After hearing Garon's words, Ugga Breakbone's face lit up with ecstasy, his emotions fluctuating like a rollercoaster.
Minutes later, Garon performed the dragon vein transformation on six ogres, including Ugga Breakbone. While Ugga stood at three meters tall, the others ranged from two meters eighty to two meters ninety, all considered giants within the Breakbone tribe.
Garon was curious to see what dragon-veined ogres would look like.
However, the effects of the dragon vein transformation wouldn't manifest immediately. The ogres were now drowsy and would only truly become dragon-veined creatures after a slumber similar to that of dragons and waking up thereafter.
Without further delay, Garon gave some minor instructions and then, with a flap of his wings, stirred up a fierce wind and vanished into the starry night sky.
After soaring under the star-studded sky for a while, Garon returned to his glacial territory.
The ice river tribe, now lacking one polar ice spirit, carried on as usual, indifferent to the whereabouts of the one Garon had taken.
Being willing to become subjects of the chromatic dragon, they were mentally prepared for many things. Garon, as their lord, was actually considered quite benevolent—he at least didn't abuse his subjects without reason or slaughter them for amusement.
The term "subjects" sounded dignified, but in reality, it was just another name for servants. Garon held the power of life and death over them.
By chance, a hunting party composed of polar ice spirits, accompanied by fear lizards and white hounds, had just returned with their catch.
Three gigantic hoofed muskoxen, each bearing numerous wounds from frost or fireballs and barely clinging to life, were respectfully presented before Garon.
A few white hounds whimpered affectionately and nudged Garon's hanging dragon claws. The white hounds, with their ice-blue fur mixed with some black patterns, appeared round but not particularly cute. They possessed astonishingly large jaws filled with crisscrossing, sharp fangs, capable of powerful bites.
Additionally, the white hounds could breathe cold air and wield a sort of spell-like ability. Though weaker than the fear lizards, they were more numerous.
A litter could produce four or five pups, often in heat, with a reasonable breeding rate. In just over two months, the number of white hounds in the ice river territory had grown from fifty to over a hundred, becoming a main force in the hunting teams.
This creature, common in the northern ice plains, was the nightmare of many ordinary beasts, but in Garon's presence, they were as docile as domestic pets.
Garon carefully scratched the belly of an upturned white hound, watching as they panted with their tongues out. He tore off a chunk of muskox flesh and threw it to them.
He had to be careful while petting the smooth fur of the white hounds; a careless move could eviscerate them.
"Go eat."
The white hounds wagged their tails and surged forward to tear at the treat Garon had thrown.
Garon used his frost breath to freeze one of the muskoxen in ice, ate the other two directly, and then chewed the ice, swallowing the mixture of flesh, bone, and blood.
This was his preferred method of eating.
In the past, the three giant muskoxen would have satisfied Garon. But now, as his body was just short of the energy needed to enter slumber, he felt as if he had eaten nothing and was still craving more food.
With the other hunting teams not yet back, Garon had to find a way to gather the last bit of nutrients himself.
He folded his wings and dove with a splash into the flowing ice river.
The once calm winding river suddenly became turbulent, with dark currents swirling, a white figure rampaging below, chasing the native ice river sharks, which were about two to three meters long.
In Garon's relentless hunt, the poor little sharks stood no chance.
One by one, the tasty ice river sharks were devoured, and drowsiness gradually thickened in Garon's eyes.
Time passed, and the river remained turbulent, casting sparkling water droplets onto the shore, attracting the curious gaze of some polar ice spirits.
About an hour later, the raging river finally calmed down, but a faint crimson hue was now visible in the water, carrying a mild scent of blood.
Garon swallowed the last shark with some regret.
These ice river sharks were not numerous, but they were delicious. He had been keeping them for sustainable development, but today's actions meant they were on the verge of extinction in this area.
Had he not felt even sleepier after consuming several giant muskoxen and did not want to risk hunting magical creatures, he would not have focused on the ice river sharks.
Feeling a slight guilt, Garon thought
he might help the sharks if he got a chance in the future.
Without allowing himself too much reflection, a tide-like drowsiness washed over Garon's spirit.
He realized it was time to sleep.
With a flex of his body, as agile as a fish, Garon swiftly entered his underwater dragon lair.
"I hope this sleep grants me new temporal abilities."
He cradled the damaged armor and rusty sword, lay down on his ice bed, closed his eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.
While Garon was deep in his growth slumber, hundreds of kilometers to the south of his lair, beyond rugged mountains, through dark, dense forests, and across the desolate mountain ranges, and then traveling several hundred kilometers more to the south, a magnificent city could be seen.
Here, there was no phenomenon of polar days or nights; it was currently daytime.
Sunlight ideally cast a golden glow over the magnificent city.
Under normal circumstances, this scene would have been dreamily beautiful.
The tulip banners of the Duchy of Walk would have risen in the sunlight.
But today was different.
The city was littered with ruins, and cries of agony filled the air as elite soldiers clad in fine steel armor and mounted on tall war horses, armed with superior weapons, moved among the ruins and flames, slaughtering the citizens.
Blood blossomed on the ground, trampled by cavalry, forming ghastly patterns.
Despite the sunny weather, the Duchy of Walk, ravaged by war, seemed to be in a dark purgatory, with none of its citizens feeling warmth or comfort.
The invaders came from further south, from the Duchy of Mosha.
Both the Duchy of Walk and the Duchy of Mosha were part of the Kingdom of Dimo, ruled by the Duke of Tulips and the Duke of Thorns, respectively.
As the Kingdom of Dimo gradually declined, like a dying whale attracting hunters, each inch of its flesh was secretly reassigned and openly priced, its subordinate duchies were eager to devour the flesh of this aging beast.
After the kingdom's chief legendary mage reached the end of his life and fell, some duchies instigated warfare, engaging in bloody conflict with those still loyal to the Kingdom of Dimo.
The once-peaceful southern lands of the continent of Noah, weakened by the kingdom's decline, were engulfed in war once again, with smoke of gunpowder spreading across the southern continent.
The Duke of Tulips of the Duchy of Walk, belonging to the loyalist faction, faced defeat in battles against the Duchy of Mosha, especially since the latter had enlisted the help of a red dragon in high-stakes combat, leading to a steady accumulation of losses and a situation as dire as a collapsing mountain. Today, their city had been breached.
A thousand-strong cavalry unit of the Mosha Iron Riders broke through the streets, led by two high-ranking mages, steadily advancing towards the castle of the Duke of Tulips.
Before they could take action, an old mage, enveloped in a fiery red elemental glow, took off into the sky with a boy and a girl, both faces etched with panic and fear.
The sky-blocking spell set up in advance had no effect on the old mage.
The two high-ranking mages of the Duchy of Mosha immediately cast spells to pursue.
In the chase and escape that ensued, the group gradually moved further north.