Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Chapter 163: Pale Wing - Mere Young Dragon!

An unknown amount of time later.

Just as Nick felt he was about to faint from exhaustion, the centaurs finally came to a stop, bringing him to a grassland area - their camp.

Stumbling dazedly off the centaur's back, Nick's mind remained foggy until a deep, resonant voice like that of a colossal creature echoed in his ears.

"I heard you wanted to see me."

The words jolted Nick like a bucket of ice water, instantly clearing his mind.

He jerked his head up to behold a beast beyond normal comprehension.

Moonlight shattered into countless silver shards across its scales, while the spikes along its spine resembled a rebellious forest of spears, rising and falling with each breath.

Most terrifying was the oppressive aura - even motionless, explosive power visibly coursed beneath those corded muscles, the impossibly powerful body like tempered steel with each scale a forged shield.

They stood mere paces apart.

Nick could practically see his own reflection distorted into an ant-like speck within those pupils.Compelled by instinct, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against the earth as he recalled the monikers circulating about this young dragon in Raymond Duchy.

"The great Wings of the Skyrend, the baleful star heralding death."

"Your loyal and humble servant is finally blessed to behold your true visage."

Within the centaur camp, Garoth observed the prostrate merchant.

After several seconds of scrutiny, the red iron dragon's lips curled slightly. "Wings of the Skyrend? Death's harbinger? Is this how humans name me?"

Nick answered, "These titles spread from Raymond Duchy, where bounties have been placed upon you."

Hearing that Raymond Duchy viewed him as an enemy - an entirely expected development - Garoth felt no anger.

Instead, he nodded approvingly; the names had a decent ring to them.

Among the Molten Iron Clan, vassals most commonly praised Garoth with the title "Redwing Lord," but such honorifics originating from subordinate clans carried little weight.

For dragonkind,

Only titles circulating among enemy factions held true recognition, spreading more widely through such channels.

Yet such epithets remained unpredictable - they could just as easily become laughingstocks.

For instance, when Garoth first slaughtered intelligent creatures by exterminating an entire goblin clan, had that spread, he might have been saddled with "Goblin Slayer."

Being associated with inferior creatures

Would feel like swallowing feces to a true dragon.

While Garoth cared little for titles, having a respectable one certainly beat something like "Goblin Slayer."

"Wings of the Skyrend isn't bad."

"But this 'Death's harbinger' sounds too malevolent."

After this internal assessment, he inquired further, "Any other names?"

Nick hesitated briefly before murmuring, "There's also 'Vein Plunderer,' 'Golem Shredder,' and similar titles."

These sounded rather mediocre.

Finding no more impressive names, Garoth ceased his inquiry, fixing his gaze upon the merchant.

"Humans typically regard me with either hostility or abject terror. Yet you sought audience with me. Why? Don't claim it's merely to demonstrate loyalty and reverence."

As he spoke, the red iron dragon's colossal form leaned slightly forward.

Overpowering shadows engulfed the human.

Feeling the crushing weight of that presence, Nick drew a deep breath before lifting his head, his face still wearing a smile. "Fools fear your flames, but I see the future in you."

With almost theatrical admiration, he declared, "Never have I seen nor heard of a young dragon like you."

"You understand trade's importance over mindless plunder, know when to sheath your claws rather than flaunt them recklessly, recognize the right moments to bare fangs instead of constant retreat."

Garoth listened silently.

While Molten Iron vassals often flattered him, most praised only his strength and power. Nick's appeal to his intellect felt refreshingly novel.

Of course, unlike Sorog or Samantha,

Such honeyed words brought pleasure but couldn't sway his judgment.

"I am a merchant."

"I recognize immeasurable value in you. I'm certain that following you presents the rarest opportunity of my lifetime."

"I dream of establishing my own grand trading house, elevating my family's status for generations to come. To achieve this, I need powerful patronage - to cling firmly to your mighty leg."

"Not even death could shake this resolve."

Producing a mithril-inlaid ring, he continued, "Commissioned from a dwarven alchemist, this spatial artifact can resize and store numerous items. A gift for your consideration."

Garoth accepted the ring,

Stowing it without immediate wear.

His penetrating gaze seemed to pierce Nick's soul as he remarked evenly, "Just for family and descendants?"

Tonight held monumental importance for Nick.

Because Garoth sought an agent among southern nations - someone to gather intelligence, relay messages, and establish influence beyond mere trade.

Currently, Nick showed promise.

Should he pass Garoth's evaluation, greater support would follow.

Pure familial motives made unreliable servants.

If deemed unsuitable, knowing what Nick now did, the human would never leave this place alive.

Under that placid draconic stare, Nick's heart skipped.

After several seconds of contemplation, he exhaled slowly. "Primarily... for myself."

Raising his wrinkled face, he sighed. "As you know, compared to long-lived beings like yourself, human lives flicker briefly as fireflies. I crave longevity."

Pausing, he pressed his forehead to ground, pleading earnestly, "When my body withers with age, I beg your mercy - the chance for dragon vein transformation."

Garoth studied the human.

"You'd likely perish during transformation."

He stated bluntly.

Gritting his teeth, Nick responded, "However slim the chance, I'll seek means to improve success. I don't seek immediate transformation."

"Even should I fail, my unborn child and growing family would remain loyal."

As the human finished,

The red iron dragon suddenly raised his head, eyes narrowing skyward.

A chill permeated the air like glacial winds.

More critically, he detected draconic presence - polar ice given sentience, frigid and savage.

Then white wings sliced through night skies, wreathed in arctic mist, drawing closer as centaurs erupted into chaos.

"Pale Wing returns!"

Silvermane's expression darkened.

Pale Wing - the white dragon repelled by White Mane Clan two decades prior.

Through feigned submission followed by ambush, centaurs had nearly slain her, though not without cost.

Their previous chieftain succumbed to wounds from that battle, weakening gradually until death.

Younger centaur warriors knew only tales of hunting white dragons, ignorant of the true price paid.

"The white dragon driven off by White Mane Clan."

Garoth knew of this creature.

The sixteen-meter white dragon circled above, frosty gaze scanning below until noticing the red iron dragon amidst centaurs, her eyes sharpening.

"White Scales? What brings you?"

Garoth instinctively addressed the airborne dragon.

His red and iron dragon heritage prompted this automatic naming.

Hearing this, the white dragon Trixie - who'd initially come to assess the situation - immediately darkened with rage, her frigid aura intensifying visibly as she glared murderously downward.

Her original revenge motive against centaurs

Was instantly overshadowed.

Damnable! Arrogant half-blood!

A mere young dragon daring to insult the mighty Pale Wing!

Trixie seethed with fury.

Meanwhile, realizing his unconscious bias, Garorth politely amended,

"Ah no - White Dragon. My apologies, that was a slip of the tongue."