novelraw Chapter 243: Post-Event Reckoning
Chapter 243: Post-Event Reckoning
Convergence Lands, northeastern region, Venomtail Tribe border outpost, early morning hours.
The gray-blue sky stretched like ink-soaked silk above the Serpent Swamp.
Morning stars still retained their brilliance as the eastern horizon began to show the first light of dawn, though the sun had not yet officially risen. Damp mist flowed slowly across the land's surface, shrouding this border region in hazy obscurity.
Sentinel Chief Kessos coiled atop the serpent-shaped watchtower, his gray-green scales blending perfectly with the moss-covered wooden railings.
His thick serpent tail tapped rhythmically against weathered bricks, producing a steady "tap-tap" sound.
As a veteran who had undergone four molts, his amber vertical pupils could detect any anomaly even in the faintest light.
"Naji, your scale gaps are reflecting light."
Kessos suddenly hissed, his forked tongue flickering rapidly to capture pheromones in the air.
His gaze locked onto the young sentinel below—where two newly grown snake scales on his neck were secreting faint pink mating pheromones that glimmered in the morning light.
"Thinking of sneaking off to the Sacred Nest to find that molting chambermaid again?"The serpentfolk sentinel chief's voice carried a teasing hiss, the tail end echoing in the damp air.
Recruit Naji curled up abruptly as if stepped on, his scales instantly shifting to mud-brown to match the environment. He stammered in defense: "Nonsense! I'm dedicated to guarding our tribe, how could I—"
A hoarse laugh suddenly emerged from the shadows.
Hidden sentinel Sephus revealed half his head from the watchtower's darkness, his amber vertical pupils sharp as poisoned daggers.
This veteran who had also undergone four molts lowered his voice: "Save it, kid. The Six-Armed Lady's attendants have high standards—they only notice warriors who've molted five times or more."
"You've only undergone your second molt—your venom glands aren't even fully developed yet."
Another veteran added, his scales trembling slightly with laughter: "If you really can't help yourself, the swamp pythons aren't bad choices. A bit rough, but the taste..."
Several serpentfolk veterans took turns teasing the young serpentfolk, appearing relaxed and cheerful on the surface.
However, observant watchers would notice these experienced warriors frequently flicked their tongues rapidly, emitting dense "hiss-hiss" sounds—typical serpentfolk behavior for releasing internal pressure.
Their tail tips unconsciously tightened, muscles ready to explode into action at any moment.
This seemingly casual banter was merely the veterans' way of alleviating their inner tension.
In this pre-dawn silence, some invisible pressure was accumulating along the border.
Suddenly, hidden sentinel Sephus' long tongue shot out like lightning, precisely piercing a passing night moth.
His throat scales bulged as he swallowed the prey, then he deliberately lowered his voice: "I heard... Molten Iron's dragon rejected our pledge of loyalty. Those great dragons... are angry."
These words fell like ice into boiling water, instantly freezing the surrounding air.
Sephus continued in an almost inaudible whisper: "The Six-Armed Lady shouldn't have—"
"Silence!"
Sentinel Chief Kessos' hiss suddenly sharpened, his tail whip striking heavily against the bricks, sending shattered stones flying.
"The tribal leadership's decisions are not for us to question! Guard your post and control your tongue!"
Unexpectedly, the usually argumentative hidden sentinel offered no rebuttal this time.
The old serpentfolk turned in confusion to find Sephus staring fixedly into the distance, tail rigidly straight, human-like face beading with fine cold sweat, pupils constricted to thin slits.
Following the hidden sentinel's gaze, Kessos' expression instantly froze.
Beneath the gray-blue sky, a black tide-like legion was advancing, crushing morning dew beneath them.
Centaurs' iron hooves kicked up dust storms, ogres' heavy footsteps sent ripples across the swamp waters, werewolves' emerald eyes floated like will-o'-the-wisps... More terrifying were the dragon shadows circling overhead, and that giant white tiger whose every step made the earth tremble—the rumored Wild Beast Lord capable of tearing giants apart.
"We surrender! We surrender!"
The alarm bell didn't even have time to sound. Faced with absolute power disparity, the serpentfolk guards chose submission without hesitation.
They emerged from their posts one after another, discarding weapons into the mud.
However, it was already too late.
"Kill all resisters without mercy."
The iron dragon's icy voice came from the sky.
Sorog's command fell like a death sentence, utterly devoid of emotion.
As a lawful-aligned ruler, he normally disliked excessively brutal ruling methods, but the Venomtail Tribe's previous vacillation required cleansing with blood. Without this purge, these serpentfolk would likely develop rebellious ideas again.
Perhaps driven by fear of death, most serpentfolk chose compliance.
A few hot-blooded young warriors who raised their weapons were instantly pinned to watchtowers by whistling arrows.
