Before falling unconscious, the Flower Knight pleaded with Garros to stop the war. However, Garros felt no ripples in his heart and did not issue any ceasefire order as the knight had wished.
The Red-Iron Dragon dropped the human knight onto the ground before him, then poked at him a few times as if he were a toy.
After confirming that the knight was indeed in a deep coma and unresponsive, Garros's heavy claws slowly lifted and lightly stepped on the human's frail body.
Just in case, if this shell showed the slightest abnormality, Garros's claws would instantly stomp down and crush it completely.
Then, Garros lowered his massive head, his eyes reflecting the battlefield below, stained with blood and fire.
Human warriors and the subordinates of The Dragon Flight were still clashing fiercely; the roars, the sounds of weapons colliding, and the explosions of Spells were incessant, tearing the night apart.
Perhaps due to the Albert Family's long-term brainwashing and harsh military discipline, the Count's elite private army, despite being completely suppressed and suffering heavy casualties with their defensive line crumbling, showed no signs of collapse at this moment.
Those human warriors in tattered armor were like trapped beasts in a desperate situation, screaming hysterically in despair, shouting for the illusory glory of their Family, and throwing themselves into hopeless, suicidal battles one after another.
Garros knew very well that in such a situation, if he ordered a ceasefire, the vast majority of his subordinates would stop fighting immediately due to their absolute awe and loyalty to him.
But what about the enemy? Garros could almost conclude that these warriors, brainwashed by Family honor, would not only refuse to stop but would very likely seize this momentary respite to launch an even more ferocious counterattack.
Garros could accept his subordinates dying in the cruel tempering of blood and fire, because the battlefield itself was the harshest furnace; any warrior who could survive this Hell would surely be tempered into something stronger and more resilient.
A calm, waveless sea could never cultivate truly agile and fearless sailors, and a greenhouse could never produce tough flowers capable of withstanding storms.
The elite army that the Molten Iron Tribe prided itself on was born and grew in these countless life-and-death struggles.
However, even if ten Flower Knights knelt before him begging, he would never make the foolish decision to risk the lives of his loyal subordinates just to care for the insignificant lives of the enemy.
True benevolence should never come at the cost of betraying one's own kin.
As time passed, under the Red-Iron Dragon's silent gaze, the noise and roars on the battlefield finally drew to a close.
Bang! A dull, massive impact sound rang out suddenly.
Taking advantage of the gap when General Evil Wolf had just barely managed to block a heavy strike from Iron Dragon Sorog's dragon claw, Red Dragon Samantha, like a predator that had been waiting for the opportunity, launched a fatal pounce from behind.
She turned her massive, hard, and incredibly heavy body into a weapon, slamming it fiercely into the back of General Evil Wolf, who was covered in rune armor.
Outnumbered, this powerful Rune Knight was stretched thin; he had no time to turn around, nor to maneuver his large shield inscribed with protection runes to block.
The overwhelming Great Strength instantly destroyed his balance, smashing his strong body hard into the ground.
He struggled wretchedly, and just as he managed to turn his body over, his vision was filled with dark shadows.
Three massive shadows descended from the sky simultaneously.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Three consecutive dull, massive thuds, as if the earth's heart had been struck, exploded outward.
The hard ground shook violently, and thick dust rose like an explosion, instantly swallowing that area.
From within the dust, there were faint, harsh sounds of metal twisting and runes wailing.
When a gust of wind swept through the smoke, slightly dispersing the thick dust, Iron Dragon Sorog's giant claw was firmly gripping a dying figure, fragile as a candle in the wind.
General Evil Wolf's proud rune armor was already shattered, his rune greatsword and sturdy large shield had long since been knocked away, and the glowing runes on his body were collapsing and fading one after another like extinguished candles.
His magnificent body, which had expanded due to secret arts, was now rapidly shrinking, returning to the fragile physique of an ordinary human.
The battle on the other side had also settled. The Frost Deer Lord's Cold Blade Storm, like countless flying ice razors, shredded the Protector Mage's barrier.
Before this mage could construct another Spell to protect himself, a white shadow as fast as lightning had already torn through the battlefield.
