owlsbooks Chapter 568: Lord of Atlantis 11
Chapter 568: Lord of Atlantis 11
The red dragon Garcro flew over the last ridge, and the Rhen Plateau spread out before him.
He had intended to return to the Red Emperor Capital first, but his father’s aura lingered in the air, so he changed course and flew straight there.
The land below opened up gradually, the plains stretching out in all directions like a spread-out carpet.
Far off ran a wide river, its surface shimmering, waves sometimes rolling and surging.
Garcro slowed his speed and approached.
There was a figure on the water, scales faintly visible beneath the surface, a head poking above the river, eyes half-closed as if enjoying the coolness.
Sensing his eldest son’s approach, the figure opened her eyes.
Splash!
Water scattered as a dragon silhouette shot out from beneath the surface.
Her scales were sky-blue, emitting a faint glow in the night. Her slender body twisted deftly in the river, then she slapped a splash of water with her tail, splashing it onto the face of the red-iron giant dragon.Zoraya.
One of the red-iron dragon’s companions.
She was much smaller than the red-iron dragon; the two had apparently been playing in the river and now stopped.
Garcro landed on the riverbank, folding his wings and stirring a gust that made the reeds along the shore rustle.
“You two talk first.”
Zoraya glanced between them, then beat her wings and flew up into the night.
The red-iron dragon rose from the water.
Water poured from the gaps between his scales, forming small rivulets at his feet that flowed back into the river.
He was much larger than Garcro; standing in the shallow water, the river reached only past his knees.
“Father, it’s rare to see you resting.”
Garcro bowed his head slightly and said, “Sorry to interrupt your leisure.”
Garoth looked at him without replying immediately, instead walking slowly from the river toward the shore.
The water parted at his feet and closed behind him; he stood on the stony beach, shook off the water, and fine droplets sprayed outward.
“Judging by your expression, there’s something?”
He asked.
Garcro was silent for a moment.
The river lapped against the stones, making a rushing sound; night birds swept by in the distance, casting fleeting shadows on the water. He kept his head lowered, his tail twitching anxiously behind him.
“Father.”
The red dragon finally spoke.
“Hmm?”
“When I broke through to Legendary, I gained a trait called Bloodthirst Demon Dragon.”
Garcro told his father about the trait in full detail.
“It affects me. When I seized the black oil field, I wanted to kill every living thing present.”
He hesitated; the movement of his tail lessened: “For an instant… I even had the thought of patricide, to kill you.”
After saying that, he looked up at Garoth for a moment, then quickly averted his gaze to stare at the stones beneath his feet.
Garoth observed his eldest son; no waves stirred in his aura, only a hint of amusement.
“Then do it.”
“You’ve always wanted to challenge me, haven’t you? Do it now. Come, let me see how much you’ve improved since reaching Legendary.”
Garcro shook his head vigorously, nearly nodding it off.
“Father, that’s not what I mean!”
“I’m saying the trait influences me; it makes me have those thoughts, but I myself don’t want them. That isn’t my true will, I…”
He became more flustered as he spoke, his tongue almost stumbling.
“Enough.”
Garoth cut him off.
“The fact that you can speak it proves you can still control it.”
The red dragon paused, surprised, and stopped moving.
“Fear that can be spoken is no longer fear; desire that can be admitted is no longer desire.”
Garoth looked at him, voice steady, “You stand before me and tell me you once wanted to kill me. That very act proves that moment has passed.”
Garcro gradually calmed.
His father’s words echoed in his ears; he pondered them, then slowly cracked a smile.
“Yes.”
He said, his tone lighter, “As expected of me—I unknowingly suppressed it.”
He chuckled and shook his head, his tail swinging again.
But then he looked toward the red-iron dragon, wiped the smile away, and spoke seriously: “I know you once obtained a power that could make you lose control, but you fully mastered it.”
“So I want to learn from you how to better control the urge to kill.”
He paused, then emphasized: “I don’t want to be controlled by it. I want to master it perfectly.”
Garoth did not answer immediately.
He turned and looked at the river.
Moonlight silvered the water in waves that never ceased; a night breeze carried moisture and distant plant scents.
He watched for a while before speaking.
“I was once influenced by rage as well,” he said.
“I know,” Garcro nodded, “You overcame it.”
“Not overcame—coexisted.”
Garcro looked puzzled.
“Like you, the urge to slaughter will not vanish suddenly; it is part of you and cannot be completely excised. Your trait simply amplifies it.”
“Do you think I don’t feel anger? It is an emotion born with living beings.”
“But it is not the reason for my actions, merely something that accompanies them.”
Garcro pondered and nodded.
“You must know why you kill.”
Garoth turned his head to meet his son’s eyes.
“Killing to become stronger and killing for killing’s sake are different.”
