When the hatchling woke again and opened its eyes, a faint firelight pierced its retinas, bringing a brief moment of dizziness.
The sensation of hard, cold rock beneath it had vanished, replaced by the rustle of dry straw and a texture of fabric that was coarse yet warm and soft.
The air was thick with a faint smell of sulfur, mixed with a strange scent—like herbs and the unique body odor of a reptile.
The body that should have been the size of a large dog now felt several times heavier.
Every bone in his body emitted a dull, aching protest—the growth pains brought on by rapid development.
His ferrous scales were thicker than before, their edges shimmering with a cold blue light.
Every breath he took produced a roar from his chest, like a bellows.
“Are you awake? Later than I expected.”
Olga’s magnetic yet chilly voice drifted over from the side.
She was sitting on a flat rock covered in animal furs, holding an obsidian mirror polished to a reflective sheen, scrutinizing her makeup by the light of a nearby brazier.
The black formal dress she wore had been simple repaired, and her signature black hair cascaded behind her like a waterfall.
Even in this dark, damp mine, she maintained a suffocating queenly aura.
“You’ve been asleep for three whole days. Chloe was exhausted after pushing you all the way here.”
The Queen set down the obsidian mirror and turned her head.
Her narrow, phoenix-like eyes swept over him with a hint of scrutiny, taking in the dragon before her—three meters long and two meters high at the shoulder.
“But it seems that pile of treasure wasn’t eaten in vain. Though still a cub, your size is already comparable to an adult Warg.”
She stood up, her high heels clicking sharply against the rocky floor.
As she moved, Chloe emerged from the shadows.
The mixed-blood knight was leaning against the cave entrance on guard, her longsword still in hand.
However, visible fatigue and dark circles could be seen on her cold face.
Clearly, she had been on high alert for the past three days.
“Don’t be in a hurry to move. Your mana circuits are as tangled as a knotted ball of yarn; it’s obvious you’re still growing.”
Olga walked to the bedside and reached out a finger from above, lightly touching the hard dragon skull as a faint purple light flickered at her fingertip.
“Furthermore… in this forgotten corner, we’ve found some unexpected ‘harvest’.”
As she spoke, she turned slightly and gestured with her chin toward the shadows.
A rustling sound followed.
From the darkness behind Olga, a hunched but sturdy figure slowly shuffled out.
It was a creature about 1.3 meters tall, covered in fine, dark green scales.
Its muscles were unnaturally knotted, making it significantly stronger than its average kin.
Most striking was its head—it wore a crudely polished white skull, clearly belonging to some small dragon species, as a mask.
Two curved bone horns extended backward, and a murky yet fanatical yellow light shone from the two hollow eye sockets.
“This is a Kobold, a species born from the crossbreeding of dragons and other species. Because they are so lowly, they don’t even qualify to be called dragon-kin; they are born to be servants of dragons.”
Olga’s voice held unabashed contempt, as if she were introducing a common tool.
“This particular tribe has been entrenched in the deep layers of this abandoned mine, barely surviving by gnawing on Mithril slag and lichen.”
“Though they are weaklings who were at most mining coolies in my empire, for us right now, they are somewhat useful slaves.”
The green figure trembled violently upon seeing the ferrous young dragon on the bed.
It let out a strange cry, as if phlegm were stuck in its throat, and suddenly threw itself into a full prostration.
The comical dragon-bone mask hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Blood trickled from its forehead, and fanatical loyalty projected from its eyes.
“Ga… hiss… True Dragon… Lord…”
It hissed in an extremely clumsy voice that sounded like two stones rubbing together.
Its hands trembled as it held them high above its head, cradling several pieces of ore still stained with soil that emitted a faint blue light, as if performing some primitive sacrificial rite.
The young dragon suppressed his urge to immediately eat that bit of ore slag.
Mithril ore was valuable, but this was just a bit of slag.
Moreover, he had many questions to ask, but several attempts to move his throat revealed that this body was incapable of human speech.
Relying on gestures would likely be extremely tedious, so he decisively decided to contact the Main God to exchange for the language of this world.
[100 exchange points spent. Exchanged for Black Beast World Language.]
Afterward, he felt his throat become much clearer.
He opened his mouth and tried to speak.
“Who… was your… past… master?”
“Who… created… you?”
The deep voice sounded like coarse sandpaper grating harshly against a rusty iron plate, carrying a peculiar metallic vibration that echoed repeatedly in the narrow, damp cave.
The throat that previously couldn’t produce any sounds other than dragon roars now miraculously squeezed out a broken but perfectly accented Black Beast World Language.
