The Noble Dragon That Never Keeps Promises
The fierce majesty of the Red Dragon descended upon them like a tidal river bursting from the heavens. The griffins below immediately became restless, trembling uncontrollably at the sight of such a formidable Red Dragon. Knights were sent tumbling from the sky, crashing heavily upon the earth. A vast shadow loomed over them all, causing even the leader of the Griffin Knights, a warrior of no small renown, to pale significantly, a sense of foreboding taking root within his heart.
Despite its youthful appearance, the large draconian beast before them posed a monstrous threat—not some inconsequential White Dragon, the usual prey for adventurers seeking the title of Dragon Slayer. Even a juvenile Red Dragon was a force to be reckoned with.
At the same time, another spell scroll was torn asunder. A glimmer like that of clear glass enveloped everyone; this was a West Ring magic—Dragon Ward Radiance—designed to weaken the sorcery within a dragon's breath.
Dragons, although rare in continent tales, were widely spoken about. For every mighty kingdom had suffered their wrath and robbery, and thus, how to counter a dragon's assault was a strategy every legion was prepared to execute.
However, the leader of the griffin squadron had no intention to battle. Exercising deliberate calmness, he lifted his gaze to the enormous creature and replied with due respect, "Greetings, Red Dragon sir, please forgive my boldness, but may I inquire as to your purpose for gracing this land?"
"You invade my territory and dare question my reasons?" retorted Caesar with frosty disdain.
This place was, in actuality, many leagues away from his true dominion, but a quarrel at one's doorstep is always a disconcerting affair for a dragon—unless the affront paid dearly, of course.
The air thickened with heat as a scorching breath gathered at Caesar's mouth. The surrounding fire elementals converged, and a dark crimson halo of flames emerged before him, bathing everything in a hauntingly bright red glow. The high temperature made every knight sweat profusely, and they watched Caesar with guarded anticipation.
Booming explosions followed, and the black-red flames rapidly engulfed the Griffin Knights. The spattering glow looked akin to fireworks in full bloom.
Some knights raised their shields high, while the leader ground his teeth and shattered another magic scroll, layering the West Ring spell Aegis of Conviction atop Dragon Ward Radiance. Astonishingly, not a single soul was lost to the inferno.
Just as they prepared to fight to their last, Caesar's lazy voice cut through, "For daring to tread upon a dragon's domain, consider this a lesson. Leave enough tribute, and you may crawl away."
The Griffin Knights, each looking exceedingly affluent, could not annihilate Caesar with their West Ring magic—which indicated they had cards up their sleeves, but not many, else they would have engaged him directly.
'Shameful!' thought the squadron leader, cursing inwardly. Surely this vile Red Dragon sought to annihilate them from the onset. But, thwarted in his aim, he had recourse to this banal excuse!
The squadron leader despised the dragon deeply but was utterly powerless against the despicable beast and reluctantly left behind ten precious gems—crystal, agate, jade... though powerless in magic, they were treasures of inestimable worth.
Dragons covet treasures above all else.
Caesar maintained his majestic dragon's cold facade, but inwardly, he was elated. As a dragon, his greed for treasure was insatiable, and this marked his very first personal trove. Within the Red Dragoness' lair, he glimpsed wondrous riches which the detestable dragoness would share not a single gem, no matter how he groveled or begged.
One day, he vowed, those riches would be his.
Relief washed over the Griffin Knights' leader when Caesar showed a slight sign of satisfaction. Although Duke Cassius now commanded the bulk of the Silvermoon Kingdom's might and feared not a young Red Dragon, slaying one was no trivial matter, and should they fail, the Duke's fall was inevitable.
Signaling to his men, the leader prepared to whisk Princess Diana away—when suddenly, a flame-tinged, azure hawk blocked their exit. With fearsome talons and feathers steel-tinged, some adorned with red dragon scales, the Aurora Hawk radiated both tempest and flame, exuding divinity with its 16-meter girth. Enhanced by draconic blood, it rivaled, if not surpassed, Caesar in prowess; few young dragons stood a chance against it.
"Threaten me?" Caesar sneered. "Threaten the great Caesar? Humans, your very lives, from this moment on, are no longer your own!"
The Aurora Hawk had now fully embraced its dragon bloodline.
Ceasing his pretense, Caesar glowered at the Griffin Knights, who had become unwittingly trapped. They were rich and ripe for plunder, and it would have been a sin against draconic nature not to covet them. Delaying them served merely to prevent their escape. Now, their fate was all but sealed—the prospect of their survival, slim to none.
The showdown was swift and one-sided.
The Griffin squadron could not escape the pincer strike, and one by one, they fell—last of all, the squadron leader, who, despite valiant struggle, met his end.
The might of the dragon was a truth universally acknowledged (and feared), the reason they balked at instigating a fight. Akin to the power disparity between cards of different mana cost in a bygone game, a dragon and a human—even of the same rank—were incomparable.
This was the hierarchy of life...
Imperturbable scales, terrifying majesty, obliteration breath, formidable magic and physical talents... Dragons, perched atop the biological echelon, surpassed humans in every aspect. Unless armored with phenomenal magic equipment or possessing a special top-tier vocation, humans were hard-pressed to challenge a dragon—that stood as a collective truth across the entire continent.