The Onset of War!

Gazing upon the highly elite human army, Cyrion drew a sharp breath of cold air, eyes filled with shock: "By the gods of Hatred and Slaughter, what on earth could these humans be intending to do?"

Cyrion was fairly acquainted with humans due to the jackalmen's innate laziness and savagery, coupled with their aversion to labor-intensive work. Most of the time, they ventured from the Karl Mountains to plunder human resources. Prior to his allegiance to Caesar, Cyrion and his fellow jackalmen often engaged in such behavior. Preferring to prey on frail humans rather than face powerful magical creatures.

Even some jackalmen with greater intellect would join adventurer parties, battling to satiate their hunger. Though unruly and challenging to control, it was undeniable that jackalmen made for exceptional mercenaries and scouts when compared to human warriors—as long as they were well-fed.

The Jackalman Tribes' power, insignificant within the Karl Mountains, was notable for their intelligence, unmatched by other magical creatures. They learned languages with ease, including Common Tongue, Orcish, Goblinese, Trollese, and even Draconic, which made dealings with humans quite ordinary.

Sometimes, the climate in the Karl Mountains became inhospitable for weaker species. Cyrion had led his tribe to serve the noble lords of human territories, acting as their enforcers, suppressing rebellious slaves for substantial food rewards.

He had seen the armies of those noble lords. When compared to this army, they resembled nothing more than a herd of weak sheep ripe for the ravenous wolves, which would show no mercy.

Fully armed warriors in heavy armor, nimble forest rangers, delicate-looking priests, gunners carrying cannons, the flight-capable Griffin Knights, and most crucially, the spellcasters...

Such an army's presence seemed particularly ominous. Not just for tackling large magical creatures, some might even believe they were off to hunt dragons.

"It must be for the master," thought Cyrion with a growing unease.

It was common knowledge that dragons were apex magical creatures in the multiverse, their very parts highly coveted for magic—scales, talons, blood, bones, horns, and even dragon bile. Dragons were walking treasures, and human avarice was nothing out of the ordinary.

But now, this formidable elite group had appeared just at the perimeters of the Karl Mountains. Denying their nefarious scheme was out of the question for Cyrion. Even though dragons were mighty, they were not invincible. If a human kingdom set its heart on a dragon hunt, even an adult dragon could face serious threats of demise.

Leading the military procession was a human knight cloaked in a red cape, mounted atop a robust magical beast. Rustling a sky-blue mane and dark chestnut horn, this creature seemed enshrouded by whirlwinds, its hooves never touching the ground. A sight to behold indeed.

Cyrion recognized the species: a Hippogryph. A lower-tier magical being, reaching third rank at adulthood, capable of harnessing elemental wind—fierce and typically subdued only by those of true strength.

Before undergoing his Dragon Vein transformation, Cyrion believed himself unlikely to defeat such a person, as even a mid-tier creature had trouble taming these tempestuous beings. The strength of the knight atop the Hippogryph implied formidable prowess.

This knight, none other than a legion commander of the Silvermoon Kingdom, displayed an imposing stature even amongst the jackalmen—muscular and clad in a metallic helmet, only a pair of piercing eagle-like eyes visible, exuding a commanding presence.

Based on Cyrion's estimate, the man was likely a high-ranking knight. On the Emerald Continent, such knights, despite being overclassed by high-ranking magicians, still held formidable close-combat prowess.

A single high-ranking knight—with the augmentation of various mid to low-ranking spellcasters—could rival an adult dragon in direct combat, their amplified bodies capable of becoming the bedrock of any human kingdom.

As Cyrion kept a distant watch, the knight suddenly inquired to a nearby cloaked mage, "Riels, how much longer until we reach that Red Dragon's lair?"

Cyrion's guess was spot-on: the army was indeed here for Caesar.

Riels, with closed eyes, spoke calmly, "Commander Zephyr, if we maintain our progress, it will be roughly three days until we arrive."

The group of over three thousand elite soldiers moved with caution to ensure the capture of the vile dragon while avoiding unintentional clashes with behemoth beasts—a decline in military strength. Their march timing allowed for avoiding many routes, otherwise, they could have quickened their approach.

"Hmm," nodded Zephyr, placing substantial trust in Riels' words.

Riels, of the Sixth-Ring and a mid-ranking spellcaster, specialized in prophecy, renowned for revealing truths—his spells penetrated illusions and grasped fragments of future events, be they ancient secrets or locations of hidden treasures.

Yet, pinpointing a dragon's whereabouts was no trivial task. The vast extent of the Karl Mountains had taken him over a month to trace inklings leading to the correct path, culminating in today's firm directions.

"Holy Light, grant us your protection and victory once more," Zephyr silently prayed, an honorable knight indignant as to why Duke Cassius adamantly sanctioned a red yearling dragon's hunt, surrounded by such gravity.

Intelligence suggested a mere juvenile, stronger than drakelings yet still inherently commanding considered insignificant for a knight of Zephyr's stature.

Their experience with dragons was extensive,

Can dragons fly?

Their spellcasters could easily lock the skies, dragging the once-soaring creatures to the earthen clutches—each well-versed in draconic combat.

Impenetrable defense?

Not this time; alongside the seers, they brought shapers, wielding the devastating force of Fifth and Sixth-Ring shaping spells—enough to besiege even a dragon's magical immunities, artillery in human form.

Countless minions?

Their soldiers were no mere mortals.

Most were transcendent warriors, inheritors of ancestral bloodlines, whose bare hands could rend tigers and leopards, unstoppable by large magical beasts.

Such an army, even for a mature dragon, was a force to reckon with.