In the southern part of the Atlan continent, within the royal palace of the Kingdom of Lothern.
"Gorton, what has stimulated you again?"
Princess Elena, wearing a golden-white crown and a moon-white dress, pushed the door open and entered, seeing the fat Iron Dragon who was constantly rolling over and getting up, exercising in a way that was completely out of character.
"How can a noble Dragon rely on external objects? At the very least, I must be able to fly on my own."
Gorton recalled the physique and posture of the Red-Iron Dragon that he admired and longed for, then slowly rolled over again; his massive, heavy body pressing against the ground caused magical runes to light up.
"You are so cute when you are chubby; there is no need to deliberately lose weight."
Princess Elena walked up, patted the Iron Dragon's plump belly, and said.
In her eyes, a Dragon of normal physique appeared slightly fierce; the current appearance of the Iron Dragon Gorton was just right, looking quite harmless and cute.
"Alright, fine."
Feeling the soreness in his body and hearing Elena's words, Gorton deflated and collapsed onto the ground.
"My mission is to please Elena and make her happy. She likes how I look now, so I must continue to maintain it. Yes, I am bearing the burden for the sacred and glorious cause of the Dragonkin, not because I lack the determination to lose weight."
He thought to himself secretly.
Elena skillfully leaned against the Iron Dragon, feeling the cool, metal-like touch of the Iron Dragon's scales, and quietly began reading a Spell book.
Gorton assumed the role of a recliner and did not disturb the Princess.
However, it wasn't long before the Iron Dragon Gorton noticed that the Princess was distracted, subconsciously tearing the corner of the Spell book.
"Elena, is something on your mind?"
The Iron Dragon sensed the Princess's anxiety and asked considerately.
"The kingdom is in a turbulent period, and I want to contribute to Lothern, but I am being protected like a porcelain doll."
Elena extended her palm, and with just a soft whisper, scorching flames ignited.
"The subjects might think I am a weak princess with no power to truss a chicken, one who needs protection."
"But in reality, it is not so. The blood of the great Holy King flows within me; I am an Advanced Spellcaster, proficient in the Evocation School, which represents destruction and ruin."
"The Spells I construct and cast can instantly end small-scale conflicts and wars, allowing soldiers to shed less blood."
She flipped her hand and extinguished the magical flames, murmuring: "But what is the use? I am still treated as a vase, like a canary cherished by my father, who cannot bear for me to lose a single feather."
Oh, my naive Princess.
When you go to the battlefield, see severed limbs everywhere, rivers of blood, and hear the cries of thousands amidst the carnage, you will likely tremble all over, unable to concentrate, and unable to construct a single Spell.
Gorton thought this to himself, but said nothing, just listening quietly.
He knew very well that what Elena needed right now was a listener.
And when Elena finished pouring out her heart and her mood improved, Gorton was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked: "Elena, if you did not need to appear in person, but with your support, you could make the soldiers of your kingdom shed less blood and strike at other enemy nations, would you be willing to pay the price for that?"
"Of course."
The Princess said firmly, without any hesitation.
Immediately, she stared at the Iron Dragon and said: "Why do you ask that suddenly? Do you have a good solution?"
Thinking of the Red-Iron Dragon's instructions, Gorton gave a dry laugh: "Just asking casually."
The fat on his cheeks concealed the change in the Iron Dragon's expression.
Elena did not think much of it; she simply flew up lightly with a wave of magical fluctuation, then lay on the Iron Dragon's cold and broad back, lying on her back and resuming her reading of the Spell book.
The Borderlands, in the northeast, the Ten Thousand Snakes Swamp.
The sunlight that could illuminate Dragon Valley and shine upon Garros could not pierce through the thick miasma and the dense forest rooted in the swamp here.
Even just on the outskirts, a dark, foul, and chilly odor rushed toward one's face, making one feel a sense of lethal danger.
Fortunately, the Iron Dragon Sorog was not a frail human, so when his sharp claws crushed a few withered branches and he landed on the outskirts of the swamp, he approached slowly with steady and calm strides.
"Dragon, halt! Ahead is the territory of the Poison Tail Tribe."
With a rustling sound, pairs of vertical, cold snake pupils lit up from the dark swamp.
The Snake Man guards gripped their swords, and Demonic Energy coiled around the bone staffs of the shaman Spellcasters; Spells were ready to be unleashed at any moment.