Though the voice was incredibly raspy, as if forced through the gap between two rocks, it carried an inherent majesty unique to those of high standing, possessing an undeniable magnetic quality.
The air inside the mine seemed to freeze in that instant.
The sound of dripping water became exceptionally piercing, and the flames in the brazier seemed suppressed by an invisible force, flickering violently.
*Clatter.*
The exquisite obsidian mirror slipped from Olga’s hand, smashing against the hard rock floor with a crisp sound.
The Dark Elf Queen, who usually remained unruffled even if a mountain collapsed before her, now stared with her narrow phoenix eyes wide in disbelief.
She stood up from the rock as if pricked by a needle, her black skirt creating a sudden rush of air, her elegant and lazy demeanor vanishing instantly.
“Your Majesty!”
Chloe, who had been on guard, reacted instantly, rushing in front of Olga in a single stride the moment the voice sounded.
The longsword in her hand hummed, its tip trembling slightly.
Her red pupils were filled with shock and confusion as her gaze locked onto the massive creature on the bed that had just spoken.
“This… Your Majesty, how is this possible? Is it some kind of high-level demon possession? Or…”
Chloe’s voice was dry with tension.
She guarded the Queen while backing up half a step, warily scanning the surroundings as if searching for the source of the voice, even though her reason told her it had come from the iron dragon’s mouth.
Olga ignored the knight’s inquiry, her eyes fixed solely on the iron dragon lying on the straw.
Her slender fingers tightly gripped her sleeves, her knuckles turning white from the force, and her chest heaved violently from the shock.
“This is impossible…” Olga took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, but her voice still carried an irrepressible tremor.
“Though dragons are a superior species among magic creatures, they are still essentially magic beasts.”
“The structure of their vocal cords simply cannot produce complex language, let alone this kind of… logical and purposeful questioning.”
She took half a step forward, pushing aside Chloe’s protective arm.
The light in her eyes shifted from shock to a more fanatical and complex curiosity.
“…What exactly are you?”
The kneeling dragon-kin Kobold was now shaking like a leaf.
The light erupting from its murky eyes could only be described as maddening; hearing a “True Dragon” speak the sacred tongue was a divine miracle to it.
“Ga-ah…! The True Dragon… the True Dragon spoke!”
Ignoring the blood still flowing from its forehead, the Kobold slammed its comical skull mask into the ground even harder, creating a series of loud thuds as it roared nonsensically:
“Great… Supreme… Master… Past masters… dead… all dead…”
It panted incoherently, seemingly struggling to organize its meager vocabulary to answer the supreme question.
“It was…
the ancient…
white-robed…
mages…
in the deep…
very deep place…
they made us…
then…
the black…
mist…
ate them…”
However, compared to the two shocked Dark Elves, the young dragon felt the Kobold’s reply was useless, containing no real information.
The deep, metallic voice rang out in the mine again, this time with a more explicit sense of pressure.
“What kind of… dragon… was your previous… master?”
“How many… years ago… was that?”
Every syllable was like a hammer striking the rock walls.
The dragon-kin Kobold kneeling on the ground trembled violently due to fear and the effort of mobilizing its shriveled brain.
Its murky yellow eyes were filled with chaotic spirals, and its two scaled claws gestured wildly in the air, as if trying to grasp ethereal fragments of time.
“Ga… it was… very big… very white…”
“No… it was shining… like… the sun in the sky…”
“Time… time is…”
The Kobold anxiously began to count its only three fingers, counting over and over again.
Finally, it even started scratching the gravel on the ground, letting out meaningless whimpers: “Many… many winters… not enough fingers… not enough stones… Ga-ah! My head… my head is going to split!”
It violently struck the ground with the skull it used as a mask.
Clearly, for this low-level creature born as a dragon’s servant with no written history, concepts like “history” and “eras” were far too profound.
Its memory was like the mud in this mine, long since turned into a jumbled mess.
“Don’t waste your breath. Expecting a low-level creature whose mind only contains ore slag and mating to remember things from centuries ago is less likely than expecting these rocks to speak for themselves.”
Olga’s cold voice cut in, interrupting the pointless interrogation.
She stepped elegantly around the Kobold and walked up to the young dragon.
“If I am not mistaken, this was a royal Mithril vein belonging to the Northern Church State—one of the predecessors of the current Seven Shields Alliance—two hundred years ago.”
The Queen turned around, her back to the faint firelight.
Her shadow was cast long and large across the young dragon’s massive body.
Her amber eyes narrowed slightly.
She no longer looked at the trembling Kobold but stared intently into the Ferro-Dragon’s dark red vertical pupils, as if trying to catch any flicker of emotion.