The White Tiger Lord leapt in with a sharp whistle that tore through the air, and its sharp claws, shimmering with cold light, precisely pinned down the Protector Mage's body, which was trembling with fear.
Almost at the same time, the Alchemist proficient in firearms also met her defeat.
The Giant Snake Lord's massive body, covered in sturdy scales, pushed through the Alchemist's relentless gunfire—which only left faint white marks on the scales—like a mudslide crushing everything in its path, forcing its way to the front.
A huge, cold snake tail whipped out, like the most flexible steel cable, instantly wrapping tightly around and binding the Alchemist.
The surrounding human mid-level commanders, such as the heavy armor infantry commander, cavalry captain, and so on, were also trapped in a desperate situation, unable to save themselves.
They were surrounded by rampaging Ogres, swift Centaur Warriors, bloodthirsty giant wolves... every swing of their weapons proved futile.
Just a few seconds later, the situation was no longer in doubt. The Protector Mage was motionless under the White Tiger's claws, the Alchemist was pale-faced, bound by the giant snake, and with General Evil Wolf breathing his last in Solrog's claws, all the top-level leaders of the Albert Family's elite private army were captured without exception.
At this moment, witnessing all their leaders defeated and captured, the last pillar of morale in the remaining human warriors finally collapsed and shattered completely.
On the other side, Garros, standing at the edge of the battlefield, caught this decisive moment.
He suddenly raised his head, crowned with rugged dragon horns, his chest heaving, and let out a majestic dragon roar that pierced the night sky, declaring victory and the end.
The sound waves, containing the will of the Dragon Lord, swept across the chaotic battlefield like invisible ripples.
The kin who received this clear command immediately understood.
Iron Dragon Sorog circled and ascended into mid-air, holding the captive, his voice, heavy and cold like clashing steel, echoed across the entire battlefield, drowning out all moans and wails.
"Those who kneel shall live! Those who stand shall die!"
These eight words slammed heavily into the heart of every surviving human warrior.
Hearing this, the vast majority of warriors, who had long since lost the will to resist, immediately dropped their weapons to save their lives, their knees slamming hard onto the blood-soaked ground as they bowed their heads deeply.
The few stubborn ones, deeply brainwashed by Family honor and attempting a final desperate struggle, had their fates already sealed.
Cold blades fell mercilessly, hot blood sprayed, and their heads rolled to the ground. The warm blood meandered across the earth, eventually converging into dark red, pungent streams.
Garros observed carefully, counting the captives, and finally tallied about several dozen.
However, it was no coincidence that these people survived until the end.
Most of them were the elite among the elite of this private army, battle-hardened veterans who formed the backbone, mixed with a few mid-level leaders who had luckily survived.
Leaving these people alive was, of course, not because of the Flower Knight's pale request.
Long before leading the army into battle, Garros had already thought about the aftermath.
He knew very well that living, valuable captives were sometimes far more meaningful than cold corpses.
Especially the three high-level leaders on the captive list—the Rune Knight, the Alchemist, and the Protection Mage.
Cultivating such three top-tier professionals must have cost the Albert Family countless generations of accumulated wealth and resources.
The Family's former Marquis patriarch had been a great general in the army, and their Foundation was far beyond that of an ordinary Count Family.
If not for this, it would have been impossible to cultivate such a powerful private military force.
"Only at this moment do I truly possess the qualifications to negotiate." Garros mused in his heart.
He knew better than anyone that the competition at the negotiating table was never about verbal skills, but about the chips in one's hand and the strength behind them. The Molten Iron Tribe had already proven its power with a complete victory.
From now on, the Albert Family would inevitably be like sleeping on thorns, unable to eat or sleep in peace.
It is worth emphasizing that Garros was naturally suspicious and lacked a sense of security.
He instinctively tended to destroy all enemies completely, cutting off the roots to prevent future trouble.
Indeed, the Albert Family's core Foundation, managed for many years, was located in the south, with intertwined forces, while the Molten Iron Tribe, mainly located in the Serel Wilderness, was indeed out of reach for a short time and could not be uprooted directly.