Hiss, hiss, hiss. The muffled hissing sounds were incessant, and in the standoff between the Snake Men and the Iron Dragon, the atmosphere suddenly became tense.
Solrog was no longer what he once was; he did not get angry at the Snake Men's presumption. Instead, he stopped walking, stayed quietly in place, and said calmly: "Notify your leader that the Iron King of the Molten Iron Tribe has come to pay a visit."
His voice was like the clashing of forged iron, carrying the deep, resonant quality unique to Dragonkin.
"Please wait a moment."
The leading Snake Man shaman's eyes flickered, and he tapped his bone staff lightly on the ground.
In an instant, a small, translucent snake burrowed into the swamp, swimming backward at high speed.
Not long after, this small snake returned and burrowed into the Snake Man shaman's ear.
"The leader says that the Poison Tail Tribe welcomes Dragons who come with good intentions; please follow me."
The Iron Dragon's expression remained unchanged; led by a few guards, he walked with steady, vigorous strides, entering the Snake Men's base alone.
Inside the hollowed-out skull of a giant snake.
Seven Snake Man Elders were coiled on seats carved from stone, some male and some female, and the Snake Man leader situated on the main seat was a female with an extremely beautiful face and alluring, enchanting eyes.
Her skin was delicate and white as snow, almost glowing against the backdrop of the dark swamp.
Her lower body was exceptionally long, with a snake tail exceeding ten meters in length, covered on the surface with fine, smooth, light green snake scales that looked like jade.
The most special feature was this.
On her humanoid upper body, there were six arms; the arms were long and slender, but the stretching of the well-proportioned muscles revealed an extraordinary power.
Six-Armed Snake Woman — an Advanced variant among the Snake Men.
The origins of the Snake Men are debated, with two main theories widely accepted: one is that they are the evil offspring left behind when the Six-Armed Serpent Demon of the Abyss invaded the Material Plane, and the second is that they are 'Land Nagas' gradually evolved after deep-sea Nagas came ashore.
But regardless of which it was.
The number of arms signified their power and nobility.
If they were Serpent Demon offspring, then six arms meant the atavism of demonic blood; if they were Nagas, six arms represented being favored and blessed by the gods.
And the moment he saw the Six-Armed Snake Woman.
The Iron Dragon was slightly taken aback at first, and then, as his gaze swept over the Snake Woman's long tail, emerald-like scales, flat and smooth abdomen, and beautiful humanoid upper body, he felt a nameless fire rise in his lower abdomen, and his body became slightly feverish.
Solrog had little interest in female Dragons.
He liked females who possessed both human and beast features.
The Six-Armed Snake Woman before him, with scales, a tail, and beautiful features, and who also possessed a deep and powerful aura, made him very interested.
Hooo — the Iron Dragon took a deep breath, suppressing his desires, and made himself calm down.
He had serious business to attend to here and could not let desire ruin things.
Moreover, the Six-Armed Snake Woman before him was clearly the leader of the Poison Tail Tribe; although her posture was lazy and casual, it instinctively made the Iron Dragon feel danger, and there was a high probability that he was not her match.
"Dragon of the Molten Iron, welcome."
The Six-Armed Snake Woman coiled on the main seat spoke lazily: "I am Naris — the current leader of the Poison Tail Tribe."
Three pairs of arms were folded in front of the Snake Woman's chest like overlapping petals; she scrutinized the Iron Dragon and said with a half-smile: "The mud of the Poison Tail Tribe cannot accommodate the spreading of a Dragon's wings; please remember to restrain yourself."
These words were soft but carried thorns, yet the Snake Woman's expression was very composed.
However, beneath her composed and lazy expression, the Psion Dragon sensed feelings of tension and wariness; clearly, the true emotions of the Snake Woman Naris were not as calm as she appeared.
"Very good. For things like negotiations, it is best when the target is a creature that understands awe; brainless barbarians can only rely on sharp claws to speak."
The Iron Dragon thought to himself and grinned.
Even surrounded by snakes, the Iron Dragon did not fearfully retract his wings.
On the contrary, he provocatively spread his pair of dragon wings fully; the huge and hard dragon wings snapped two swamp trees in half, causing them to fall into the swamp and splash up muddy water.
The atmosphere instantly became frozen and deathly silent.
The Snake Men's pupils stared coldly at the Iron Dragon, as if they would swarm up in the next second to coil around him and tear him to shreds.