“The former has a goal; the latter does not. The latter will make you little more than a beast, but you are not a beast—you are a dragon, my blood courses through you.”
Garoth’s voice was low, his tone shifting subtly.
“Do you know of your grandfather, Gorthax?”
Garcro nodded.
He certainly knew the name: mad and powerful, ultimately slain by Garoth.
“The world calls him a mad beast, and I was the one who killed him in the end, but I must admit—in some ways, he shared my tenacity.”
He looked back at Garcro.
“And you will not surrender to so-called primal slaughter instincts.”
Garcro stood with his wings folded, staring at his father without blinking.
“Can I… really do it?”
He asked hesitantly.
Garoth looked at him and nodded confidently.
“I believe you can.”
After a pause he continued: “If you want to better control yourself, go to the Serene Spirit Wilderness.”
“Serene Spirit Wilderness?”
Garcro asked in confusion.
“Emotions run hotter there, desires stronger. Stay there for a time, struggle against it, train your will. When you return to the Material Plane, the urges you feel will be nothing.”
Garcro nodded emphatically.
“I understand! No time to waste, I’ll depart immediately.”
He stepped back, prepared to turn.
“Go,” Garoth said.
Garcro inhaled deeply, spread his wings, and raised a gust that bowed the reeds.
“Father.”
He suddenly paused and turned his head.
“Hmm?”
“I will not disappoint you.”
With that, he leapt and vanished into the night.
Garoth stood watching the shrinking silhouette blend into the dark.
The river wind continued, reeds rustling; Zoraya returned at some point and landed beside him.
“Done talking?”
She asked.
Garoth nodded.
“Among all your offspring, he resembles you the most.”
Zoraya said.
The red-iron dragon replied, “Yes, but that means he must pay a greater price.”
News that the Aola Legendary had crossed the border and seized the black oil field spread like wildfire.
In less than ten days, from the kingdoms of the eastern plains to the Southern Domain alliance, almost everyone knew.
Farrel’s black oil had been taken.
Yet no one stepped forward to condemn it, no one issued strong statements, not even diplomatic protests.
Everyone understood it was pointless.
Diplomatic language matters only when power gaps are not so extreme. Now… crowned Legendaries had been swept away; other nations had no confidence to face the Red Emperor.
Before Aola they seemed weak, like a little girl before a giant.
Farrel and Latona were pillars among the Eastern Alliance and Southern Domain's nations.
All eyes waited for their response.
More than half a month after the Aola legions crossed the border, King August of Farrel and King Severus of Latona arrived together in person at the Red Emperor Capital.
“This is Aola’s capital…”
August looked up at the dragon court’s grandeur and murmured.
“Let’s go; since we’re here, don’t hesitate.”
Severus said.
Soon they were led by guards into the dragon court.
They passed corridor after corridor, through heavy gates; Aola guards along the way showed no expression and did not glance twice.
Most of those guards were dragon-blooded, tall and cold in their aura.
Occasional glances felt like looking at two insects that had wandered into the Dragon Nest.
After nearly a quarter hour they reached the enormous Council Hall.
King August walked on the right.
He was in his fifties, gaunt, beard neatly trimmed, but his eye sockets were deep and rimmed dark, as if he had not slept. His steps were steady but his breathing hurried.
King Severus of Latona was on the left.
Younger and more robust, he nonetheless looked worse; his fingers kept twisting his sleeve, a small motion that had not stopped since entering the court.
They paused in front of the Council Hall doors.
A single look exchanged, and they saw the same thing in the other’s eyes:
Fear.
There was no shame in it.
Though kings with high status, they were not warriors and rarely left their palaces. Standing in another’s domain, facing a dragon capable of killing multiple crowned Legendaries and casually slaying them both, fear was natural.
They drew breath and stepped into the Hall.
Then they saw the giant dragon.
Garoth Ignas, the Red Emperor, Lord of Aola…
He was coiled in the very center of the Hall.
His body seemed forged of flame and steel; each scale glowed darkly red like solidified lava. Even with his wings folded, he occupied vast space; the pillars at his sides looked slender in comparison.
Under the dragon’s gaze the two kings barely took a few steps before stopping.
They did not choose to stop.
Even with the Red Emperor restraining his dragon might, his sheer size alone produced suffocation.
His head was larger than an elephant’s; every tooth resembled a longsword, claws gleaming with cold light as they dug into the floor.
His breath was like a gale, ruffling their bones; they trembled, their knees weak—one more step and they might fall.
“King August of Farrel, King Severus of Latona, greetings to His Majesty the Red Emperor.”
Two voices sounded almost at once.
One hoarse, one trembling, both mostly lost to the wind.
They bowed instinctively, unable to meet those dragon eyes.
