Chapter 244 Post-Event Settlement
At the border, in the northeast, at the border post of the Poison Tail tribe, in the early hours of the morning.
The gray-blue sky, like a silk cloth soaked in ink, stretched across the Swamp of Ten Thousand Snakes.
The morning star had not yet faded, the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten, the sun had not yet officially risen, and damp mist was slowly flowing across the earth, enveloping this border region in a hazy mist.
Sentinel Xos sits atop the Serpentine Watchtower, his grey-green scales blending perfectly with the moss-covered wooden fence.
His thick snake tail slapped against the weathered bricks, making a rhythmic "tap-tap" sound.
As a veteran who had shed his skin four times, his amber-colored vertical pupils could detect any abnormality even in the faintest light.
“Naji, your scales are reflecting light.”
Kross suddenly hissed, his forked tongue trembling rapidly as he caught pheromones in the air.
His gaze was fixed on the young sentry's neck below—where two newly grown snake scales were oozing pale pink mating pheromones, shimmering faintly in the morning light.
"Trying to sneak off to Hallownest again to find that molting maid?"
The snake-man sentry's voice hissed mockingly, the last syllable echoing in the damp air.
The new recruit, Naji, recoiled as if his tail had been stepped on, his scales instantly turning a muddy brown that blended with the surroundings. He stammered, "Nonsense! My mission is to protect the tribe, how could I?"
A hoarse, mocking laugh suddenly came from the shadows.
The sentry, Seifer, peeked half his head out from the shadows of the watchtower; his amber vertical pupils were as sharp as poisoned daggers.
The veteran, who had also shed his skin four times, lowered his voice and said, "Save your breath, kid. The Six-Armed Lady's maids have high standards. They only look at warriors who have shed their skin more than five times."
"You've only gone through your second molt, and your venom glands aren't even fully developed yet."
Another veteran added, his scales trembling slightly with laughter: "If you really can't resist, the swamp pythons are a good choice, though a bit rough, but the taste is something else."
Several veteran snake-men were teasing the younger snake-men, and on the surface the atmosphere was relaxed and pleasant.
However, careful observers will notice that these experienced warriors will occasionally flick their tongues out rapidly, emitting a dense hissing sound—a typical way for snake people to release inner pressure.
Their tail tips unconsciously tensed, their muscles poised to explode at any moment.
This seemingly relaxed chat was merely a way for the veterans to relieve their inner tension.
In the stillness before dawn, an invisible pressure is building up along the border.
Suddenly, the sentry Seifer's long tongue shot out like lightning, precisely piercing a passing moth.
The scales on his throat bulged as he swallowed his prey, deliberately lowering his voice as he said, "I heard that the Iron-Melting Dragons refused our allegiance, and those dragons are angry."
This sentence was like a piece of ice falling into boiling water; the surrounding air instantly froze.
All the snake-men's scales involuntarily stood up, and their tails stiffened and pressed against the ground.
Seifert continued in an almost inaudible whisper, "The Six-Armed Lady shouldn't have..."
"Shut up!"
Sentinel Chief Xos's screech suddenly sharpened, and his tail whip lashed heavily against the brickwork, sending up a few pebbles.
"We cannot question the decisions of the tribe's leadership! Stay at your posts and keep your mouths shut!"
Surprisingly, the usually argumentative sentry did not refute this time.
The old snake-man turned his head in confusion and found that Sephiroth was staring intently into the distance, his tail taut, his humanoid face covered in a fine layer of cold sweat, and his pupils narrowed into thin slits.
Following the sentry's gaze, Xos's expression froze instantly.
Beneath the grey-blue sky, a legion like a black tide is advancing, crushing the morning dew.
The centaur warriors' iron hooves kicked up dust storms, the ogres' heavy footsteps rippled the swamp's surface, and the werewolves' eerie green eyes flickered like will-o'-the-wisps. Even more terrifying were the dragon shadows circling in the sky and the colossal white tiger whose every step made the earth tremble—the legendary monster lord who could tear giants apart.
"We surrender! We surrender!"
Before the alarm bells could even ring, faced with an absolute disparity in strength, the snake-men guards chose to submit without hesitation.
They all left their posts and abandoned their weapons in the mud.
However, it was too late.
"Those who resist will be killed without mercy."
The cold voice of the iron dragon echoed from the sky.
"Kill half of the rest randomly, and leave the other half."
Sorog's command was like a death sentence, devoid of any emotion.
As the ruler of the Lawful Faction, he did not like overly brutal methods of governance, but the previous fickleness of the Poison Tail tribe had to be washed away with blood. If this cleansing was not carried out, these snake people might once again harbor rebellious intentions.
Perhaps out of fear of death, most snake people chose to comply.
A few hot-blooded young soldiers had just raised their weapons when they were pinned to the watchtower by whistling arrows.
The rest huddled together, trembling, silently praying that the executioner's blade would not fall on their heads.
The fall of this border post was just the beginning of the disaster.
