Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Chapter 97: Barrel of Black Oil, So So So... Perfect!

"I can see you possess the heart of a true warrior."

Garoth gazed at Bristlefire, speaking slowly and deliberately.

"Your insight is unparalleled!"

Bristlefire raised its chin slightly as it responded.

Garoth spread his wings wide, standing tall as his eyes grew calm yet dangerous. His voice deepened as he said, "I once heard a saying."

"The strong raise their blades against stronger foes, while the weak turn their weapons on those beneath them."

Though Bristlefire didn't fully grasp Garoth's meaning, it nodded respectfully and said, "Such profound wisdom."

Garoth suddenly grinned.

"Since you agree, then challenge me. Prove your strength."

Bristlefire froze momentarily, taking in Garoth's massive form and the terrifying pressure radiating from him. Its breathing hitched as the wolfish smile turned strained. "Y-you must be joking."Only now did it realize its earlier behavior might have been presumptuous, and reined in some of its arrogance.

Garoth took a step forward, his hulking frame blocking the moonlight and casting Bristlefire in shadow.

"So your earlier words were meant to mock me?"

His voice turned icy as he stared directly at Bristlefire, making the young werewolf's fur stand on end.

Still daring to bristle rather than immediately beg for mercy?

"I wouldn't dare! Please forgive my offense."

Bristlefire dropped to its knees, bowing its head.

Garoth's expression remained impassive. "I admire your courage. If you can leave even a single scratch on me, I'll consider your challenge successful and grant you the Chieftain position."

Bristlefire's eyes lit up, actually growing eager as it stood.

"Great Dragon Lord, I shall do my utmost."

The other werewolves quickly scattered in panic, clearing a wide space.

Russell and the old Shaman sighed silently, already foreseeing the outcome of Bristlefire's recklessness. The Dragon Lord had given multiple chances, all wasted.

Bristlefire retreated dozens of meters, taking a deep breath as its muscles tensed like steel. Its hind claws carved deep grooves in the earth, eyes flashing with ferocity as it locked onto the dragon before it.

Bristlefire had faced magical beasts larger than Garoth before, even managing to wound them during successful hunts with its pack. In its mind, while a dragon might be stronger than beasts of similar size, the difference couldn't be that great. At the very least, leaving one scratch seemed possible.

ROOOOAR—!

With an ear-splitting howl, Bristlefire's muscles bulged beneath its fur as it launched forward with explosive power. Its gleaming claws aimed straight for Garoth's throat in an attack combining all its strength and skill, moving so fast it left afterimages.

Garoth didn't even blink.

*SMACK!*

A casual flick of his claws, like swatting an annoying insect.

Bristlefire's body froze mid-air for an impossible instant before hurtling backward even faster.

BOOM!

It smashed into the cliff face with enough force to shake the mountain, sending rocks tumbling down in a cloud of dust.

When the dust settled, the horrified werewolves saw Bristlefire's body embedded deep in the stone, twisted at unnatural angles.

Garoth had initially thought Bristlefire might have some hidden capability, so he'd used minimal strength to test it.

The disappointing truth was clear—this young werewolf had no special advantage beyond slightly better natural talent than its peers, coupled with inflated self-importance.

He approached slowly, looking down at Bristlefire.

The werewolf's eyes remained open, its chest caved in, bloody froth bubbling at its mouth with bits of organ matter.

"Pathetic. Your arrogance was worthless."

Garoth's calm assessment hung in the air.

The pack stood in deathly silence.

Frostfang's claws unconsciously dug into the ground, finally understanding why the old Shaman always said "dragon might cannot be measured." That unruly Bristlefire hadn't even qualified as a plaything before the Dragon Lord.

Groooowl... Bristlefire emitted a final, unwilling growl.

Crackling sounds came from within its body as its grievous wounds began transforming it—fangs elongating, body stretching until it became a bloodied giant wolf that launched itself at Garoth with a roar.

Garoth's tail flicked.

*SPLAT!*

The giant wolf exploded into crimson mist, its body literally vaporized mid-air by the impact.

A few warm droplets splattered onto the nearest werewolves' faces, but none dared wipe them away.

"Now then."

Garoth's voice echoed through the valley.

"Does anyone else wish to prove their warrior spirit?"

The response came in perfect unison—every werewolf pressing their foreheads to the ground, barely daring to breathe.

Submission and relief—gratitude for having maintained proper reverence.

The old Shaman loosened its grip on the bone staff, its aged face relaxing into a relieved smile.

"Your dragon might grows daily, now eclipsing even sun and moon."

It offered the flattery.

Russell spoke quietly, "I beg you to spare these few werewolves. They were misled by Bristlefire and meant no offense. They can be transformed into giant wolves to serve you loyally under the clan's command."

The mentioned werewolves—Bristlefire's former followers—now lay paralyzed with fear.

Garoth gave a slight nod, letting Russell handle the matter.

After this incident, Garoth turned to the old Shaman and Russell. "Tell me what's happened these past six years."

The old Shaman's speech had grown slow and unclear with age, so Russell spoke instead: "Shortly after your last departure, the Bonegnaw Clan began expanding aggressively."

It recounted events methodically.

With watchtowers positioned at Crescent Valley's highest point, the werewolves had spotted approaching ogres early and wisely abandoned their territory. After the ogres consumed all remaining food stores and left, the pack returned.

Later at Serpentine Earth Rift.

The ogres occupied prime locations and raided so frequently that the Howling Moon Clan could no longer safely interact with caravans.

The silver lining?

Before the ogres' rise, that silver-tongued, cunning merchant Nick had delivered significant quantities of black oil stored in the clan's cellar. Since ogres had no interest in inedible substances, none was lost.

But only that initial shipment remained.

When Nick next visited Howling Moon Clan, he'd brought message stones allowing long-distance communication. After ogres dominated Serpentine Earth Rift, to protect this trade channel, the old Shaman instructed Nick via stone to cease visits until further notice.

For six years.

Nick inquired almost monthly through the stones.

Far from fearing the werewolves, their profitable dealings had given him hope of rebuilding his fortunes, making him value the Howling Moon Clan highly.

"My Lord, the Bonegnaw Clan has gained a formidable leader unlike ordinary ogres."

"Under its command, the clan now flourishes unprecedentedly."

Russell sought to warn Garoth against underestimating the Bonegnaw Clan, having heard dragons' arrogance often led to vulnerability.

Before it could finish, Russell's eyes widened as Garoth casually remarked, "No concern. The Bonegnaw Clan already submits to me, becoming fellow dragonkin like yourselves."

"Your dragon might knows no equal!"

Russell immediately offered praise.

Six years ago as a youth, it hadn't mastered such flattery, merely standing by while the old Shaman offered compliments. With age came adaptability—it had learned well how to stroke a dragon's ego.

"Now bring me some black oil."

Garoth commanded.

Russell nodded, soon returning with clansmen carrying an iron bucket of black oil weighing roughly fifty kilograms.

"The clan possesses ten such barrels totaling about five hundred kilograms."

Russell explained.

Garoth's eyes gleamed as he lifted the bucket.

How he'd missed this taste! And now in such generous quantities compared to his old method of stealing and refining oil soil—no need for careful rationing.

His claws pried open the lid, releasing pungent fumes that assaulted his nostrils.

Tilting his head back, he poured the black oil down his throat in great gulps.

"Sooooo... POTENT!"

"This flavor! This sensation!"

WHOOSH!

Dark crimson flames erupted from the ends of Garoth's wing bones, thicker and more violent than ever before—like fire meeting oil. In an instant, his body became a comet breaking the sound barrier as he rocketed skyward.