Garoth looked down at them.
He was not angry, only calm, but even that calm caused sweat beading on their brows.
“By my mercy your kingdoms survived the demon waves.”
“But you repaid me with betrayal.”
He paused and scanned their faces.
“What do you propose I do with you?”
The words were moderate, but to the kings they felt like a boulder crushing their chests; their faces went pale.
“Your Majesty, between our states there’s been some misunderstanding…”
August tried to explain.
“Not a misunderstanding.”
Garoth cut him off.
The words stuck in August’s throat.
“You dispatched Legendaries who attacked my territory while I slept, attempting to kill me.”
The dragon’s voice was flat: “This is not a misunderstanding. This is an act of war.”
“The attack on you, we were not aware of.”
Severus whispered, “Those Legendaries acted on their own…”
He could not finish.
Garoth’s mouth curved slightly; an invisible pressure fell, smothering Severus’s words. His face drained pale, beads of sweat poured from his forehead.
August fared no better.
He gritted his teeth to hold himself upright, yet his body trembled uncontrollably.
“Multiple crowned and Legendary, every one elite, none newly promoted ordinary Legendaries.”
Garoth’s voice deepened as he asked: “Ha, such a gathering—do you two kings think you could hide it?”
They opened their mouths but could not speak.
What could they say? Claim ignorance? They would not be believed. Admit knowing? That was confession of involvement.
Garoth did not press further.
He withdrew his pressure and assumed a calm posture, as if the earlier display were merely a warning.
“I do not like nonsense.”
He said, “So if you want talks, show sincerity.”
As he finished, Iron Dragon Gordon stepped forward from a corner.
His gait unhurried; his claws held a long, hanging scroll.
When the iron dragon raised his paw the scroll unfurled like a waterfall to the ground. The script crowded the entire parchment; it was clearly substantial.
Gordon placed it before the two kings and stepped aside.
“Treaty of Unification for the Surface Nations of Atlantis.”
“Read it.”
Garoth said.
Both kings inhaled and leaned in.
Their heads nearly touched, four eyes fixed on the treaty; here they were no longer high sovereigns but small and somewhat pitiable.
They began scanning the clauses.
Article One: Acknowledge Aola’s primacy; heads of state of other nations may assume office only with Aola’s approval.
Article Two: Accept Aola garrisons; garrison expenses borne by each state; garrison numbers and locations decided unilaterally by Aola.
Article Three: Annual tribute to Aola; types and quantities determined by Aola according to each state.
Article Four: All national militaries to be integrated under Aola’s unified command.
Article Five: All national Legendaries must obey Aola’s orders; without Aola approval they may not leave their territory.
Article Six: Diplomacy coordinated by Aola; no state may independently make alliances or accept foreign envoys without consent.
Article Seven: …
There were many entries, each with detailed explanations; some clauses had supplementary notes, the densely written text filled the entire parchment.
The kings grew paler and their hands shook more as they read.
And even before finishing, they realized what kind of treaty this was.
“Your Majesty,” King August hesitated, “this is… a vassal treaty.”
The Red Emperor spoke little.
At his side, Iron Dragon Gordon chuckled.
“It’s a unification treaty, yes, but you may call it a vassal treaty if you like. Names don’t matter; content does, right?”
He laughed and bared his sharp teeth.
King Severus fell silent for a moment.
His fingers resumed twisting his sleeve; after long thought he spoke carefully.
“We do not refuse peaceful coexistence with Aola.”
He tried to sound sincere, “On the contrary, we sincerely wish friendly relations with Aola, but the treaty’s terms are too… extreme.”
He paused and glanced at Garoth, seeing no anger, and continued.
“If Your Majesty is willing, we can discuss other options.”
“For example, cede territory and pay ransom as compensation for releasing our Legendaries and to initiate talks. We can sign a formal covenant pledging never to invade Aola and to live peacefully.”
He finished and waited.
August quickly added: “What Severus says is exactly my meaning. We can offer generous reparations, even territory. If Your Majesty relaxes the terms, we can negotiate anything.”
The dragon remained silent for several seconds, then let out a low laugh.
The Hall trembled with the sound; dust fell from the dome; the air quivered and the kings’ hearts shook with that laugh.
“What did you think you came here for?”
Garoth said, laughter losing strength, “Not a single word of this treaty will change. This is not negotiation. This is notification.”
“You may think you have choices, but I tell you—you do not.”
The two kings opened their mouths to speak but said nothing.
“Of course,” Garoth’s voice softened, “If you truly cannot accept, I will not force you. The gates are there; you may leave anytime.”
He paused; his gaze sharpened.
“But I give you one month.”
