Chapter 57: The Red Dragon’s Migraine (Please Continue Reading)

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Herbert, the Red Dragon, had been suffering from a persistent headache lately. The pain of his broken wing was deeply ingrained in his bones, yet no physical wound, no matter how severe, could compare to the gnawing knot left in his heart.

He was unwilling to accept defeat.

What frustrated him even more was that he didn’t even understand how he lost.

If his opponent had cast a sixth-level spell to clash head-on with his Infernal Flame, overpowering him and leaving him gravely wounded, Herbert could at least accept that he had been outmatched.

But Linden’s attack had no casting time, no incantation—just a simple raising of the palm, and Herbert’s own attack was reflected back at him as if bounced off a silver mirror.

He was using Herbert’s own technique?!

Did he not have any signature spells of his own?

It was shameless.

In Herbert’s several centuries of life, there had been many dragons of comparable strength worthy of his attention, but Linden became the first to truly capture his heart.

Because before Linden revealed his name, Herbert had no idea what kind of creature he was dealing with.

Herbert’s impression of humans was limited to the knowledge that they were beings who existed long before dragons.

He had no idea what they looked like, what traits they had, or what spells they mastered.

Perhaps some dragons were intrigued by studying humans, who were older than themselves, but Herbert dismissed such curiosity with disdain.

No matter how strong, they were just history. What use was studying history when real strength was in the present?

That had been Herbert’s belief.

But Linden’s counterattack had thoroughly slapped him in the face.

History was valuable! It had to be learned.

Now Herbert had changed his mind.

Had he known earlier that humans possessed this kind of reflective ability, he would never have used such devastating spells.

What troubled him most was that he couldn’t understand the principle behind Linden’s move.

Mirror spells capable of reflecting attacks did exist, but only if the caster’s own magical energy exceeded that contained in the attacker’s spell.

It was like a mirror wanting to repel a flying projectile—it needed enough mass to withstand the instantaneous destructive force upon contact.

Deflecting at an angle was even harder, requiring more magic and mental effort to control the opponent’s attack.

If one could achieve this level of mastery, why bother reflecting the attack at all?

Thus, the neutral mirror spells among dragons were often regarded as somewhat useless—neither particularly beneficial nor entirely dispensable.

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But if dragons could reflect attacks like humans, with a full 180-degree no-loss bounce-back, even enhancing the damage with their own power, one could hardly imagine what battles would become.

Two dragons would cease their magical exchanges, turning into a “you don’t cast, I don’t cast” stalemate like turtles.

Combat would rely almost entirely on melee.

This suited Herbert perfectly.

After all, a dragon’s body itself was a formidable weapon; a single charge or swipe could cause tremendous destruction.

The problem was, with the silver dragon he had raised nearby, Linden never engaged him in close combat.

When Herbert first encountered the snowy-white young dragon, it was caught stealing dragon melons from his garden.

His initial thought was that this was a dimwitted white dragon, ignorant of boundaries, trespassing into his territory.

But adhering to the principle of “bully the weak when you can,” Herbert let out a commanding roar to assert dominance, giving the intruder three seconds to flee.

And then, nothing happened.

Who would have thought that this little creature, with wings smaller than his own, could fly so fast?

In the blink of an eye, it disappeared without a trace.

Though angry, Herbert considered that since they were both among the five-colored dragons, as long as the creature didn’t provoke him again, he would let it go.

But next time they met, the little dragon pulled a major stunt.

By the time Herbert realized he’d been tricked, it was too late to check his treasure trove.

Most of the valuable items had been looted, including his cherished jade statue of a hundred birds.

Furious, Herbert abandoned his usual path and stormed out onto the palace roof, determined to find the thief.

It was then, upon seeing the white young dragon again, that Herbert became certain the creature wasn’t a white dragon.

White dragons weren’t this clever—stealing from his treasury and escaping so smoothly.

This was an organized, premeditated heist.

The culprit had to be a silver dragon.

That metallic dragon was truly wicked.

Daring to be a little bandit even in its youth, what would it be like when fully grown?

It bore the spirit of the Red Dragon King’s youthful chaos.

Pah!

How could such a despicable silver dragon compare to his supreme Red Dragon King?

Lying atop the Golden Fleece, Herbert shifted slightly.

Though the movement was small, it twisted the savage wound on his right wing, sending a sharp pain coursing through him.

The red dragon gritted his teeth but said nothing.

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He hadn’t been injured in so long that this sudden grievous wound was strangely exhilarating.

It meant a new challenge lay ahead, a stronger enemy he would have to overcome with all his might.

What vexed him was the way he had been wounded.

No fierce clash of body against body, no intense collision of spells.

He had fought himself—what kind of fight was that?

He stared blankly at the grand door of his private chamber.

The chamber’s defensive magic had already been activated, but he suspected those defenses were as fragile as paper against Linden.

Herbert was prepared for an intruder’s break-in, ready to fight at any moment.

Strike when he was weak—that was the most efficient and direct strategy.

He didn’t see anything dishonorable in Linden’s actions.

On the contrary, if he were in Linden’s place, he would certainly exploit the opponent’s weakness to finish the fight swiftly, avoiding prolonged trouble.

As this thought crossed his mind, a sudden flash of insight struck Herbert like an electric shock.

No.

If Linden were truly that powerful, why had he fled in the first place?

Herbert felt he had uncovered a blind spot.

He had been obsessing over the seeming improbability of Linden’s spellcasting and imagining what other special abilities humans might possess.

In doing so, he had overlooked the simplest, most obvious truth:

Linden had severely wounded him and pushed him off a cliff.

If he truly had such overwhelming power, wouldn’t he have just finished Herbert off with a mere flick of his fingers?

Yet, despite the overwhelming advantage, Linden chose to escape.

Either humans, like the metallic dragons, adhered to some code of martial ethics, an inner code of honor and restraint that Herbert found insignificant,

Or Linden’s ability had limits—he probably couldn’t use it a second time in quick succession, his condition no better than Herbert’s and requiring time to recover.

Herbert’s mind suddenly cleared.

If that was the case, humans were not perfect beings.

As long as he found the right approach, he could defeat them.

Herbert felt a surge of pride in his own cleverness.

He was ready to begin formulating a combat strategy against humans.