Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Chapter 119: Twenty-Four-Winged Golden Dragon

The bright daylight poured down its fervent radiance upon Garoth, coating his scaly hide in a gilded sheen like gold leaf.

By the time Sorog came to his senses,

his claws were already raised and clasped together with the red iron dragon's powerful grip.

His body had reacted first.

The iron dragon froze for several seconds before breaking into a relieved smile. "Garoth, my dear brother. I shall accompany you to witness your future reign over all."

Garoth nodded and pulled the iron dragon up from the muddy ground.

The surrounding ogres exchanged bewildered glances, unable to comprehend the situation until Garoth formally introduced Sorog the Iron King as his blood brother.

Karu scratched his head and offered an apology to the Iron King.

"Oh, noble Iron King."

"Forgive dull-witted Karu. Your might and wisdom forced me to resort to underhanded tactics. Please pardon my earlier offense."The gluttonous ogre spoke with boisterous candor, his face wearing a simpleton's grin while his words carried subtle cunning—giving Sorog ample face. The iron dragon recognized this unusual tact and regarded the ogre with newfound respect.

"Garoth, this vassal of yours is quite remarkable."

Rather than resent the ogre who defeated him, Sorog praised him instead before engaging in self-reflection. "Perhaps the ancestral records aren't entirely reliable. My defeat stemmed not just from arrogance and carelessness, but also from relying too much on inherited knowledge. I foolishly assumed all ogres were dim-witted, overlooking individual differences."

Garoth's earlier motivational speech hadn't been complete nonsense.

He understood Sorog was among the rare dragons capable of self-reflection—acknowledging failures rather than believing the world revolved around them.

However, recognizing flaws was one matter.

Overcoming them was another—and far more crucial.

Later, the gnolls and kobolds were integrated into the Clan of Molten Iron.

After learning about the four Warhosts under the clan's banner, Sorog proposed abolishing the old clan naming conventions entirely. Different species would now be distinguished by their racial names—Ogre Tribe, Gnoll Tribe, Kobold Tribe.

Warhost names should better reflect their distinctive traits.

He advised Garoth to reorganize the Warhosts based on specialized strengths rather than former clan affiliations.

For example:

The massive Bonegnaw Warhost, now composed entirely of ogres, excelled in brute strength and defense—specializing in frontal assaults and fortification. Should minotaurs or trolls join later, they'd be assigned here too.

This logic extended to other Warhosts—each structured around complementary specialties for more flexible battlefield deployment.

In short: division of labor and strategic synergy.

This military philosophy from *The Prince* allowed better command than race-based divisions.

As for renaming the Bonegnaw Warhost, Sorog suggested titles like [Iron Warriors] or [Starbreaker Maul] to replace old clan markings. After consideration, Garoth settled on Starbreaker Maul.

To foster pride and motivation, Sorog even devised a battle cry:

—"Skulls for the hammer! Bones for the song!"

Eight simple words radiating unstoppable, indomitable ferocity—perfect for strength-worshipping creatures.

Once other Warhost names and regulations were finalized, the loosely organized forces would undergo proper restructuring.

Garoth entrusted this task to Sorog, appointing him as Iron Chancellor—a position akin to prime minister or chief secretary.

"I shall forge you an impregnable domain! An invincible legion!"

"The Clan of Molten Iron will one day become a draconic empire forged from steel and flame!"

Brimming with knowledge from *The Prince* and *On Lordship*, the iron dragon couldn't wait to flex his administrative talents. His previous gnoll and kobold followers had been too few and weak to merit proper management. But the Clan of Molten Iron's scale and quality surpassed typical Young Dragon vassals, igniting his innate passion for governance.

"Patience. Tend your wounds first."

Garoth grinned. "Come, I'll show you something."

The two dragons took flight from Shattered Stone Beach.

Garoth led Sorog toward Needleleaf Valley, considerately flying ahead to cleave through air currents for his weakened brother.

From behind, Sorog studied the silver wing struts and hollow cavities on Garoth's wings with puzzled curiosity.

"Garoth, your appearance has changed dramatically."

"Especially those extraordinary wings—I've never seen their like in any iron or red dragon lineage."

"Just as you excel at administration, I possess certain innate gifts," Garoth replied.

The iron dragon's eyes widened. "You mean you're an aberrant dragon?!"

Aberrant dragons differed from hybrids.

While hybrids simply inherited parental traits, aberrant dragons developed unique mutations or abilities. Historical records documented many exceptional cases—including one currently on planet Bernardo.

The Twenty-Four-Winged Gold Dragon.

An ancient gold dragon born with twelve pairs of wings, each granting different powers. Its unparalleled might made its legend part of every young dragon's inherited memory.

Those twelve sky-shrouding wings protected metallic dragons so formidably that even mighty empires dared not provoke them.

However, this legendary figure now teetered on death's door.

Should it ascend further, it would achieve immortality.

Should it perish, Bernardo's already declining dragonkind might face catastrophic upheaval—affecting all dragons, not just metallics.

But back to the topic.

"Something like that," Garoth answered simply.

"Show me your wings' special properties! They look fascinating."

Sorog assumed Garoth's most striking feature was his aberrant gift and eagerly inquired about its effects.

No need for secrecy—it would manifest eventually anyway.

With a grin, Garoth's wing struts suddenly erupted with thick crimson flares, startling the unprepared iron dragon.

BOOM!

Deafening thunderclaps rang out as Sorog veered away from the fiery plumes. When he looked forward again, Garoth's silhouette was already a distant speck trailing a comet-like wake.

The iron dragon clicked his tongue in amazement at Garoth's impossible speed.

Only now did he fully realize—

That crimson comet he'd mistaken over Tempering Heights had been Garoth all along.

The red iron dragon's body carved a blazing arc across the sky before circling back, extinguishing his wing flares to resume guiding his brother.

"Dear Garoth, who could imagine such a mighty frame housing such blistering speed and agility? I already pity your future enemies."

Even as a fellow male, Sorog couldn't deny Garoth's excellence.

That powerful, ferocious, awe-inspiring bearing marked him as a tyrant among tyrants—a natural-born Dragon Emperor.

*Perhaps,* Sorog mused privately, *this brother of mine might become the next Sky-Shrouding Wings—the savior of evil dragons.*