Chapter 42: The Path of the False Dragon (Four Updates, Fourteen Thousand Words)

“How did you do it?”

“Uh, how did I do it?”

How did I do it? I honestly don’t know.

At this moment, although Leon still wore a cold expression, his heart was deeply shaken.

How could such a stubborn creature be taken down with just a few punches?

He stood there, the mutated arm still in place, undeniable proof.

Larry’s timely exclamation, “What a beautiful dragon claw,” caught Leon off guard.

You know about this thing? You know dragon claws?

“In the kingdom, quite a few follow the path of the pseudo-dragon, but this is the first time I’ve seen such a beautiful pseudo-dragon claw.”

So, this rather grotesque arm appeared beautiful in her eyes? Uh, big sister, is your sense of aesthetics a little off?

Yet those crystal-like heterochromatic eyes seemed genuinely mesmerized as they gazed at Leon’s arm.

“I didn’t expect it either,” Leon continued weaving his lie.

“Yes, it’s truly unexpected. These troublesome creatures have a weakness in the power of the pseudo-dragon. But, Lord Leon, it’s truly a pity.”

Larry’s face was full of regret. To her, even the lingering effects of his prime power were formidable, making it hard to imagine how strong Leon was at his peak.

The musculature of the dragon arm was near perfect, and the scales shimmered with arcane crystal radiance. Whether in strength or enchantment potential, it was top-tier.

It was likely that at his prime, Leon could crush an ogre with a single claw.

“You truly are the destined heir of the heroic soul. It’s our fault that forced you to awaken your bloodline early, shortening your time, isn’t it?”

Leon fell silent for a moment. Unsure how to respond, he was taken as acquiescing.

“Probably only one or two days left. But honestly, it doesn’t matter much. For me now, a few days more or less makes no difference,” Leon said.

This was the truth. After dealing with Maria, Leon would settle the heroic soul card, so the extra days held no real meaning.

Larry, seeing the confusion on Demon’s and the others’ faces, offered further explanation.

“The pseudo-dragon path is an evolutionary route that borrows dragon material, quite niche in our kingdom.”

Supernatural beings can evolve continuously—from primordial stones to “colored metals” as a beginning, eventually evolving into legendary mythical species like the phoenix or the Bimon bloodline.

As one of the strongest native species, dragons naturally have a similar path called the pseudo-dragon route.

But this path is not easy. Although dragon species are numerous, they tend to be the strongest within their tier. Other species at the same level are mere minions, while dragons are usually bosses. Collecting materials from them requires great effort.

However, for beastfolk like lizards and snakes, this path suits them best. So Leon, a lizardman, being a pseudo-dragon, was not surprising.

“The pseudo-dragon path across the continent is a grand avenue. Due to the strength of dragon blood, its evolutionary power and ceiling are guaranteed. But in our kingdom, for certain reasons, the number is fewer and most remain hidden,” Larry explained, outlining the unwritten rules within noble circles as they walked.

You can privately indulge in many things, but you cannot flaunt them openly, or you’ll face ostracism and attacks.

What are these “certain reasons”? Naturally, it’s the royal family’s near-hysterical hatred of dragons.

An almost empire-level force was shattered into mere cities—that grudge was monumental.

Yet everyone knew it was misplaced anger. Why should the hatred of one dragon implicate others, even descendants?

But in the kingdom’s social discourse of recent years, this was political correctness. Both old and new regimes harbored deep dragon hatred, though border regions cared little.

“In fact, we in Glowing City don’t mind. That big guy you saw earlier is a well-known pseudo-dragon powerhouse here. His bloodline likely reached the level of a sub-volcanic magma dragon—overwhelming strength at his tier.”

Uh, that guy was actually a dragon? Not some hippopotamus?

Leon breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed his own power was justifiable, but he felt his “dragon claw” was different from that volcanic type.

To truly distinguish between them, he’d probably need to find that little dragon hunter girl, a true dragonborn.

“Tsk, I really don’t understand how a dragonborn could harbor such hatred towards dragons. Haha, maybe her father sired her and then ran off,” Leon thought, recalling “Dragon Jokes” from his previous life’s internet forums—this one fitting the world’s lore, nearly making him laugh aloud.

