Chapter 62: Awakening (Part 3)
The bounty on the Red Dragon had now reached ten thousand gold coins—enough to make heads turn even in the wealthy southern realms. Not only in the flourishing Franco-Del Empire, but also in the prosperous port city of Victoria Bay, that sum was nothing short of staggering—especially for the impoverished adventurers of the North.
That kind of money could build a young Mage his very own Wizard Tower, or afford a Warrior a set of magical equipment meant to be passed down through generations.
Perhaps it was the Lakanman Family’s deliberate propaganda, but Ashen Hollow had been painted as a land both perilous and rich beyond measure. Legends spoke of the Dragon Vale, where the greedy Red Dragon hoarded treasures that flowed like rivers of gold—though no one truly believed such ballads spun by wandering Minstrels, the tales had nonetheless planted a deep-seated illusion in the hearts of adventurers: Ashen Hollow was a land of wealth.
And so, countless adventurers came—fueled by greed and dreams of glory. From the northern cities, they arrived in droves, hearts ablaze with courage, marching toward Storm Ridge in great numbers. Yet few ever returned.
Of course, not all were reckless fools. Some came prepared. Like this group of twenty, now crouched behind a jagged outcrop of stone—so still, so silent, that even the wind dared not stir.
“Everyone finished the Invisibility Potion?”
“Yeah.”
“Breath Concealment Potion? Ready?”
The voice belonged to a young Mage in his twenties, draped in a deep purple robe, holding a hollow wooden staff. His eyes darted nervously. His name was Bennett—of noble blood from Victoria Bay, who had hired a seasoned mercenary band and spent months preparing for this moment.
According to intelligence from Northwind Keep, the dragon had been sleeping for a long time.
Bennett scoffed. “You’re overthinking this, Ivan. It’s just a young dragon—what’s there to fear even if it is a Red Dragon?”
The burly warrior beside him, his body carved by scars and sinew, laughed. “We’ve spoken to survivors. They were trembling in fear, even after surviving a near-miss.” He grinned. “And your Divination Spell confirmed the reports. Honestly, it’s laughable—just a juvenile dragon, and they’re already acting like they’ve seen a god.”
His name was Ivan—a grizzled warrior from the Franco-Del Empire, who once led a thirty-man party to slay a full-grown Green Dragon. He lived for legends like this.
The cloaked figure at the edge of the group, face hidden in shadow, spoke quietly.
“About eight meters long. A breath weapon with pinpoint accuracy. Aside from the exaggerations, nothing extraordinary.”
Vincent. A thief from a notorious guild.
Ivan chuckled. “It’s not that the dragon’s strong. It’s just that the North has been weak for too long. They can’t even defeat the white beasts, let alone a Red Dragon.”
He leaned in, smug. “But we’re different. I’m a dragon-slayer.”
Bennett snapped. “Damn it, Ivan—cut the boasting. Even a young Red Dragon isn’t some easy prey. And besides…” His voice dropped. “He’s built an entire empire.”
“We’re sneaking in. Silent. Kill the sleeping dragon. Then take everything in his treasure vault. Understood? If the chance doesn’t come, we don’t engage the dragon—just go straight for the vault.”
Ivan snorted. “Sneak like a Shadow-thief? I don’t cower when I slay dragons.”
Vincent, usually silent, finally snapped. “Shut your foul mouth before I shut it for you.”
Ivan bristled, ready to retort—until Bennett cut him off with a sharp, “Shh!”
He pointed ahead. A patrol of Great Goblins was returning—marching in formation, their massive forms casting long shadows across the rocky ground.
Bennett whispered, “Follow them. They’ll lead us straight to the Dragon Vale.”
“Damn… these Great Goblins are huge. They look like miniature dragons. And they’re wearing armor—those must be the ‘Dragon’s Claws’ the Northerners talk about.”
“Stay hidden. No direct confrontation.”
The adventurers trailed the patrol through the winding path, until the valley came into view.
They crouched behind a jagged boulder on the slope, eyes fixed on the fortress before them.
The Rockfort loomed—a fortress of stone and iron. Great Goblins stood guard in disciplined ranks. Trebuchets and ballistae lined the walls. Towering watchtowers pierced the sky. And above it all, a two-headed dragon circled in the air, its wings casting dark shadows.
“By Kanas… this is a fortress,” Ivan murmured, awestruck.
Though he’d seen grander walls in the Empire, he never expected to find such a stronghold in a Monster’s nest.
“No,” Tristan, the silent Paladin, spoke at last, his brow furrowed. “This is a fortress. Humans must be working with them. No Monster could build this.”
Bennett stared at the Rockfort, his expression conflicted. On one hand, it confirmed their suspicions—this place was rich beyond measure. But on the other… how would they escape?
After a moment, he spoke. “You’ve all seen it. These aren’t just common Goblins. These are elite. If we engage them head-on, we’re dead. We go in silently. No mistakes.”
“ROOOOAAARRR!”
A distant roar split the air.
“Dragon’s call?”
“Is it awake?”
Bennett’s pulse spiked. Months of planning. Thousands of gold coins spent. This was a gamble with everything on the line. He couldn’t afford failure now.
Ivan, though uneasy, pressed forward. “What’s there to fear? A young dragon. Just lure it out of the nest.”
Crack.
His boot landed on the ground—and suddenly, ancient runes flared to life beneath his foot. Fire erupted in a violent burst.
“No—Guardian Glyph!”
“Get back!”
Bennett raised his staff, shouting a spell he’d already prepared.
“Protection from Energy Damage!”
A shimmering, translucent barrier flared around the group—just in time. The firestorm washed over them, and though the shield held, Ivan’s leading foot was already blackened and charred. He cried out in agony.
Bennett wiped sweat from his brow, heart pounding.
“Damn it… why is there magic here?”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