The remainder trembled as they huddled together, silently praying the executioner's blade wouldn't fall on them.
The fall of this border outpost was merely the beginning of the disaster.
The Molten Iron Legion advanced toward the Venomtail Tribe's heartland at an unhurried yet unstoppable pace, cutting through like a hot knife through butter.
Outposts along the route were ruthlessly crushed, serpentfolk guards facing the cruel "kill one, spare one" choice.
For particularly resistant strongholds, the iron dragon showed no mercy in complete eradication—structures leveled, guards slaughtered utterly, not even granting surrender opportunities.
Sorog understood clearly that such iron-fisted methods would create some troubles for future rule.
The Venomtail Tribe's serpentfolk had been too naive—their cleverness meant nothing before absolute power. Having chosen to play both sides, they must pay the corresponding price.
As time passed, this unstoppable legion finally approached the Venomtail Tribe's core—the Serpent Swamp.
At the swamp's periphery, led by the six-armed serpent woman Narys, the Venomtail Tribe had gathered all its forces.
Sorcerers' summoned poison mist swirled above the swamp, shamans' tamed giant snakes lurked beneath the waters, fully armed serpentfolk warriors stood ready... Yet strangely, not a single blade was drawn.
Facing them, the Molten Iron Legion's formation appeared even more terrifying.
Well-equipped centaur heavy cavalry formed charge formations, ogre warriors carried giant wolf tooth clubs, alchemical golems' eyes glowed with dangerous red light... Not to mention the rear-guarding Wild Beast Lord and dragons circling overhead.
Serpentfolk tails nervously slapped at the mud, forked tongues flickering rapidly, attempting to alleviate inner fear.
Facing the fully revealed fangs of the Molten Iron behemoth, even the bravest warriors felt profound oppressive pressure.
The two sides faced off several kilometers apart.
"Halt!"
But these bloodthirsty warriors' eyes still burned with battle intent, claws and weapons gleaming coldly in the morning light. Consecutive victories had made them eager to tear into more enemy flesh.
Whoosh—!
Sorog's wings snapped shut like steel gates, his massive body transforming into a shadow descending from the sky. When less than ten zhang from the ground, his dragon wings suddenly spread, stirring up fierce winds that precisely controlled his descent.
With a "boom" that resonated deeply, his heavy draconic form landed steadily on solid ground at the swamp's edge.
Astonishingly, he had come alone before the enemy formation!
Serpentfolk warriors collectively tensed, scale-rubbing "rustling" sounds forming a continuous chorus. Some young warriors' tails unconsciously curled—instinctive reaction when serpentfolk felt extreme tension.
The iron dragon walked with agile yet steady steps, slowly approaching the battle-ready six-armed serpent woman.
He raised his well-defined draconic snout, looking down at this tribal leader from above, vertical pupils dancing with dangerous sparks.
"Second meeting, Narys."
Sorog's voice carried unique metallic resonance, his draconic snout slightly upturned to reveal gleaming white fangs: "Is this scene as you wished?"
His gaze swept over the serpent woman's slightly trembling blades due to tension.
Those weapons capable of carving hundreds of scars on dragon scales seemed bound by invisible chains, hesitating to be drawn.
Facing the iron dragon, the six-armed serpent woman Narys displayed breathtaking combat posture.
Her six arms spread like blooming petals, each hand gripping a cold iron longsword gleaming with frosty light. The blades' flowing edges seemed capable of slicing air itself, the surrounding atmosphere slightly distorted by these lethal weapons' presence.
As a level 16 six-armed serpent Sword Saint, Narys' life level alone equivalent to an adult red dragon.
While Sorog as a 35-year-old young iron dragon possessed only approximately level 12 life level—though exceptional among iron dragons for advanced development, still significantly behind the serpent woman.
Now, they stood merely ten meters apart.
For a Sword Saint, this distance vanished in an instant.
Narys' sharp eyes could clearly see the blood vessels pulsating beneath the iron dragon's neck scales—a single strike there could unleash a blood waterfall.
Yet she never struck.
Narys understood better than anyone that draconic physical prowess could bridge level differences.
Even if she gained advantage, she couldn't quickly conclude the battle. Behind the iron dragon waited the entire Molten Iron Legion watching intently, not to mention that Redwing Lord who made her unable to muster the heart to resist.
Thinking of that terrifying existence who counter-ambushed the Dawn and Ironblood Tribes' ambush, Narys tightened her grip on her swords.
She truly couldn't understand.
Why would dragons possessing such power still play tactical games with those savages? Wouldn't direct crushing be simpler?
Unfortunately, she would never comprehend.
Garoth differed completely from other young dragons.
This Redwing Lord acted with caution, always pursuing victory at minimal cost, never charging blindly due to arrogance—precisely why he had grown to his current stature.