He could tolerate the Albert Family's continued existence on the map for the time being.
But given Garros's personality, once he accumulated enough power, or found an effective way to cross regional restrictions and launch a fatal blow, he would undoubtedly, without hesitation, wipe out this enemy that had repeatedly opposed him at the first opportunity, uprooting them entirely.
Not long after, the noisy battlefield fell completely silent, leaving only the pungent smell of blood and smoke lingering in the air.
Whether survivors or cold corpses, the alchemical armor and fine weapons that once shone on the Albert private soldiers were meticulously stripped off by the warriors of the Molten Iron Tribe and looted clean.
The battlefield was also efficiently cleaned by the tribe's warriors; all valuable Materials were collected and classified, while useless debris was disposed of collectively.
Dozens of dejected, numb-looking captives were bound in shackles and, under the threat of the tribal warriors' sharp blades, were escorted on the road back to Ximu Town.
When several dragons spread their wings, sweeping over Ximu Town like a sky-covering cloud, and when those captured private soldiers, along with mountains of blood-stained armor and broken weapons, were displayed before the townspeople, the residents of this place realized more truly the terrifying power possessed by the Molten Iron Tribe.
People who had been making a living in the chaotic land of the Scale-Earth Rift Road for years almost all knew about the feud between the Molten Iron Tribe and the Albert Family.
They also knew clearly: the Molten Iron Tribe's retaking of the Scale-Earth Rift Road would inevitably invite the Albert Family's crusade sooner or later.
And now, this expected crusade had met an indisputable, crushing defeat.
The Molten Iron Tribe, which had disappeared for more than twenty years, had returned, its sharpness and momentum even greater than before.
The young Green Dragon who usually resided in Ximu Town and was responsible for daily affairs here now seemed as weak and fragile as a tame chick compared to the few dragons that had just swept across the sky, exuding profound dragon might.
The townspeople suddenly realized that the Young Dragon was probably just an insignificant small leader in this massive Dragon Flight, far from being the true core power.
How huge was the true scale of this Dragon Flight? What they had displayed on this land was likely just the tip of the iceberg, a mere glimpse of its full strength.
Amidst the complex emotions of the Ximu Town residents—a mix of shock, awe, and a sense of security arising from the presence of a powerful protector—time passed quietly, arriving a few days later.
Because the size and structure of the armor and weapons used by the human warriors were basically completely incompatible with the physique of the Molten Iron Tribe's burly and tall kin warriors, forcing their use would only be counterproductive.
If they were all thrown into the furnace to be melted into raw Materials and then recast, it would consume a massive amount of valuable time and energy from the tribe's blacksmiths.
After weighing the options, the Molten Iron Tribe made a decision.
Thus, the adventurers in Ximu Town who licked blood from the edge of blades were pleasantly surprised to find that in the center of the town square, armor shimmering with the light of Alchemy Rune, finely forged spears of fine steel, rune battle blades inscribed with energy patterns—these high-quality equipment and weapons were actually being sold openly at marked prices.
Although most of the equipment inevitably had gaps and varying degrees of wear from the fierce battle, the selling price was adjusted accordingly based on the specific degree of damage, appearing exceptionally affordable.
And the equipment these adventurers scrambled to buy was only a small portion.
The real major buyers were the major merchant groups traveling through the Scale-Earth Rift Road.
With the atmosphere within the Federation becoming increasingly tense and conflicts surging, high-quality weapons and equipment were in short supply, already hot items that were priceless and hard to find, and they were not worried about sales at all.
Just like this, adventurers and merchants each obtained the armaments and profits they desperately needed, while the Molten Iron Tribe harvested wealth and resources.
Those shimmering gold coins would not be completely hoarded by Garros for appreciation.
They would be like a rolling snowball, as subsequent trade continued to unfold, continuously converting into strategic resources urgently needed by the tribe: turning into sturdy Alchemy Workshop rising from the ground, becoming defensive fortifications standing tall at strategic points, and becoming watchtowers on the perimeter piercing the sky, allowing the Molten Iron Tribe to plant an unshakable Foundation, deeper and more stable, in this perilous land they had regained.