and the black shadow in the sky was still circling, leading the Kobold procession forward without any special movements.
The thunderous warning from Balthazar that Olga had heard in her heart seemed to be merely a hallucination.
“Hoo…”
Olga let out a long breath of stale air, leaning against the soft cushions of the palanquin with a sense of exhaustion.
She turned her head to look at Chloe, who was still asleep beside her; the knight’s sleeping face appeared incomparably serene at this moment, completely unaware of the thrilling psychological battle her Queen had just experienced.
Olga rubbed her somewhat stiff cheeks and straightened her posture once again.
“What an… unpleasant sharpness.”
She murmured softly, her fingers subconsciously gripping the hem of the cloak that covered her entire body.
Flying in the sky, Balthazar watched the little movements of Olga on the ground, exhaling white smoke from his nostrils.
The high-altitude airflow was like countless invisible files, scraping against Balthazar’s hard, dark iron-colored dragon scales, emitting a faint and continuous “hissing” sound.
“As expected… you still couldn’t help but reach out your claws, Olga.”
He let out a low snort of laughter from his throat, the sound swallowed by the whistling wind, audible only to himself.
He had long expected this.
How could that once overbearing Dark Elves Queen be content to be a vassal who only produced offspring?
Her control-freak nature and arrogance, carved into her bones, were like a venomous snake waiting for an opportunity; even if its spine were broken, it would instinctively want to coil up and seek out the other’s weak spot.
But it did not matter.
For Balthazar, currently soaring in the nine heavens, the tiny figure curled up in the palanquin on the ground was nothing more than a spider attempting to ensnare a giant dragon with spider silk.
Such overestimating-one’s-capabilities scheming not only posed no threat in his eyes, but instead became a unique kind of diversion.
After all, if she had truly instantly turned into a docile pet dog, wouldn’t this game of nation-restoration be too boring?
The more violently the prey struggles in the trap, the more intoxicating its gaze will be when it finally submits.
Her little cleverness in trying to turn the tables was merely a bit of “boudoir amusement” for this future Dragon Emperor to pass the time during the long journey.
“Hoo—”
Balthazar slightly adjusted the angle of his wings, his massive body tracing an elegant yet highly oppressive arc in the sky.
In his heart, he issued a challenge to this Dark Elves Queen.
“No need to rush to withdraw it, my… ally.”
“Maintain your ambition, and maintain your schemes. A blade without an edge… is worthless to me.”
“As long as you are certain… that your wisdom can keep up with my strength.”
Having said that, he flapped his wings violently, triggering a roar of intense airflow.
The giant dragon shadow accelerated instantly, tearing a rift through the clouds, leaving that tiny migrating procession far behind in the shadows.
After the voice in her mind disappeared, inside the palanquin, only the whistling wind outside and the heavy footsteps of the Kobolds remained.
She grasped the mirror into her palm, leaning back against the somewhat hard cushions sewn from animal hide and filled with straw.
“Heh…”
A short, light chuckle escaped her lips.
She raised her other hand, tucking a strand of black hair that had fallen by her ear behind it, and took the opportunity to adjust the collar of her cloak.
“‘As long as wisdom can keep up with strength,’ is it?”
The arrogant Olga spoke to herself, her gaze falling on the distant sky.
“What an… arrogant fellow.”
She lifted the crude palanquin curtain, looking at Chloe on the stretcher that was moving in tandem with her palanquin.
Chloe was still closing her eyes at this moment, her breathing even, her rising and falling chest and protruding abdomen trembling slightly with the swaying of the stretcher.
Olga shifted her body slightly, leaning closer to this sleeping knight.
She extended her index finger, gently poking Chloe’s somewhat feverish cheek.
“Although he is a monster, he is unexpectedly quite interesting, isn’t he? Chloe.”
Receiving no response, Olga did not mind.
She withdrew her hand, pulled a handkerchief from her small pocket, and slowly wiped the fine beads of sweat seeping from Chloe’s forehead.
“An arrogant dragon does not want a dog that wags its tail for pity; he wants a blade.”
Olga said softly while wiping, as if speaking to the person in her sleep, or perhaps speaking to herself.
“Since permission has been granted, then I will not stand on ceremony.”
She folded the handkerchief, put it away, then placed her hands folded on her knees, her back straight, her chin slightly raised, and nodded with a smile toward the empty space in front of her.
“When the time comes… just don’t regret granting me this kind of authority, Balthazar.”
In the sky, as Balthazar flew further away, the terrain gradually changed from wasteland to forests near the Black Mountains.
From high above, Balthazar also discovered the traces left behind by the previous scouts of the Black Dog Mercenary Group.
Thus, his massive dragon wings no longer flapped forcefully, but instead glided steadily at this altitude like a kite.
Balthazar concealed his aura entirely, and even that signature high temperature was intentionally suppressed within his body.
His dark iron-colored dragon scales were not conspicuous against the desolate, grayish-yellow sky; if viewed from the ground, he was merely a slightly larger shadow of a dark cloud.
In the withered yellow shrubbery below, a few cold glints flashed occasionally.
Those were the scouts scattered by the Black Dog Mercenary Group, searching for the culprit’s tracks like headless flies, but they never imagined that the mastermind who had escaped the City of Darkness with two Dark Elves and destroyed the vanguard unit was hovering a hundred meters above their heads, silently watching everything.
On the ground, a strange migrating procession was struggling to crawl across the wasteland.
More than thirty Kobolds were carrying large and small bags, trying their best to proceed while sticking to the shadows of rocks and gullies.
