Chapter 223: The Problem of Raising Dragons

Ronin counted—the dragon scales that had fallen from Carlos totaled exactly one hundred thirty-six. With their sizes, crafting a full suit of dragon-scale armor should pose no problem whatsoever.

The only dilemma: who could possibly make it?

William, the carpenter from the Ironwood Workshop?

Forgive him—he could barely manage processing black iron trees. Asking him to work with dragon scales was beyond unreasonable.

After much deliberation, only a blacksmith seemed remotely viable.

But someone of Carles’s caliber wouldn’t do. It would have to be a smith of Darn’s rank—at least a Master, preferably a Grand Master—and ideally a knight, too. Strength was non-negotiable.

“If all else fails, I’ll do it myself.”

Ronin mused absently, leaping back onto Carlos’s back.

Though the dragon’s level had risen, his wounds had not healed.

Though bleeding had ceased, the area around the gashes was caked in dried blood, grotesque to behold.

Ronin pulled out a healing scroll and cast it over the wound—unfortunately, a dragon’s body was far more resilient than a human’s. As a second-tier spell, healing offered negligible effect, barely a whisper of aid.

“How are you feeling now? Can you fly?” Ronin asked.

Carlos struggled to rise, legs trembling violently, then collapsed helplessly onto the sand.

“Forgive me, Master—I am still too weak. Movement remains difficult.”

His energy had been drained beyond measure—bled dry, beaten, battered. Even with his level now elevated, he was not instantly restored to full vitality. He needed time—time to slowly rebuild his strength, his spirit.

“Then rest well.”

Ronin had no urgency to leave.

According to Carlos’s intelligence, the cave still held a few people—but only servants, no real threat to Riedal or the others.

Thus, once Ronin had explored the cave, this northern expedition would be complete.

He sat cross-legged atop the dragon’s back and began to metabolize magic.

From the start of battle to the final subjugation of Carlos, Ronin had cast spell after spell—he didn’t even know how many. He’d held on this long only because of his exceptional elemental affinity, his flawless casting technique, and his vast reservoir of magical energy.

No other Chief Mage could have managed it.

Metabolizing magic required precise perception of the elemental forces in the surrounding world—using mental focus to draw wind and fire elements into the mana space, gradually transmuting and storing them.

It seemed a tedious process, yet when one truly immersed oneself in it, the mind grew calm, serene.

“Gurgle—”

An ill-timed sound interrupted Ronin’s focus. He opened his eyes, startled, looking down at the dragon beneath him.

That noise… it sounded unmistakably like a stomach growling.

He couldn’t help asking: “Are you hungry?”

Carlos looked embarrassed, voice faint.

“Y-yes, Master…”

He explained: “Today’s exertions were immense. My energy was drained utterly. And Natalia only ever gives me small portions—I’ve never been properly fed.”

How pitiful.

Ronin felt a pang of guilt. He’d never once considered this. Dragons could starve.

Too bad—his ring held only a meager supply of rations, not enough to fill a dragon’s tooth.

Another thought struck him: how, in the name of all that was holy, was he going to feed this creature?

Taking it back to his lands was unthinkable.

The few sheep of Mountain Village, the few hundred cattle of Marsh Village—barely enough to feed it for a year.

He couldn’t possibly slaughter five or six hundred Blackwater Bulls just to feed Carlos. How would the land be cleared? And those bulls were a vital source of income.

After much thought, only one solution came to mind: let it roam free.

To the west of the Ubei Domain lay the vast Wu Mountain Monster Range. Let Carlos hunt for himself. Let him feed himself.

After all, the soul bond remained. Ronin could signal him at any time.

With Carlos’s full-flight speed, reaching the domain wouldn’t take long.

“What does Natalia feed you?”

“Fish. All kinds of fish.”

Carlos’s eyes held a glimmer of despair. He didn’t know how he’d survived these years. Sometimes, even seeing live, wriggling fish made him nauseous.

But what choice did he have? Hunger forced him to eat.

Ronin, however, fixated on something else.

Natalia and her people rarely ventured beyond the valley—only chasing intruders, never more than three miles out. Where, then, did they get so many fish?

