Chapter 143 Dragon Hunting Group
"This attack on the gem mine was a bit risky, and the potential gains weren't high enough to warrant such a risk."
"Actually, we shouldn't take such risks for the sake of momentary pleasure."
"I was too impulsive. I should have been more cautious and careful."
Hong Tielong silently reflected on his actions.
But another emotion immediately surged up.
When his fiery breath struck the first ballista, and when the anti-air pillar and the golem's body shattered under his claws, the long-lost, pure, and almost savage sense of exhilaration was like the first time he bit through the throat of a saber-toothed tiger when he was a child.
These past years have been a period of deliberate self-suppression in order to survive.
There was a brief respite today.
He never liked living a cautious life; it was only out of necessity for survival.
Suddenly, the red iron dragon accelerated, tearing through the clouds and soaring higher into the sky, allowing the torrential rain to completely wash away the smell of gunpowder from its scales.
In the brief ray of sunlight above the clouds, he stretched out his battered body.
"I must not forget to be cautious, and I cannot be too impulsive or risky."
"but!"
"Only the weak are full of worries. One day, I will be able to live without being careful, without any restraint or taboos!"
Galos inhaled deeply the thin, high-altitude air currents, filling his lungs with cold oxygen.
He left all his hesitation and regret behind in the clear sky, and plunged into the deep storm with even stronger determination.
A few days later.
The torrential rain gradually subsided, and the thick, all-encompassing rain curtain turned into a sparse drizzle.
South of the Ser Wilderness lies the Duchy of Raymond, the Thorn Territory.
There is no rain here, and the sky is not covered by dark clouds.
The moonlight was as bright as ever, but in Viscount Ironthorn's eyes, it appeared cold and melancholic. The two moons, one real and one illusory, hung in the sky like a pair of eyes, casting a mocking glance at him.
He stood on the terrace, his chin covered in stubble, his eyes bloodshot.
He didn't seem like a refined noble viscount; rather, he was an incompetent middle-aged man who had lost his son.
That is indeed the case.
Anger burned in Viscount Ironthorn's chest like an inextinguishable flame; his son was dead, killed by the claws of several dragons.
Edmund, the proud, young man who should have inherited everything from him and made his family proud, is now nothing but a blurry mass of flesh and blood. No, not even a blurry mass of flesh and blood remains; his body is gone.
The viscount's teeth were clenched so tightly they were grinding together, and the veins on his forehead were bulging as if they were about to explode.
His breathing was heavy, each breath as if he were swallowing all the anger in the air.
"A few beasts. A few damned beasts!"
His voice was low and hoarse, like a curse squeezed from the depths of his throat.
He hated the dragons, hated their arrogance, hated their cruelty, hated that they dared to take his son away.
but.
What he hated even more was himself.
Regret coiled around his heart like a venomous snake. He regretted sending Edmund to collect taxes, regretted not sending stronger guards, regretted not conducting thorough reconnaissance, and regretted not discovering that behind those monsters were several evil dragons!
Those damned dragons.
Not content with killing Edmund, they then attacked the mining base of the Duchy of Raymond, causing severe damage and stealing a large number of gems, claiming they were a return gift to him.
This caused Viscount Ironthorn a lot of trouble, drawing questions and dissatisfaction from his family.
But Viscount Ironthorn no longer cared about it.
His fingers dug deep into his palms, his nails piercing his skin and drawing blood, but he felt no pain.
He recalled Edmund's nonchalant demeanor before his departure, and his son's laughing words that "the monsters will kneel and offer up their treasure."
And now, his son will never come back.
The moonlight remained bright, shining on the Viscount's face and reflecting the surging hatred and pain in his eyes.
"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!"
"I will skin you all alive and tear you to pieces! I will leave no one alive!"
He slowly raised his head, looking towards the direction of the Sel Wilderness, his eyes like knives.
Not long after.
Viscount Ironthorn donned the armor he wore when he led troops on the border, and brought with him a professional dragon-hunting team he recruited by selling his assets. The team members had an average life level of over 12, were highly experienced, and had a glorious record of hunting adult dragons.