He shook his head, reminding himself this wasn’t the time for such thoughts; unknown enemies still awaited ahead.

The appearance of those small beasts made it clear this incident was slipping out of control.

But for Leon’s current team, armed with this targeted power, the path ahead was much smoother.

There was no need to use the “dragon claw.” Leon felt this power was unstable and uncomfortable to use repeatedly.

His own body might not sustain it for long.

“Dragon Eye.” With just a glance, those small beasts transformed one by one, then charged madly.

“Evil-Break Slash!” This time, the strike was quite satisfying.

Though the enhancement wasn’t great, it was far better than a bare fist.

“Steady and sure. Save the dragon claw for emergencies; Dragon Eye doesn’t consume much,” Leon advanced step by step.

But those who advanced so smoothly were few.

“True Dragon Eye!”

Elsewhere in the cave, similar events unfolded.

A truck-sized brute widened his eyes as his pupils shifted into blood-red vertical slits.

‘Volcanic Howl’ Quiveldorf finally lost patience and took the initiative.

“Rex Flame Claw!” With a roar, his arm suddenly thickened, transforming into a massive dragon claw that slammed down.

Yet the beastfolk struck still struggled and bit back.

Restraint? Impossible.

Behind him, several small beasts silently watched; one even emitted a faint sound.

That eerie tone echoed through the cave, but no one understood it.

If Leon were here, he’d know it muttered:

“Fake dragon, fake dragon, fake dragon. Hiss, hiss, hiss, mud fake dragon worse than a mongrel.”

“Gurgle what!”

Quiveldorf’s fury flared again; his magma-like skin burst open.

Flame seeds oozed from his skin, instantly igniting into fire.

In a flash, draped in dragon-like flames, he transformed into a humanoid fire dragon, laughing wildly.

“Battle Qi Burst!”

This time, when he swung his “Battle Qi Strike,” the deformed dragon claw trailed blazing flames, turning the beastfolk into living fire.

He breathed deeply, drawing in the flames, which roared anew.

The greatest advantage of the pseudo-dragon path was their overwhelmingly robust physique. To him, it was the perfect match for a martial monk reliant on physical hardware—except he was a rogue monk without any vows.

This strike was serious; even an iron gate would soon melt into molten metal.

Yet despite this, the monster could still regenerate while retaliating.

“Stubborn trash!” Quiveldorf charged again.

“Ahhh!” With a roar, he tore through the flames with brute force.

When the creature collapsed twitching, its regeneration finally ceased.

But before him, many still roamed wildly in the cave, their roars hardly rational.

The chief was formidable; forced breakthroughs could still kill through. The other leaders were less certain.

They had become ripe fruit, heavily targeted.

In front of the third leader, “Black Iron Anvil” Bargu, there were more than just small beasts.

The hunted target, the black-robed nun Maria, appeared before him.

Though he had found his mark, his expression was grim. Over twenty small beasts circled her like tame puppies.

Among them, three bore broken horns and possessed multi-eyed, spiritually sharp gazes, appearing especially ethereal and sinister.

“Is this Old Master Bargu? I still remember your arrogance when you took my poor child.”

There was clearly old animosity between them, but it no longer mattered.

“Good evening, master. Please go die.”

“Bitch! I should have killed you all long ago.” Yet faced with the charging beast pack, he had no time to speak.

His escape was cut off.

The once instinct-driven small beasts, now controlled by the beast shepherd, transformed one by one into beastfolk, forming battle formations.

Now, it seemed the third leader of the slave market needed to find a way to flee with his life.

As Maria began her hunt, preparing funds for her journey, those awaited by her also started arriving.

“Clang!” A small boat collided against the dock on the dark river.

Three cloaked figures with single-eyed masks silently disembarked.

The leader was a towering figure over two meters tall. He looked around but did not see the woman they were to meet.

He turned back and ordered:

“Find her. Take her cargo. If she tricks us, kill her. If she obeys, kill her after we’re out.”

Maria’s plan was sound. Knowing too much, she had no chance of survival from the start.

But this time, who would be the last to laugh?