"Did you hear? We're about to start reclaiming new land!" a citizen of Riverguard whispered to their neighbor.
"Really? Where will the land reclamation be? Will there be soldiers from the kingdom to protect us?" the neighbor asked, their tone heavy with concern.
While everyone had great faith in the Zaltarion Empire, it didn't mean they were eager to face the dangers lurking in the wild.
"There should be soldiers accompanying us, right? I mean, even when we went out to forage, the kingdom's knights were there to protect us!"
Someone chimed in with confidence, placing unshakable trust in the kingdom.
"Exactly! King Rynar will definitely send troops to guard us!" another voice added, full of assurance.
"Well, guess we'll be heading out with you a lot for the land reclamation!" muttered a Zaltarion City Guard patrolling the streets, caught between amusement and exasperation.
The King's orders were clear—aside from the necessary personnel staying behind to defend the city, everyone else would be joining the effort. Now, they were just waiting for the farming tools to arrive from Erebor.
"Rynar is already preparing for the reclamation..." Aranthor rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he listened to the report.
"Let's get our people moving as well. Prepare everything ahead of time and start planting when the weather warms up a bit," Aranthor instructed.
Compared to Rynar, he was in a much better position—his people had brought plenty of supplies during their migration, including farming tools and seeds.
At least they didn't need to scrape things together like Rynar.
"Understood, my king!"
"Ah, finally a few days of peace! Rynar, you better hold off the threats from the east!" Aranthor muttered to himself. From his ancestors' tales, he knew that the Barbarians were no easy foes.
They were humans too, but their metallurgy was far superior to that of the orcs, and they fought with more discipline and strategy—a truly formidable enemy.
"What? You want that many hoes?"
Thorin's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Did Rynar think Erebor was some kind of farming tool shop? Dwarves excelled at forging weapons and armor, and now they were supposed to shift gears to make farming tools?
The request brought back bitter memories for Thorin. During his time in human cities, living under the mercy of others, he had endured scorn and ridicule.
The proud dwarf prince had never forgotten those days. And now, Rynar's request felt like a slap to his pride.
"..." Thorin furrowed his brow and thought for a moment.
"Fine, send someone to pick them up in ten days," Thorin sighed, relenting.
He knew that, given the dwarves' debt to Rynar, this small request was insignificant. To strain their relationship over such a trivial matter would be idiotic.
"Whatever, making farming tools it is! Not like we haven't done it before," Thorin muttered, resigned.
"Thank you for your generosity, great King Under the Mountain!" the Zaltarion knight saluted before leaving.
"What the hell is this?!" Rynar stared, wide-eyed, at the "thing" in front of him inside his tent, locked in a silent standoff.
"Your Majesty!" Two guards burst into the tent upon hearing Rynar's shout, their weapons drawn.
"Uh... Stand down," Rynar coughed, masking his embarrassment.
"As you command!" The guards bowed and retreated.
'What is this thing? System, explain!' Rynar demanded, his face darkening as he looked at the small creature.
"Sign-in successful! Congratulations, host, you have obtained an Elven Dragon!" the system calmly announced.
"This is an Elven Dragon? It's a lizard at best!" Rynar said, exasperated. He had thought the system was trustworthy, but apparently, it was just as unreliable as ever.
The creature in front of him was less than half a meter long, with nothing dragon-like about it except for the pair of wings on its back.
"Are you kidding me? I remember Elven Dragons being small, but not this small!" Rynar shot back at the system.
"Ding! Please explore further on your own."
"You... you're useless!" Rynar cursed.
"So, what are you, exactly?" Rynar poked the "lizard" in front of him.
"Roar!"
A sound far too powerful for its size erupted from the creature's mouth, accompanied by a radiant, multicolored burst of natural dragon breath that slammed into Rynar's face.
"You..." Rynar began, but before he could finish, a thin layer of stone enveloped him. The mighty King Rynar had been turned into a literal statue.
At this moment, a torrent of curses flew through Rynar's mind. This is actually an Elven Dragon! An Elven Dragon! An Elven Dragon! He repeated it thrice for emphasis.
The dragon's natural breath had confirmed its identity. If it hadn't held back, Rynar might have ended up as either a permanent stone statue or been disintegrated by elemental energy.
Elven Dragons were the only dragons with all-elemental attributes, capable of wielding intermediate and advanced Dragon Magic across all thirteen basic elements.
Fire, water, wood, earth, wind, ice, lightning, light, dark, spirit, space, evil, and holy (excluding forbidden spells).
Players had nicknamed them "walking machine guns" for their endless barrage of magical attacks. While their damage wasn't overwhelming, the sheer volume made up for it.
Elven Dragons were also one of the only two dragon species that weren't proficient in melee combat (the other being the Fairy Dragon).
They had poured all their skill points into Dragon Magic.
"Crack!"
With a burst of energy, Rynar shattered the stone covering him.
"This little rascal is pretty mischievous!" Rynar chuckled despite himself. He suppressed the dragon with a fiery aura before grabbing it by its wings and holding it up in front of him.
"Let me go!" the Elven Dragon protested in a high-pitched, childlike voice.
"Where did all that bravery go when you breathed fire on me?" Rynar teased, poking its chin.
"Let go, you... you bully!" The Elven Dragon squirmed, trying to escape.
"Tsk, tsk. Definitely not a melee fighter! I can toy with you using one hand," Rynar laughed, thoroughly enjoying himself.
Thanks to his battle aura and the Holy Paladin's Tier-3 skill Seal of Restraint, there was no chance the little dragon could break free.
"Your Majesty! Lord Vanervi requests an audience!" a guard announced from outside the tent.
"Let him in," Rynar said, still playing with the dragon.
"Rynar, I was thinking..." Vanervi began as he entered but trailed off mid-sentence.
"What's wrong, my friend?" Rynar asked, noticing his companion's stunned expression.
"That... is an Elven Dragon, right?" Vanervi stammered, pointing at the creature in Rynar's grasp.
"Yeah, how'd you know? I thought it was a lizard at first," Rynar admitted with a sheepish grin.
Vanervi froze for a moment before blurting out, "You didn't steal it from Gondolin, did you?"
"No way! Gondolin's Elven Dragons should've all died in battle long ago," Vanervi muttered, shaking his head.
"So... where did you get this female Elven Dragon?" Vanervi asked, his eyes glowing faintly green as he activated the elves' secret technique, Heart of Nature, to detect any lies.
"I found it," Rynar replied without hesitation.
"Found it?" Vanervi's jaw dropped. "You found an Elven Dragon? Please, let me find one too!"
"Is that a problem?" Rynar asked, feigning innocence, though he wondered if the system had snatched the dragon from some Elven sanctuary.
"No problem. If it's a wild one, please treat her well. After some growth, she'll become a great ally," Vanervi said, his gaze filled with envy.
"Didn't expect that! But why is she so small? And how did you know she's female?" Rynar asked, his curiosity piqued.
"She's in a natural regression state to conserve energy and absorb elemental particles. As for her gender... look at her crown. Males have four horns, females have three," Vanervi explained.
"By the way, you might want to call Radir the Mage and Dylan the Wise. The moment you let go, she's likely to go berserk," Vanervi advised, rubbing his temples.
"Uh..." Rynar hesitated.
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