Translator: AnubisTL
Garos spread his wings and spiraled upward through the night-shrouded air.
The air currents above Needleleaf Valley carried the pungent, acrid scent of sulfur.
He adjusted his altitude, allowing the shadow cast by his dragon wings to sweep across the treetops without disturbing the creatures below.
Looking down, Garos observed Earthstorm Bears dozing in the valley or scratching their backs against the rough, rocky terrain.
Mobel, the newly appointed Earthstorm Bear Chieftain, was currently among the female bears, nuzzling their heads and licking their fur to cultivate camaraderie.
He spotted Samantha, the Red Dragon, bending over to tease ants, engrossed in childish games.
The solitary dragon seemed perfectly content in her own world.
He also noticed Vera, the Fairy Dragon, lying on a treetop branch, her wings and tail drooping. She slept precariously, swaying as if about to fall, yet always stopping just short, tempting one to push her over the edge.
From this height, Garos could observe the details of the terrain below with clarity, all while remaining undetected.
"Let's check on my neighbors," he murmured.
After circling the valley three times, Garos chose a northeastern direction and began his reconnaissance.
Under the cover of darkness, he soared through the flowing winds and drifting clouds.
His massive wings beat steadily, controlling his speed and movements to avoid drawing attention.
His gaze remained fixed on the ground below.
Mountains, wastelands, forests, and lakes—the diverse landscapes reflected in Garos's dragon eyes.
He observed silently, noticing numerous ferocious beasts and demonic creatures hunting under the cover of night.
The Sierre Wilderness was a paradise for such creatures.
In contrast, the number of tribes and clans formed by intelligent species was relatively small, and their existence here was precarious. Only the most ferocious and powerful wilderness tribes managed to survive.
Time slipped by with each beat of Garos's wings.
About half an hour later, concealed within the clouds, Garos fixed his gaze downward, his vertical pupils locking onto a crescent-shaped valley below.
At the valley floor, in an area untouched by moonlight, a group of bluish-gray-skinned creatures stirred.
They walked upright, adults standing over two meters tall.
Their hunched backs bulged with exaggerated muscular curves, their bodies covered in a layer of steel-needle-like fur. Gray manes resembling those of male lions framed their necks, and their protruding snouts bristled with crisscrossing fangs.
These were Graymane Werewolves, a branch of the werewolf lineage.
Legend held that the ancestors of werewolves had once been human.
Having offended the moon goddess, they were cursed to transform into bloodthirsty, half-human, half-wolf monstrosities. Another theory claimed that the werewolves' ancestors had conducted forbidden dark experiments, transforming themselves into their current forms.
From ancient times to the present, werewolves have evolved into numerous distinct branches.
Some werewolves can maintain a human form in their daily lives, their speech and intelligence indistinguishable from ordinary humans. However, when provoked or bathed in the light of the full moon, they transform into half-human, half-wolf creatures, their bloodlust and ferocity unleashed.
The Graymane Werewolves, who dwell year-round in the wilderness, have long abandoned their human forms entirely. They live perpetually in their werewolf state, possessing both savage instincts and human-like intelligence.
When exposed to the full moon's radiance or teetering on the brink of death under intense emotional stress, they undergo a further transformation, becoming colossal Giant Wolves. Their combat prowess surges dramatically, but they gradually lose their rationality, becoming completely immersed in battle and slaughter.
In Crescent Moon Valley, dwellings constructed from hardwood and stone stand clustered together. The outer walls are built from stacked marble slabs, held together by layers of mud and adhesive mortar.
Within the enclosure, on a clearing adjacent to the valley's rocky cliffs, adult werewolves are training their young. They hurl heavy, iron-hard birch logs into the air, and the cubs leap three meters high, their sharp, immature teeth tearing deep gouges into the wood.
"Far more diligent than dragonkind whelps," Garros thought silently. "At least these ones know how to train."
Garos thought to himself.
Dragonkind possessed an abundance of innate gifts.
From birth, every dragon knew they were destined to stand at the pinnacle, far beyond the reach of most. Yet this very privilege bred laziness among them, making individuals like Garos exceedingly rare.
Back in the territory of the iron dragon maiden,
Red Dragon Samantha and Iron Dragon Gordon,
spent their days lounging about, doing nothing but eating and sleeping. Even though their inheritance contained invaluable knowledge that would drive ordinary mortals to madness with desire, they never bothered to actively seek it out or study it, let alone train their bodies or hone their claws and fangs.
Could it be that evil dragons drive their young offspring away precisely to force them to overcome their inherent laziness through the pressures of the external environment?
A hypothesis flashed through Garos's mind.
But after further consideration, he dismissed it as wishful thinking.
It was far more likely that evil dragon mothers simply couldn't be bothered to care for their offspring.
Garos refocused his attention, his gaze sweeping across Crescent Moon Valley.
Perched atop the territory's walls were crooked bone towers.
A Graymane Werewolf sentinel stood atop a bone tower, a longbow slung across his back. His eyes, unaffected by the darkness, swept the surroundings with a wolfish gaze, ears twitching as he listened intently for any suspicious rustling or movement.
Further out, werewolf cavalry riders patrolled on their Giant Wolves.
When they stopped to rest, they prioritized feeding and watering their mounts over their own needs. Some even showed unusually intimate behavior, nuzzling each other and grooming each other's fur.
This wasn't the typical bond between a knight and his mount.
Garos noticed this.
At first, he was puzzled. Then, after searching through his inherited knowledge, he understood.
If werewolves remained in their Giant Wolf form for too long, they would gradually succumb to their bestial instincts, losing themselves completely and becoming ferocious beasts unable to revert to their human forms.
Only werewolves with the closest blood ties could soothe them, establishing a mental connection through their shared bloodline.
In Graymane Werewolf societies, where werewolves had fully embraced their bestial nature, knights and their mounts often shared a blood bond.
Originally, they might have been mates, fathers and sons, or brothers.
Because of these familial bonds, the knights and their mounts shared an unusually close relationship, their coordination far more seamless and powerful than that of ordinary knights.
"This territory has over thirty Giant Wolf Knights. Excluding cubs and juveniles, the number of adult werewolves must exceed a hundred."
"We haven't yet spotted their leader or any shamans."
Garos, concealed within the clouds, silently assessed the strength of this 'neighbor'.
For a tribe of this size, one would typically expect at least one shaman. Garos also noticed totem poles towering within their territory.
His gaze continued to sweep across the land, and when it reached the western corner of Crescent Moon Valley, his eyes narrowed.
He spotted the wreckage of a metal transport vehicle, covered in bite marks and claw tears. Several wolf cubs were using the scrap metal to sharpen their teeth.
This Graymane Werewolf tribe had raided merchant caravans passing through the Thousand Serpents' Trace.
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗚𝗢𝗡) on the Site till Ch126. (64 Chapters Ahead)
💲Read upto Ch72 for ABSOLUTELY 𝙁𝙍𝙀𝙀! ℕ𝕠 𝕃𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕟
⚡14 Novels | 8.8k+ Chapters | 14.8M+ Words [𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐥.𝐜𝐨𝐦]