For such a formidable legion of human warriors, Cyrion dared not approach too closely. But for the feral Magical Creatures lurking around, invariably setting their sights on this band of humans that had trespassed into the Karl Mountains, Cyrion would have been detected instantly by the sorcerers' surveillance spells.
He beckoned to a few Jackalmen, commanded by his dragon-touched whim, to retreat posthaste. With the natural dragonblood transformation coursing through their veins, these few subordinates had gradually sprouted a pair of spike-laden wings, not only granting them the invaluable gift of flight but also bestowing upon them an agility previously unfathomed.
The Jackalman is a species of imposing stature and bipedal defiance. They are a sight more menacing than Gnolls, perhaps best described as humanoid hyenas. The average Jackalman stands a formidable two meters tall, while these dragonblood ilk stretch to an overwhelming two and a half, and Cyrion himself looms at a towering three meters plus.
With wings to bear them aloft, these creatures could engage the Griffin Knights with superior might, effortlessly felling the noble beasts.
Hours later, following a frantic dash, Cyrion and his Jackalman counterparts finally returned to the Red Dragon's domain, just as Caesar himself, laden with plentiful treasure and hauling the unconscious Amethyst Serpent, returned to his mountain peak. His intent was to assess the progress of the Troll laborers' latest endeavors.
Yet before he even crossed the threshold, an odd draconic tongue––more refined than Gnollish but peculiar nonetheless––rose to greet him from below.
"Master, Cyrion encountered a human elite legion. Your humble servant has surveyed them, discovering that their march appears to be directed towards our very lands."
Hearing these concern-laden proclamations, Caesar's eyes narrowed with intrigue. A human legion heading towards his domain? These keywords unsettled him to a degree, prompting an immediate descent to the mountain base.
Only seconds after absorbing Cyrion's report, a shadow of foreboding fell across Caesar's draconic visage. Words such as knight, ranger, gunner, warrior, and spellcaster swiftly painted a comprehensive picture of the human legion in his mind.
"Could it be because of those human maidens I've captured?" pondered Caesar, no stranger to abducting human women despite none boasting particularly noble stature. Even those baronial and viscount daughters were essentially from humbler origins. Predicting the characteristically timorous response of the Silvermoon Kingdom, Caesar expected nothing more than a muffled acquiescence, keen to avoid the ire of a powerful Red Dragon.
However, Cyrion's descriptions suggested a host comprising mostly transcendent warriors, with a leader likely a high-ranking knight––a baffling scenario indeed. High-ranking knights are a rare breed within the Silvermoon Kingdom, the bedrock of every nation, figures of immense stature. So what drew this particular knight into the perilous reaches of the Karl Mountains? Could he be in pursuit of Princess Diana of the Silvermoon Kingdom?
As the possibility crossed Caesar's mind, he considered his limited interactions with the Kingdom, unaware that the rebellious Duke Cassius, coveting greater power from a mighty patron, now coveted the bloodline of the Red Dragon himself.
In lieu of further conjecture, Caesar set aside any further guesswork. A proud and haughty Red Dragon, he was accustomed to striking first. The motivation of the approaching legion was of little consequence. Rather than await their arrival, he chose to ready his forces for battle, loath to wage war upon his own territory. Should the human legion venture into his domain, the clash of transcendent beings against Magical Creatures would undoubtedly wreak havoc upon the land.
Thus, he began to convene his kin. Jackalmen, Gnolls, Trolls, and salamanders alike... What had begun as a motley assemblage now formed an appreciable force under the Red Dragon's command.
"Roar!"
The mighty bellow of the Dragon stirred every kin to wakefulness. Glimpses of deadly intent flickered across Caesar's golden irises as he commanded, "Summon your kinfolk capable of battle and await my command, for we are about to engage in a war with the humans!"
The occurrence was sudden, and most kin remained unaware of the full picture. Yet the command of their formidable master was clear and required but one thing of them: unquestioning obedience.
Roar after roar reverberated in affirmation, responses from kin of inherently sinister nature. To war they were fervently devoted, hoisting weapons aloft as they bellowed eagerly.
Among the kin, the Jackalmen were numerous, having breached the count of three hundred strong, with nary an inferior one among them. For in a society where only the thrill of the hunt prevailed, the weakest of the Jackalmen inevitably perished in the wild, becoming either kin or beast fodder.
Born warriors, occasionally they birth a spellcaster among them, the rare Jackalman Watcher endowed with potent natural magic. And yet, within Caesar's kin, no such Watcher had emerged.
Strongest among them were the Jackalman reavers, their progeny of exceptional strength that had reached the third tier. The select five that first embraced the dragonblood transformation—recent adherents of the Jackalsect and reavers all—now bore power that neared the lower apex, and perhaps in time, could surpass their racial bounds to ascend even higher.
As for the Gnolls, their tribes ranked in number just behind the Jackalmen. Lesser in martial prowess, yet tireless miners by nature, they were a combative and industrious ilk adept at trap-making, ambushing, and ore-excavating, subsisting as the natural vassals of Dragons.
With the Gnolls' traps, the dangers of the Jackalmen's hunts were mitigated, reducing their kin's toll.
Then there were the Trolls, led by the potent Troll Shaman. Thirty warriors gathered at the foot of the Dragon's lair, awaiting orders from the mighty Red Dragon. Their smaller number belied their status as the elite core of the monster legion, each a third tier entity with unparalleled regenerative capacities, transforming them into fearless berserkers on the battlefield.
Under the Troll Shaman's aegis, casting spells of war frenzy, these indomitable Trolls would become the very maw of carnage, capable of smashing even the sturdiest of steel armors with their mighty clubs.
Lastly were the salamanders. Numbering a mere twenty, they were preternaturally aligned with the elemental flame, sharing an affinity akin to a cadre of low-rung sorcerers weaving spells of the second and third circles.
Though their arsenals were limited compared to their more versatile spellcasting coun
terparts, their fiery onslaught promised to wreak destruction upon any enemy force foolhardy enough to face them.
In time, every kin was assembled, eyes gleaming with bloodthirsty exhilaration, ready to heed the clarion call to arms reverberating from the Red Dragon's roar.