Their weapons, combat skills, spells, and armor are all centered around dragon hunting and are highly targeted.
To save time.
Viscount Ironthorn paid a hefty price to bring the Dragon Hunting Corps directly to the Sel Wilderness via a magical teleportation array, and they traveled day and night towards the Scaled Earth Rift.
Three days later.
Viscount Ironthorn's dragon-hunting party arrived at their first destination in the misty drizzle.
—The place where the private army was destroyed.
The leading sorcerer crouched down, his fingertips brushing against the charred marks on the ground.
"Remnants of dragon flame."
He said, "I need all the remnants related to dragons."
The other members quickly dispersed, searching for any clues like hunting dogs.
The result was nothing.
The wilderness stood in the dragons' camp, and the torrential rain washed away the traces of the battle.
The corpses left here were also cleared away by the ferocious beasts and monsters of the wilderness, leaving only some broken and twisted iron armor, broken weapon blades, and metal fragments.
As for traces of dragons.
There was only scorched earth formed by the dragon's breath, nothing else.
The sorcerer picked up a pinch of ash, rubbed it between his fingers, and said, "This bit of dragon breath scorched earth is almost the worst medium, and it's very difficult to use for tracking."
Viscount Ironthorn remained silent, his gaze somber.
Immediately afterwards, the Dragon Hunting Team arrived at the second key location.
— Conifer Valley.
An attack on a mining site is no small matter.
Furthermore, noble private armies were attacked and killed.
This is no longer an ordinary incident.
Upon receiving the news, the Wilderness Guard of the Lorthen Federation immediately began operations, deeming a large-scale cleanup necessary.
Using magic and alchemical creations, they began a thorough cleanup centered on the Scaled Earth Rift, eliminating the powerful ferocious beasts and monsters.
When a powerful legion gets serious.
The territories of the Ironforge clan scattered across the wilderness were discovered one by one, and even the Conifer Valley was unearthed and identified as the core territory where the young dragons had once lurked and lived.
Viscount Ironthorn was involved in the incident and was informed of this information.
Upon arriving at the Conifer Valley, Viscount Ironthorn clung to his last hope, but there was nothing there except scorched earth.
Even before the attack began.
The fiery dragon's breath completely destroyed this place.
"They were well-prepared and launched the attack in a premeditated manner. They erased their own traces before the attack in order to prevent tracking."
The leader of the Dragon Hunting Corps, a sorcerer, looked grave and said, "The young dragon is arrogant and conceited."
"I was already surprised that they decisively abandoned their territory immediately after achieving victory, but I didn't expect them to be so careful in concealing their whereabouts."
After a pause, the sorcerer pondered, "It should be that special hybrid dragon among them, with a nature different from pure-blooded dragons. Without a doubt, it is the leader."
Viscount Ironthorn slowly drew his sword, the tip piercing the soil as if it could penetrate the earth and strike his fleeing enemies.
“Keep searching.” His voice was colder than a sword blade: “Search the entire Serbian wilderness—dig them out.”
The sorcerer scrutinized Viscount Ironthorn and said quietly, "Those dragons are very cautious, and conventional methods are ineffective. But as a professional dragon hunter, I have unconventional methods."
What is it?
Viscount Ironthorn asked urgently.
"Using the blood of extreme hatred as a catalyst, a tracking spell has been constructed. Although the exact coordinates cannot be determined, it can guide us in the general direction."
The sorcerer said slowly and deliberately.
"Then hurry up and use it."
The sorcerer shook his head: "This is an evil spell that will cost you at least ten years of your life. Are you sure you can pay such a price?"
The viscount fell silent, somewhat hesitant.
He was nearly fifty years old, middle-aged, but his body was not yet old, and he was still a high-ranking warrior, in his prime. He could continue to have offspring and did not necessarily have to fight the dragons to the death because of Edmund's death.
However, after some internal struggle...
The desire for revenge ultimately triumphed over reason.
Viscount Ironthorn said expressionlessly, "As long as I can kill those dragons, I will drink their blood and devour their flesh and bones. This price is nothing."
(End of this chapter)
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