Ashen Dragon

Green Valley Town, Great Cathedral.

Mantou, Singo, Natural War Maniac, and Summer Night Autumn Rain gathered together after a long time apart, seemingly planning something.

Mantou toyed with the green Dragon Scale in his hand and casually asked, "Can we really sneak into Lin Ying City smoothly? Don't sabotage us."

Singo glanced at him, pointed to the scales on his arm, and said, "We've drunk Dragon Blood, so we're part of the Old Tiamat Red Banner."

"The blood concentration of those cultists from the Dragon Worship Church is definitely lower than ours. By their tradition, they might even kneel when they see us."

Upon hearing this, Mantou's mouth twitched slightly, "Though they say that, the risk in doing this is too high. If we miss a secret code, we'll all be wiped out."

"That's why we need local guides." Singo pointed at Natural War Maniac and continued, "In this regard, War Maniac has more experience; he previously infiltrated the Bronze Fortress under Zarriel's rule, laying the foundation for victory in the Hell War."

Natural War Maniac rubbed his shiny bald head a bit sheepishly and said, "I just got lucky, it's nothing worth mentioning."

Beside him, Summer Night Autumn Rain complained, "Right, you just assassinated a Hell General, threw the entire Bronze Fortress into chaos, and even brought the former Hell Lord Piere here..."

Mantou turned to Singo, who was brimming with confidence, and inquired, "So where do we start?"

Singo pulled out a map he'd prepared from his pocket. It marked several prominent routes. "See these? They're the transportation routes of the Dragon Worship Church convoy. This group of cultists will transport captured people, gold and silver treasures to the Dragon Breeding Ground."

He placed his hand on a red route, affirming, "And this is our chance to sneak into Lin Ying City, or even sabotage the Dragon Breeding Ground."

Summer Night Autumn Rain asked, "So we just mix in behind the Dragon Worship transport convoy?"

Natural War Maniac wiped his blood-stained Battle Axe with a cloth, speaking lightly, "It's better to kill all those cultists to avoid any trouble."

Singo gave a strange smile, shaking his head, "No, we need to walk openly inside and have them welcome us voluntarily."

Mantou watched the eerie smile on Singo's face, instantly comprehending that this guy must have thought of a cunning plan.

"Alright, I'll follow your lead," Mantou sighed, mourning for the cultists they had yet to meet.

Only then did Singo say, "As far as I know, within the Dragon Worship Church, position is determined by the concentration of Dragon Blood, forming a strict caste system, manifested externally by the degree of Dragonification, with the highest status being true giant dragons."

"In the Dragon Worship Sect, if a giant dragon kills a low-level cultist, they only need to compensate a silver coin, which often goes unpaid, and you—"

"Me?"

Mantou pointed at his own nose.

Singo stared at the puzzled Mantou and grinned, "Mantou, you have the ability to transform into a young dragon! In the Dragon Worshiper Church, you are a born Brahmin!"

"It seems... that's true," Mantou was initially taken aback but then showed a joyful expression, having never experienced the pleasure of being superior.

Singo nodded, "It's decided then, Mantou, remember your identity. You are the descendant of an Ancient Red Dragon far in the North, here under the Dragon Queen's orders with a significant mission, and we are your loyal followers..."

"Didn't expect... such good fortune,"

Mantou excitedly rubbed his hands, already imagining the eyes of admiration and awe he'd receive upon entering Lin Ying City.

...

Swamp Border.

It's full of mud, mist spread all around, the humid air filled with the scent of decay and mold.

All that's visible is green and brown, with the ground covered in moss, mushrooms; the water surface dotted with duckweed, occasionally bubbling up.

The wooden pathway meanders through the swamp like a tired snake, long-term neglected, the boards rotten, covered in moss, creaking underfoot, even slightly sinking.

And at the end of the path, veiled in mist, a convoy slowly emerged, all cloaked, wearing the Five-headed Dragon Medal on their chests. Their identities were obvious—cultists of the Dragon Worship Church.

The cultists held rusty chains, and behind them were dozens of raggedly dressed commoners.

Their faces were pale, breaths heavy, clothes soaked in moisture, sticking to their skin, clearly in a state of panic.

"Smack!"

The leading cultist whipped a woman who was walking slowly, scolding, "Hurry up! If you dawdle, I'll throw you to the crocodiles!"

The woman trembled, begging tearfully, "Master, Master, I'm wrong! Please don't leave me!"

The cult leader snorted coldly, "Be smarter next time, noble giant dragons don't need clumsy slaves."

"Yes, Master."

The woman bowed her head, responded in terror, and the cult leader then turned away, ignoring her.

Another cultist approached the leader and quietly asked in a voice only they could hear, "Lord Duca, will all these short-lived ghosts be fed to the Dragon Breeding Pool?"

The cult leader known as Duca turned impatiently, his reptilian pupils revealing a sinister gaze, "Should I ask you this?"

Lede perspired heavily, quickly laughed along, "Of course not, Master, I have overstepped, didn't recognize my place."