The Iron Legion advanced into the heart of the Poison Tail Tribe with a slow yet unstoppable pace, like a hot knife cutting through butter.
The outposts along the way were ruthlessly destroyed, and the snake-man guards faced the cruel choice of "kill one and spare one".
In some strongholds where resistance was fierce, Iron Dragon showed no mercy and completely wiped them out—buildings were leveled, guards were slaughtered, and they were not even given a chance to surrender.
Sorog was well aware that such ruthless methods would cause some trouble for his future rule.
But rather than leaving hidden dangers, he would rather spend more time rebuilding order.
The snake people of the Poison Tail tribe were too naive. Their cleverness was worthless in the face of absolute strength. Since they chose to be two-faced, they had to pay the corresponding price.
As time went on, this unstoppable army finally approached the heart of the Poison Tail tribe—the Swamp of Ten Thousand Snakes.
On the outskirts of the swamp, the Poison Tail tribe, led by the six-armed snake woman Naris, has gathered all its forces.
Poisonous mist summoned by the sorcerers swirled above the swamp, giant serpents tamed by shamans lurked underwater, and fully armed snake-man warriors stood ready. Strangely, however, not a single sword was drawn.
On their side, the Iron Legion's lineup was even more terrifying.
Well-equipped centaurs and heavy cavalry formed a charging formation, ogre warriors carried giant spiked clubs, and alchemical golems had dangerous red glints in their eyes. Not to mention the monster lords bringing up the rear and the giant dragons circling in the sky.
The snake-men's tails throbbed nervously in the mud, their forked tongues flicking in and out rapidly, trying to alleviate their inner fear.
Even the bravest warriors felt a profound sense of oppression when faced with the molten iron behemoth that had fully bared its fangs.
The two sides are facing off, several kilometers apart.
"stop!"
As the Iron Dragon roared, a roar imbued with a sense of awe, the monster army halted in unison.
But the fighting spirit still burned in the eyes of these bloodthirsty warriors, their claws and weapons gleaming coldly in the morning light. The successive victories made them eager to tear apart more of their enemies' flesh.
call--!
Sorog's wings snapped shut like steel gates, and his massive body descended from the sky as a shadow. When he was less than ten feet from the ground, his dragon wings suddenly unfurled, whipping up a gale and precisely controlling his descent.
With a muffled "boom," the heavy dragon's body landed steadily on the hard ground at the edge of the swamp.
Shockingly, he actually came to the enemy lines all by himself!
The snake-man warriors tensed up in unison, the rustling sound of their scales rubbing together creating a continuous din. Some of the younger warriors unconsciously curled their tails, a natural reaction when snake-men felt extremely tense.
With agile yet steady steps, Tie Long slowly approached the six-armed snake woman who was waiting in full battle.
He raised his sharply defined dragon snout, looking down at the tribal chief, a dangerous glint flashing in his vertical pupils.
"This is our second meeting, Naris."
Sorog's voice carried a unique metallic resonance, his dragon snout slightly raised, revealing his gleaming white teeth: "Is this the scene you desired?"
His gaze swept over the snake woman's sword blade, which trembled slightly from tension.
Those sharp weapons, capable of carving hundreds of scars on dragon scales, seemed to be bound by invisible chains, hesitant to be drawn.
Opposite the Iron Dragon, the six-armed snake woman Naris displayed a breathtaking fighting stance.
Her six arms stretched out like blooming petals, each hand gripping a cold, gleaming iron longsword. The sharp edge of the blade seemed capable of cutting through the air, and the surrounding air was slightly distorted by the presence of these sharp weapons.
As a level 16 six-armed snake-man swordsman, Naris's life level alone is equivalent to that of an adult red dragon.
Sorog, a 35-year-old teenage Iron Dragon, has a life level of only around 12—although this is already considered an excellent individual with advanced development among Iron Dragons, it is still quite different from the Snake Woman.
At this moment, the two were only ten meters apart.
For a swordsman, this distance is fleeting.
Naris's sharp eyes could clearly see the throbbing veins beneath the scales on the iron dragon's neck—a place where a single sword strike could unleash a torrent of blood.
But she never made a move.
Naris knew better than anyone that the monstrous physical attributes of dragons were enough to bridge the gap in rank.
Even if she could gain the upper hand, it would be impossible for her to end the battle in a short time. Behind the Iron Dragon was the entire Molten Iron Legion, which was eyeing her covetously, not to mention the Crimson Wing Lord who made her unable to muster any will to resist.
Thinking of that terrifying being who could turn the tables and kill his opponent in the ambush of Dawn and the Ironblood Tribe, Naris tightened her grip on her sword.
She just couldn't understand it.
Why would a dragon with such power need to play tactics with those barbarians? Wouldn't it be simpler to just crush them?
Unfortunately, she will never understand.
Galos was unlike any other young dragon.
This Lord of the Crimson Wings is cautious in his actions, always seeking victory at the lowest possible cost. He never acts rashly out of arrogance, which is a key factor in his growth to this point.
(End of this chapter)
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