He didn’t believe in storage. What kind of warehouse could hold three hundred years’ worth of rations?

He’d have to visit that cave. It must hold secrets Carlos himself didn’t know.

“I’ll go find you something to eat.”

Ronin sighed, leaping down from the dragon’s back and slipping into the forest, hoping to hunt some game.

But the earlier commotion had already driven every creature away—his search yielded nothing.

Returning empty-handed to the beach, he was just in time.

Riedal stood before Carlos, sword raised, hurling a soul-question—Where is the Lord?

But Riedal knew no dragon tongue. He couldn’t understand Carlos’s frantic replies—and was about to strike.

“Riedal, stop!”

Ronin sprinted over. “It’s been subdued. It’s no longer an enemy.”

Carlos nodded, human-like, utterly without dragonly pride—too weak now to resist Riedal.

“Did you truly conquer the dragon?”

Riedal stared, stunned. Believing Ronin was one thing—seeing it with his own eyes was another.

“This is… unbelievable!”

Ronin smiled faintly. “Forget that for now. There’s a more pressing issue—Carlos is starving. He’s too weak to hunt, and I found no game nearby.”

Riedal immediately replied: “I’ll return and send everyone out to search. Perhaps we’ll be lucky.”

There was no other option.

“Go,” Ronin said, glancing at Carlos. “Once he regains some strength, we’ll regroup at the valley.”

Watching Riedal depart, Ronin sighed.

“If they find nothing… we’ll have to check the cave for fish.”

Carlos shuddered at the sound.

Ronin walked to the seashore, a place equally shallow, unsuitable for development into a harbor.

He planned to wait until Carlos regained his strength, then trace the entire coastline of the Northern Wu domain, searching for a relatively suitable location.

Such was the advantage of a flying mount—saving time, increasing efficiency.

Another two hours passed; the sun sank westward, and twilight began to descend.

Carlos rose to his feet. “Master, I’ve regained some strength—I can fly for a while now.”

“Good!”

Ronin climbed onto his back. “Let’s return to that valley.”

The great wings unfurled, and Carlos took to the air.

His motion was remarkably steady, his broad neck shielding Ronin from the oncoming wind.

Ronin felt no strain whatsoever—nothing like the ordeal of subduing him before.

Carlos flew low, moving slowly.

Yet since the distance between beach and valley was only twenty li, they soon landed outside the cave.

The howling wind drew the attention of the attendants stationed outside the cave; they sprang to their feet in alarm, gazing upward at the shadow in the sky.

“It’s the dragon!”

Their hearts trembled once more.

Though their commander had returned saying the lord was unharmed and had tamed the dragon, facing it again filled them with primal dread.

Carlos folded his wings and landed on the open ground before the cave.

With a puff, air hissed from his nostrils—he was weary.

He cast only a fleeting glance at the humans nearby, recognizing them as Ronin’s subordinates, and paid them no further heed.

Dragons are proud creatures. His reverence and submission to Ronin stemmed solely from the master-servant pact; to all others, Carlos remained contemptuous.

“It’s the lord!”

“The lord has returned!”

Only then did the men on the ground spot Ronin atop the dragon’s back.

They cried out in awe, their eyes gleaming with reverence and adoration.

Ronin leapt down from the dragon’s back, scanning the group. Only Elron, Bablin, Jenny, and Grado remained here; the others were likely hunting in the mountains.

“Bablin, how is your wound?”

In the earlier battle, Bablin had been struck by an enemy high knight.

Bablin trembled with emotion. Now, Ronin was not merely the viscount of Northern Wu—he was a mighty warrior who had tamed a dragon!

To be cared for by such a man filled Bablin with overwhelming excitement—and pride in having chosen to follow him.

“Thank you, my lord, for your concern! The chief physician has treated my wound—I’m quite recovered now.”

Elron added, “The others were injured too, but none seriously, my lord. Do not worry.”

Ronin nodded, turning to the rest. “You’ve all worked hard. Rest here for now. When Ridal and the others return from hunting, inform me.”

“Elron, come with me.”

He led Elron and Carlos into the cave, leaving the men behind, staring in stunned silence at the dragon’s colossal silhouette. (End of chapter)