Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Chapter 81: Howling Cliff, Nature of the Jackals and Wolves

Rainwater dripped down the rough beast-hide cloak.

The gnoll Garoth squatted atop the crooked wooden watchtower, its soaked fur clinging to its skin, making it itch all over. It scratched the fleas on its neck, caught one, and stuffed it into its mouth, then squinted its red-glowing eyes toward the muddy wilderness in the distance.

"Damn rainy season."

The gnoll muttered under its breath, a grumble of discontent rolling in its throat.

The territory of the Redeye Clan—Howling Cliff.

This place was a mixed cluster of natural caves and crude wooden shacks.

Gnolls were not skilled builders, but they excelled at plundering. On those crooked wooden stakes hung dried heads of prey, some beasts, some unlucky caravans passing by.

There were even a few belonging to gnolls themselves.

Those were traitors or cowards executed by the Warlord.

Garoth was considered a sentry; its task was simple—watch outside to see if fierce beasts, magical creatures, or other monster clans approached.If so, blow the bone whistle to alert its comrades.

But today, its gaze was drawn by something else.

In the distant rain curtain, something seemed to move, flashing past in an instant.

It narrowed its eyes, the reddish-brown pupils shrinking into slits under the dim light to observe carefully, but the rain blurred its vision. It could only see the gray wilderness and swaying shrubs.

Finding no suspicious target, it withdrew its gaze without much care, yawned, and continued its dull watch.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing laugh came from below.

It looked down and saw several kin dragging a deer carcass toward the cave, tearing at the bloody flesh with their claws as they walked, stuffing it into their mouths. Their fur was covered in mud and bloodstains, saliva mixed with rainwater dripping from their fangs.

"Hey! Garoth!"

One of the gnolls called out, its voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing: "Come down and eat something! No one dares to approach Howling Cliff in this weather anyway!"

Garoth hesitated.

Howling Cliff was situated on higher ground, easy to defend but hard to attack. The perimeter was filled with sharp spike traps and deep pits, with sharpened wooden stakes at the bottom coated in poison.

Unless the danger came from the sky, there was no need to be overly tense.

The watchtower was cold and hungry, but it knew well the consequences of abandoning duty. Last month, a sentry who shirked laziness and slept was torn in half by the Warlord Bloodfang’s own hands. The corpse still hung on an eastern wooden stake, drying in the wind.

"No, you guys eat."

It shook its head, forcing itself to continue watching the rain curtain.

In gnoll society, the law of the jungle was ironclad.

The gnoll Warlord nicknamed Bloodfang was the absolute ruler of the Redeye Clan, his authority built on violence and fear.

Garoth had witnessed Bloodfang bite through an enemy’s throat during battle, then dig out the opponent’s heart with his claws and swallow it in front of all the gnolls.

Devouring a comrade’s heart.

Even among the fierce gnolls, it was a terrifying act.

The Rotclaw Priest represented another kind of power.

Garoth’s gaze unconsciously drifted toward the depths of the cave, where faint chanting and the stench of burning flesh wafted.

As a priest, Rotclaw rarely appeared before ordinary gnolls. It always hid in the darkest corners, cutting open prisoners’ throats with a dagger and smearing the blood on rune-engraved bone shards.

It was said.

It could curse wounds so they never healed, and even temporarily revive dead gnolls, forcing them to continue fighting at the cost of their restless souls.

Thinking of that dreadful scene, Garoth shivered.

It disliked Rotclaw but dared not defy him.

All gnolls knew that offending the priest was worse than offending the Warlord.

At least Bloodfang would give you a swift end, but Rotclaw’s curse made you wail for three days and nights before dying.

Garoth knew the two big shots did not get along well. Bloodfang thought Rotclaw’s rituals were too slow, and Rotclaw felt Bloodfang was reckless and brainless, but regardless, they jointly ruled the Redeye Clan, securing a place for these gnolls in the wilderness.

The rain intensified. Garoth shrank its neck and wrapped its cloak tighter.

In gnoll culture, there was no concept of ‘loyalty’, only ‘obedience to the strong’.

Garoth felt no respect toward Bloodfang or Rotclaw, but it clearly understood that at Howling Cliff, the weak either obeyed or became decorations on wooden stakes—a rule that applied across the vast wilderness.

It glanced again at the distant wilderness, still empty.

"Looks like today won’t have anything..."

Before it finished speaking, a black shadow streaked across the clouds, moving so fast it seemed like an illusion.

Garoth’s fur instantly bristled; instinctual fear gripped its heart. It wanted to blow the bone whistle, but its claws froze mid-air, and only a faint whimper escaped its throat.

That thing appeared again, this time closer and without concealing its form.

That thing—the dragon—hovered above Howling Cliff.

Rain dripped over its overlapping scales, flowing down the grooves, converging into silver threads at its claw tips. It hung silently, no attack, no roar, quietly gazing down at the territory below, exuding an indescribable majesty and oppressive aura—calm yet dangerous.

Seeing the dragon’s silhouette, Garoth’s limbs began to tremble.

It had seen fierce beasts and powerful magical creatures but had never felt such terror.

Its stomach convulsed, teeth chattered uncontrollably, and even its tail stiffened like a frozen rope.

It was naturally sensitive to danger. No one in the Redeye Clan had sharper perception, which was why it was a sentry. Yet at this moment, every nerve screamed.

Run!

But it couldn’t move.

“Dead legs! Move your feet! Move!”

Garoth screamed silently inside, but its legs felt like they were filled with lead, turned to stone, disobeying its commands. Then, in extreme terror and the struggle between mind and body, the gnoll rolled its eyes and fainted on the spot.

Garoth blinked, noticing the fainted gnoll sentry’s loss of composure.

“Scared to death? No, should be fainted.”

He radiated dragon might, announcing his arrival and instilling fear and terror in the majority of the Redeye Clan’s gnolls, yet few gnolls fainted outright.

Sometimes, dull perception was a blessing.

For example, being unable to sense just how dangerous and terrifying this dragon truly was.

The fainted gnoll sentry was because its perception was too clear.

At the center of Howling Cliff was a semi-natural, semi-manmade cave hollowed into a multi-layered structure.

Gnolls poured out from the cave in large numbers, hunching their backs, muscles taut, red eyes flashing in the rain curtain, saliva mixed with fear dripping from their fangs.

Garoth could smell the scent drifting in the air.

Rotting meat chunks, poor-quality beast oil, and the distinctive stench of gnolls.

The gnolls wore looted iron armor and carried weapons like spiked hammers. Some larger ones bore alchemical runes etched on their gear, of fine quality.

Several strong gnolls held hooked chains but did not attack rashly, watching Garoth warily and vigilantly.

A figure appeared in the cave shadows.

The gnoll Warlord Bloodfang’s copper ring on his ear gleamed with a blood-like glow in the rain. He puffed out his chest, displaying a scar running across his torso—a proof of how he had torn a petrifying lizard apart.

He approached Garoth, stopped beneath him, and respectfully said, “Noble Great Dragon, why do you visit the humble Howling Cliff?”

Gnolls, by nature, liked to follow powerful dragons.

The key was power.

If a weak dragon visited rashly, they did not hesitate to kill it and use the dragon’s blood in rituals to strengthen their tribe and clan.

The gnoll Warlord measured Garoth’s size with his peripheral vision.

Although incredibly strong, the less-than-eight-meter dragon’s size was not remarkable. After all, the Redeye Clan had hunted giant monsters exceeding ten meters before.

While waiting for Garoth’s reply, Bloodfang’s gaze flickered, his spine straightening slightly, as an unusual thought formed in his mind.