Under Klar’s command, this tribe named “Iron-Eater” displayed incredible efficiency.
Their originally scattered living quarters deep in the mine had been dismantled.
Tattered bedrolls, simple iron pickaxes, and baskets filled with raw Mithril ore were all neatly stacked together.
There were even several elderly Kobolds using wood and beast skins from the mine to rush-order a simple stretcher and a simple sedan chair with a curtain.
Those were clearly prepared for the two Dark Elves, especially the Dragon Consort whose belly was high and swollen.
“Great One! Great One!”
When he saw Balthazar appear to check on the situation, Klar immediately ran over, wearing that ridiculous hatchling dragon skull.
“Everything… everything is ready! The little ones… have packed everything… not even a single bone was left behind!”
Klar’s cloudy eyes sparkled with a light of cunning and anticipation.
For them, migration was not just fleeing, but the beginning of following a strong leader to conquer new territory.
Balthazar nodded slightly, a puff of hot air snorting from his nostrils.
Such a sensible servant indeed saved him a lot of trouble.
Before long, Klar and his tribesmen had finished packing all their belongings.
Then, carrying Olga, who was completely covered in a black robe, and Chloe, who was also covered in a black robe by Olga, the migrating group set off.
Watching the migrating group depart, Balthazar also walked out of the mine.
Huge dark wings suddenly spread out, casting a wide shadow on the gravel-strewn ground.
With a heavy sound of inhalation like a bellows being pulled, Balthazar’s hind limbs, covered in thick metallic scales, suddenly exerted force.
The rocky ground beneath his feet instantly cracked into a web of fissures.
“Boom—!”
Accompanied by a deafening roar, the heavy dragon body took to the sky.
A powerful current of air swirled with sand and stones, shooting out in all directions.
The air trembled, and every beat of his wings let out a heavy low growl.
Balthazar soon burst out of the shadows of the mine, bathed in the slightly dazzling sunlight.
In the air, he looked down upon this desolate land with the posture of a sovereign ruler.
His flight altitude at this time was about five hundred meters.
The wind whistled in his ears, scraping against his hard dragon scales and producing a faint metallic ring.
His gaze fixed on the distant North.
There was a continuous range of mountains; the mountain bodies presented an uncomfortable pitch-black, as if they could even swallow light.
Beneath those black rocks, Balthazar felt an unprecedented, strong resonance that made his dragon blood boil.
It wasn’t just iron, but something older, harder, and even possessed a certain demonic quality—a high-level metallic reaction.
Moreover, it was surrounded by dangerous forests and swamps, and the mountains themselves were extremely steep.
There were no signs of smoke from any human settlements within a hundred miles; it was so desolate that even birds were nowhere to be seen.
This was a perfect natural fortress.
Olga had indeed chosen a good place.
“Very good…”
A very human-like greedy smile appeared on Balthazar’s hideous dragon face.
His vertical pupils instantly contracted to the size of pinpoints, locking onto that black domain.
His huge tongue flicked out of his mouth, licking his lips which had become slightly rough from the air.
That feeling was like a hungry Taotie smelling a peerless delicacy.
“Thump!”
Another loud bang, and the earth trembled again.
Balthazar landed heavily in front of the Kobold group, kicking up a cloud of dust.
He ignored the followers who were frightened into kneeling again and instead raised a front claw, pointing far toward the black mountains that were only a blurry outline at the edge of his vision.
“That… way.”
His raspy, majestic voice penetrated the sound of the wind, clearly entering the ears of every creature.
“The black… mountain.”
Balthazar turned his head, looking at Klar, who was shivering right beneath the young dragon’s head.
In his dark red eyes, a flame called ambition flickered.
“New… lair. Follow… me.”
“Yip yip!”
Hearing their master’s command, the Kobolds let out joyful cries.
They completely forgot the terror from moments ago and immediately began to move with tireless enthusiasm.
“Wait.”
Just as Balthazar was preparing to set off and leave the mine, Olga called out to him.
Subsequently, a purple orb of light sank into Balthazar’s body.
“This is communication magic that can transmit our thoughts to each other.”
Just after finishing her verbal explanation, Olga further explained to Balthazar in her mind:
[As long as you silently chant my name in your heart, you can talk to me. Convenient, isn’t it?]
Those dark red vertical pupils instantly contracted to the size of pinheads, staring fixedly at the elegant Queen before him.
Balthazar’s dragon head lowered slightly, and the hot breath snorting from his nostrils formed two clouds of white mist in the air.
He did not reply immediately, but instead closed his eyes, sensing that abrupt, thread-like link that had appeared in his mind.
[Olga… is… this… your… magic?]
He chanted tentatively in his heart.