“The so-called ‘white-robed mages’ were likely the Priesthood in charge of alchemy for the Church State at the time.
As for the ‘previous dragon master’ this waste mentioned…” A mocking curve formed at the corner of Olga’s mouth, “it was most likely a ‘Chimera’ stitched together from alchemy and magic beast flesh, or perhaps a ‘Pseudo-dragon’ mixed-blood watchdog.
Humans will create any disgusting thing to protect precious Mithril.”
She paused, her tone becoming meaningful as she leaned forward slightly, releasing her queenly pressure without reservation.
“Two hundred years ago, a catastrophic mana rampage occurred here. The Church State publicly declared it the ‘Black Mist Calamity’ and sealed the entire vein. Since then, it has been a forbidden zone that even the greediest adventurers dare not set foot in.”
As Olga spoke, she carefully observed the young dragon’s reaction.
She was testing him.
If this dragon were an awakened one of an ancient bloodline, then according to legend, such dragons should have some resonance with the history of this land or show anger toward ‘Pseudo-dragons’.
However, nothing happened.
Olga only saw calm and contemplation in his eyes.
This display made her feel far more wary than the enraged dragon she had anticipated.
“Just intelligent? Then things are even simpler.”
After her brief shock, Olga instead revealed an even more dangerous smile.
Her narrow phoenix eyes narrowed again, flickering with the unique light of a superior scrutinizing a plaything.
“Since you can understand speech, it saves me the time of training you to understand commands. Listen well, lowly magic beast,”
The Queen’s voice was deliberately lowered, carrying a cold temptation and an unquestionable tone of command.
“You are lucky to have been chosen by me to be my blade of revenge. Now, kneel and offer your loyalty.”
As her words fell, a cluster of eerie dark purple light slowly rose from her honey-colored palm, condensing into a constantly rotating, complex magic circle composed of countless tiny runes.
The light flickered, emitting a dominating aura that made even the soul tremble.
This was her proudest dark sorcery—the Mark of Slavery.
“Swear to me that your fangs will tear my enemies apart and your wings will carry my throne.”
“Otherwise…”
A cruel curve formed on Olga’s red lips, and the purple light at her fingertips jumped.
“I wouldn’t mind personally cutting open your chest to see what color the heart of a talking dragon really is.”
However, facing this naked threat, the dragon on the straw, already of considerable size, only slowly and heavily raised its head.
His movements were slow, yet incomparably firm.
The massive dragon head did not lower in the slightest; instead, he looked levelly at the fallen Queen before him.
Then, his thick forelimbs, covered in ferrous scales, shifted forward with a clear ‘crack,’ his claws sinking deep into the rocky ground below.
It was a gesture of refusal, body language clearly stating, “I will not kneel.”
Then, that heart-palpitating voice, sounding as if it came from deep underground, rang out again.
“Loyalty… is for the weak to give the strong.”
The raspy and majestic voice echoed in the cave, each word like a heavy hammer striking the hearts of everyone present.
The dragon’s dark red vertical pupils stared directly at Olga.
The light of the fire flickered deep within those eyes, which held no trace of a magic beast’s chaos, only pure, rational brilliance.
“I… carried you from the flames, gave you protection…”
“I am… the strong one.”
His pronunciation was still awkward, but he emphasized every word heavily, like a giant who had just learned to walk, each step leaving a deep imprint on the ground.
The purple light in Olga’s palm flickered violently, nearly dissipating.
On her face, which usually wore an expression of pride and disdain, a look of true “astonishment” appeared for the first time.
This dragon…
no, this being…
was actually debating with her about who was strong and who was weak?
Chloe, who had remained on guard, gripped her sword hilt even tighter, fine beads of cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.
She could feel the pressure emanating from this dragon was even stronger than before.
This wasn’t simple dragon fear; it was a power guided by the will of a sentient being.
“You want… to stand… on equal footing with me?”
Olga’s voice held a hint of incredible absurdity.
The dragon did not answer, instead slowly standing up from the pile of straw.
His massive body, already comparable to an adult Warg, brought a powerful sense of oppression, making the space within the cave feel instantly cramped.
Then, the dragon spoke his view.
“Wrong… you and I are not equal…”
“You should… submit to… me.”
This brief sentence was like a silent slap, harshly striking the proud self-esteem of the deposed Queen.
Olga’s face turned ashen with rage, her proud phoenix eyes nearly spitting fire, and the mask of languid indifference she had maintained shattered completely.
“Audacious insect! Who taught you such presumptuous nonsense?!”