In the middle of the line, four strong male Kobolds were carrying a wobbly, makeshift stretcher and a crude palanquin, bearing Olga and Chloe as they moved slowly forward.
Balthazar only needed to adjust the angle of his wings slightly, and the little green dot on the ground—the Kobold leader wearing a skull—immediately adjusted its direction.
It was as if led by an invisible puppeteer, precisely avoiding all routes where humans might be encountered, and heading towards the increasingly close black haze in the north.
However, as they drew closer to the black mountain range, the speed of the ground team slowed down significantly.
“Woof… wuu…”
Kral’s two short legs began to tremble, and his tail was tucked tighter than ever before.
The closer they got to that black mountain range, the heavier the oppressive feeling permeating the air became.
It wasn’t just the treacherous terrain, but an instinctive fear of a superior predator’s territory, etched into the genes of these low-level monsters.
When it could no longer take a step, its hunched figure collapsed to the ground, letting out a desperate whimper towards the sky, and the team was forced to stop.
Balthazar frowned, circled down, and landed on a giant rock at the side of the team, light as a falling leaf.
Although he didn’t make a loud noise, the sudden appearance of his massive body still scared the surrounding Kobolds into scurrying away in panic.
“Why… stop?”
He looked down from above at the trembling Kobold leader, a trace of displeasure flashing in his dark red slit pupils.
“True… True Dragon…”
His voice became shrill and harsh from extreme fear, and he couldn’t even manage the flattery he usually had on the tip of his tongue.
“No… cannot go… cannot get any closer…”
“Kral… recognized it… recognized it!”
“…Over there… that is… ‘Dead Land’!”
Kral tremblingly raised a claw, pointed at the mountains shrouded in black mist in the distance, and quickly retracted it, as if afraid of being bitten off by something.
“The ancestors… left word… that is… a place where even gods die…”
He swallowed a mouthful of saliva, his turbid eyes reflecting that suffocating blackness.
“In the past… there were large tribes… hundreds of them… went there… not one returned… not even bones… were left…”
Speaking of this, this Kobold leader, usually considered cunning, actually started crying, large drops of tears and snot mixing with the dust on his face.
“Please… change the place… even if it’s going… to die in a human city… it’s better than going there!”
Balthazar narrowed his eyes, his gaze crossing over this lowly creature and casting towards the mountain range in the distance that the Kobolds regarded as a forbidden zone.
A forbidden zone?
A dead land?
Not even bones left?
Hearing these fearful words, Balthazar turned his head and looked at Olga over there with a puzzled gaze.
Olga did not keep Balthazar waiting for long; the curtain of the simple sedan was slowly lifted by a slender hand.
Even during such a flight, this former Queen still maintained that elegance carved into her bones.
She tilted her head slightly, an unfathomable smile flowing in her amber eyes, her gaze sweeping over Kral, who was kneeling on the ground shaking like chaff, and finally fixed on Balthazar’s ferocious dragon face filled with confusion.
“Oh my, this really is… an ‘unexpected’ piece of ‘loyal’ advice.”
Olga’s voice was soft and lazy, carrying a hint of undisguised mockery.
She didn’t get off the sedan, just supported her chin with one hand, looking at Balthazar.
“Great Balthazar, you possess the power to crush steel, you possess the dragon might that makes mortals tremble…”
She deliberately dragged out her tone, her peripheral vision glancing at the pitch-black mountain range in the distance, the corners of her mouth hooked into a playful arc, a kind of almost provocative invitation.
“Why? Do you really intend to listen to the crazy talk of a lowly rat about ‘gods dying’ and stop at your own doorstep? Or is it that…”
Olga chuckled, the laughter as crisp as silver bells, but hiding a subtle thorn.
“You have also been scared out of your wits by this so-called ‘Dead Land’ legend? If so, perhaps I should re-evaluate… my expectations of you.”
Balthazar’s dark red slit pupils contracted slightly, and a puff of scorching white steam sprayed from his nostrils, blowing the dust on the ground flying everywhere.
He heard the provocative tone in the woman’s words; it was a naked, open conspiracy, but he didn’t dislike this kind of challenge.
As the future Dragon Emperor, if he didn’t even have the courage to step into his future territory, how could he talk about conquering the world?
“Hmph…”
A low, thunder-like cold snort rolled from the depths of his throat, shaking the surrounding gravel.
Balthazar slowly turned his head, no longer looking at the trembling Kobold, but locking his gaze firmly onto the domain shrouded in black mist to the north.
“Put away your… provocation, woman.”
He opened his giant mouth full of fangs, every syllable carrying a hoarse, metallic-rubbing magnetism.
“Since… you want to see… then I will… let you see… what is… true… fear.”
Before the words fell, Balthazar suddenly lowered his body, and then, his hind legs covered with thick scales erupted with astonishing power.
“Boom—!”
The giant rock under his feet collapsed and shattered in an instant, and the violent airflow swept across the surroundings with him as the center, uprooting the surrounding withered grass.
His giant dragon wings suddenly spread in the air, blocking the sunlight, and with that suffocating sense of oppression, Balthazar’s massive body soared into the sky like a black cannonball.
This time, he did not deliberately restrain his aura.
The dragon’s roar resounded through the clouds, and he turned into a streak of black light, tearing through the airflow above the wasteland, carrying an indomitable, domineering momentum, and galloped towards the black mountain range that the Kobolds regarded as an “absolute forbidden zone.”
He wanted to see with his own eyes what was buried there that could make so-called “gods” fall here.