The feedback was peculiar; it no longer required vibrating the air to transmit information, but instead directly stirred ripples on the lake of his consciousness.
A moment later, Balthazar opened his eyes again.
His movements were slow and heavy, carrying a certain deliberate sense of intimidation.
He used his sharp front claws to lightly scrape the ground, digging a deep hole in the hard frozen soil of the Wasteland, before looking up and speaking in his hoarse, low, and extremely halting voice:
“Convenient… good…”
His voice sounded like it had been ground through iron sand, possessing a resonant majesty that brooked no doubt.
“But… I give you… a suggestion… Your Majesty.”
His massive dragon jaws opened and closed slightly, revealing two rows of fangs that glinted with a cold metallic light inside.
Balthazar took a step forward, his massive shadow completely obscuring Olga and the stretcher behind her.
He lowered his head, bringing his ferocious face close to Olga’s, so close that she could see the scout’s blood that had not yet dried in the crevices of his scales.
“Don’t… pry… into… me… or… I will… crush… your… soul.”
Although his words were filled with warning, he did not reject the magic.
After all, for the current Balthazar, this instant connection indeed allowed him to better control this group that moved as slowly as ants while he looked down from high above. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping . com.
He straightened up, and his massive dark wings slowly unfurled behind him once more, obscuring the stinging midday sun.
“Klar…”
The named Kobold leader immediately scrambled over, his comical skull mask tilting to one side as he ran.
“Here! Lord! Klar is listening!”
“Go.”
Balthazar wasted no words.
His hind limbs, covered in heavy metallic armor, suddenly exerted force, leaving two deep footprints in the ground.
With the powerful beat of his wings, the intense wind pressure blew nearby pebbles dozens of meters away.
“Until… dark. No… stopping.”
Having said that, he ignored the tribe below that was preparing to set off and took to the air again, turning into a bolt of black lightning that surged toward the firmament.
At an altitude of five hundred meters, he could clearly feel the vortices formed by the wind at the edges of his dragon wings, as well as the enticing aroma emanating from that Black Mountain to the north.
That was the call of high-grade metals inviting him to a tasting.
The migrating party below stretched into a long black line across the Wasteland heading toward the northern Black Mountain.
Inside the crude palanquin, Chloe, covered by a black robe, let out a faint, indistinct moan amidst the jolting.
Her hand subconsciously rested on her bulging belly, where a strong life that did not belong to a mortal being was pulsating with a steady rhythm.
Olga sat quietly in the palanquin, sensing the majestic presence named “Balthazar” in her heart.
Her fingertips lightly brushed through the air, causing purple runes to manifest, and the corners of her mouth curled into an imperceptible, extremely cold arc.
She knew very well that although this dragon was arrogant, it had already unknowingly accepted her “mark.”
And this was the beginning of Olga’s attempt to control him.
Olga sat upright in the shadows of the palanquin, her dress—originally magnificent but now damaged in several places—neatly arranged without a single flaw.
She lowered her head slightly, her amber eyes half-closed, while her slender fingers gently rubbed the obsidian mirror in her hand.
Through that invisible mental link, as fragile as a spider’s silk yet resilient, she could feel the presence of that massive consciousness high in the sky.
It was a ball of burning, dark red flame with a heavy scent of sulfur, violent and full of wildness.
This was entirely different from the active but chaotic souls of humans she was familiar with, or the souls of her Dark Elf compatriots, which were so heavy they were decayed and so wise they were gloomy.
It was a pure heat, devoid of redundant schemes and intrigues; that blazing soul’s very existence was as pure as the sun.
[But it is just an all-too-young sun, after all.]
In Olga’s view, no matter what wisdom Balthazar displayed, he was ultimately just a juvenile dragon who had been born less than four days ago.
As for age, Olga had already lived through nearly a thousand years.
In Olga’s opinion, as long as she could further understand Balthazar’s thoughts, perhaps she wouldn’t even need to use the Seal of Enslavement; through simple mental suggestion alone, she could make this proud and naive dragon her puppet.
Olga possessed such confidence in her own wisdom.
[Balthazar, the powerful magical creature who looks down upon me because my magic has weakened.]
[One day, I shall make you pay for your wild words about occupying my body.]
Her mental power was like a silently swimming Night Snake, cautiously probing forward along that link.
She was in no hurry to directly assault the opponent’s mental defenses, but instead tried to capture those fragmented thoughts overflowing from the surface of his consciousness.
If she could read just a little…
even if it was just this dragon’s plans for the upcoming journey, or his true attitude toward the fetus in her knight’s womb, she might be able to plant deeper seeds of suggestion in his consciousness.
However, just as her mental tentacles were about to touch the edge of that burning consciousness.
[Conceited Dark Elf Queen, do not waste your effort trying to pry into my thoughts.]