Her voice, sharp with suppressed fury, stung the eardrums in the narrow mine shaft.
“Do you truly believe that just because you can fly, you are a god?”
“The reason I sought your opinion was merely because this wretched hide of yours is still weak, and out of a slight pity for a tool that once rendered meritorious service in saving me!”
“And now you dare to turn around and extort your monarch, demanding that I submit to you? This is like an ant trying to shake a tree—the greatest absurdity under heaven!”
“I am the daughter of the Creator Father God! You! You are merely a hard bone from the Father God’s arm! How dare you harbor thoughts of usurpation?!”
Accompanying Olga’s furious rebuke, the brazier in the mine tunnel suddenly flickered violently, and the Queen’s already slender silhouette was grotesquely elongated on the dark stone wall.
Dense black energy slowly ascended from her feet, wrapping her like a sheet of inky gauze.
The air began to fill with the acrid smell of sulfur and ash, and countless painful, twisted faces of departed souls faintly appeared in the void, silently opening their mouths to let out death wails toward the Dragon.
This was the magical power she deliberately summoned, intending to shake the Dragon’s will and showcase her own strength.
The Kobold nearby wailed and trembled, shivering uncontrollably before this terrifying magic, only able to hide miserably like a maggot behind a stone pillar, praying to its ancestors and the Dragon.
As for Olga, her long, honey-colored palm flipped over again.
The cluster of purple magical light from before suddenly swelled, transforming into a dark, black magic seal inscribed with complex and eerie runes.
The magic seal emitted an even stronger gravitational pull than before, seemingly intent on tearing the Dragon’s soul out.
“Now, vile magical beast, kneel before me!”
“Obey my command, or be completely transformed into my most loyal puppet! Submit!”
Olga roared sharply, pushing the magic seal toward the Dragon.
The Dragon’s massive body remained completely still before the pressure of the dense magical power.
Its head remained lifted high, and there was no trace of anger in its dark red vertical pupils, only utter calm and rejection.
A low syllable was painfully squeezed out from the depths of its throat, lined with sharp teeth.
The syllable was short and powerful, like a nail driven into the air thick with magical pressure.
“No.”
Simultaneously, an invisible fluctuation erupted centered on the Dragon.
This was not a mere sound wave, but the majesty accompanying the Dragon’s deep soul, as if the entire mine tunnel breathed beneath it.
The heavy magical barrier that had suppressed the brazier’s light was instantly ripped apart.
The air made a slight tearing sound, like silk being violently ripped, violently pushing away the dense black energy and spectral images surrounding Olga.
The enslavement magic seal gathered in Olga’s palm began to tremble violently.
The purple and black magical power was fiercely squeezed back by the invisible force, and even her body swayed slightly, a flicker of incredible surprise crossing her eyes.
The Kobold, who had been kneeling, was now completely prostrate on the ground, its body taut as stone.
It emitted a series of low gurgling sounds, a mixture of extreme fear and fervent reverence.
The True Dragon Lord didn’t need to roar; a single, simple word was enough to shatter the Dark Elf Queen Lord’s proud magic!
Chloe, standing nearby, had her hand pressed to the sword hilt, her breathing rapid.
If this Dragon were provoked, they would have no chance of survival in this narrow cave.
Olga was stunned.
She couldn’t believe her magic had actually failed.
The enslavement magic seal, which condensed thirty percent of her magical power and had previously enslaved several high-level magical beasts, was now like a paper kite torn apart by a gale.
The purple runes shattered piece by piece, turning into countless tiny specks of light that fell onto the damp rock floor and vanished instantly.
The pride of the Dark Elf wavered slightly.
Although she knew she wasn’t at her peak, her opponent was only a young dragon.
[Or, is the opponent truly more than just a magical beast?]
Olga felt the residual magical power backlash, surging along her meridians all the way to her heart.
She couldn’t help but let out a muffled groan, and a faint purplish-black trace of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.
This was a sign that the magical power reversal had scorched her internal organs.
“Your Majesty!”
Chloe cried out in alarm and instinctively moved forward to help, but Olga sharply raised a hand to stop her.
Her phoenix eyes, usually filled with arrogance and calculation, now held only extreme shock and a hint of panic she hadn’t even realized, fixed firmly on the massive, dark iron-colored creature resting on the straw pile.
This was absolutely no ordinary Ferro-Dragon whelp.
“You…” Olga’s voice was terribly hoarse.
The sharp roar from moments ago had vanished, leaving only an unconcealable tremor.
She raised her hand to wipe away the bloodstain from her lip, her knuckles white.
“What exactly are you?”