“Return and consider carefully. Bring word to the Eastern Alliance and the Southern Domain states. Within one month, the kings or plenipotentiary representatives of each nation must come to the Red Emperor Capital to sign the Unification Treaty.”
“This is my final mercy.”
“Miss the deadline, bear the consequences.”
With that Garoth fell silent and resumed his coiled posture, eyes half-closed, as if no longer concerned with them.
Eventually August sighed and took his leave with a bow; Severus followed suit.
They turned and slowly walked away.
Not long after, Iron Dragon Gordon padded over, wagging his tail.
“Do you think they will obediently sign? Or will there be other tricks?”
Garoth’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes still half-closed.
“They will come.”
He said.
After a pause he added:
“I have shown mercy. If they do not come, or attempt petty cleverness, what awaits them will be cruelty.”
In earlier days Garoth had many concerns—Halden’s stance, reactions across the dragon domains, even stability within his own territories required weighing.
Now it was different.
As he once told Varta, at this stage he could largely do as he wished. Many matters no longer needed deep thought; they depended on his desire.
With such strength, many problems became simple.
Elsewhere.
After leaving the dragon court the kings’ steps steadied.
They turned back to gaze at the magnificent building.
Sunlight glinted off the court’s surface with a hard sheen; the highest spire pierced the clouds, its full form indistinct. Before the giant dragon they had felt like ants.
“There’s no room for negotiation…”
Severus sighed, exhausted.
“I know,” August said.
“At least he gave us one month.”
“What can a month do?”
“Buy time,” August said, a flicker in his eyes, “For example, find someone to help us.”
Severus registered the meaning then realized: “You mean… Halden?”
They exchanged a look and saw in each other’s eyes a final sliver of hope.
Yes, Halden.
If the human empire would intervene, Aola might hesitate.
“Try it,” Severus said, “Better than doing nothing.”
“Mm.” August nodded, “We have one month.”
They said no more and boarded their carriages back to their capitals.
After returning, the first thing each king did was contact Halden through the earlier Halden envoy’s communication method.
In the study of Farrel’s palace, August personally sent a communique to the Halden envoy.
He did not mince words, recounting their trip to the Red Emperor Capital in detail: Garoth’s words, the treaty’s content, the one-month deadline.
He did not hide his feelings.
“You are humanity’s hope.”
He concluded, “If Farrel and Latona fall under vassalage, other states cannot resist. We ask Halden to intervene and pressure Aola to at least relax the terms.”
Latona’s king did the same.
They requested Halden’s involvement to save them from disaster.
The envoy’s reply was almost identical.
“We have received your request,” the envoys said. “This matter is grave; I will forward it to imperial authorities. Please be patient.”
Hope flickered within the kings.
They waited.
One day, two days, three days… each day felt like a year.
After several days Halden’s response reached Farrel and Latona.
The reply was brief, only a few lines.
“The Empire has acknowledged your request and will consider it, but the Empire currently faces heavy affairs; the demon crisis is not resolved, so direct intervention is inconvenient.”
“Please maintain communication with Aola and seek peaceful resolution.”
Upon receiving this, both kings understood the reality.
The demon threat had not fully ended.
The current calm was temporary; new disasters might erupt anytime.
The Red Emperor had proven his value to Halden; he could help the Empire resist demons.
For now, at this juncture, Halden would not push the Red Emperor into opposition.
Both kings had known this from the start; they merely clung to the fantasy that Halden would aid them as fellow humans.
Now that illusion broke.
The harsh reality lay before them.
To Halden the rest of the surface states combined were likely less important than the Red Emperor.
So they resigned themselves.
Soon Farrel and Latona each sent plenipotentiary representatives to the Red Emperor Capital to sign the Unification Treaty.
With their lead, other nations dared not delay.
Those previously hesitating or hoping for luck recognized the situation. The road to the Red Emperor Capital filled with delegations.
In the blink of an eye a month passed.
At dawn the red-iron dragon stood at the edge of the dragon court summit.
A brisk chill rode the morning wind; on the eastern horizon the sun slowly rose, painting the cloud sea in gold and red.
Beside him, Gordon grinned widely, his eyes nearly closed from smiling.
He reported excitedly to Garoth: “Including kingdoms and duchies, all twelve nations of the Eastern Alliance signed. All nine nations of the Southern Domain signed.”
He paused and looked at his kin with pride.
“My dear elder brother, now three quarters of the Atlantis Continent lies under your wings. Of course, I played a small part—permit me this pride and joy.”
He grinned again.
“Mm.”
Garoth nodded and said, “This is the future we created together.”
He did not hoard the honor but shared it with his kin.
For Garoth such titles were never paramount.
He watched the ever-widening sky with a calm face.
Lord of Atlantis.
He did not care for such hollow names, yet that title was gradually transforming from northern praise into continent-wide recognition.