Chapter 580: Capturing the Wild Dragon—Uragax
Crack!
The giant jaws locked onto the twisted shoulder blades, and the wild dragon's wings drooped instantly under the crushing force. In a dragon fight, disabling the wings is crucial.
"Roar!"
The wild dragon let out a mournful roar as one side of its body went numb, its wing losing all sensation. In a desperate, panicked attempt to resist, it spewed Dragonfire, but it was futile.
Rhaegar trembled with intensity, his eyes fixed on the tattered hemp rope draped across the wild dragon’s back. Gritting his teeth, he urged, "Harder, Cannibal!"
As far as he could see, the rope, now filthy and encrusted with mud, looked like it had been dragged through a sewer. It wrapped around the dragon's neck, anchored by a heavily corroded iron plate at the top—the worn base of what had once been a dragon saddle.
Rhaegar tightened his grip on the dragon whip, a realization dawning. "It really is a remnant of a Dragonlord," he thought. This was a dragon without a master, yet one that had once borne a rider.
"Roar!"
The Cannibal, driven by a deep-seated desire for revenge, bit down harder, crushing the bones of the wild dragon’s wing and twisting its massive body.Alll latest novels at novelhall.com!
One sharp claw clamped around the wild dragon's neck, while the other tore into a flailing leg. The rain poured down on the two battling beasts, the sound of splintering bone and ripping flesh echoing through the storm. A large chunk of meat was torn off by the Cannibal’s fangs, and the dragon's head shook as it devoured the flesh.
The taste of blood only intensified the Cannibal's ferocity, awakening a primal desire to consume. It continued to bite and swallow, piece by piece, prolonging the torment.
The Cannibal didn’t end the battle with a single, merciful bite. Instead, it savored the destruction, eating the wild dragon slowly and cruelly, bit by agonizing bit. No dragon in the world could challenge the majesty of the king of wild dragons. Killing a dragon, even an adult one, was not difficult for such a beast.
"Roar..."
The wild dragon moaned in agony, its body succumbing to the relentless assault. As it fell uncontrollably, it lowered its head in a final, desperate attempt to bite back at the vicious Cannibal.
A sudden stumble!
The wild dragon’s sharp teeth sank into the dark dragon's neck, struggling to pierce the tough scales, bright blood blooming like scarlet flowers. Cannibal’s green pupils narrowed, growing even more sinister as it clenched its opponent's claws with a burst of strength, the sickening crunch of breaking bones echoing through the air.
"Roar..."
The wild dragon’s pupils dulled, its jaws loosening around the Cannibal’s muzzle as the loose flesh of its neck began to sag and deform. Rhaegar watched intently, his eyes reflecting an indecipherable light as he raised and lowered the dragon-taming whip. The choice to kill or spare was a mere thought away.
Suddenly, the wild dragon slowly twisted its neck, and its amber pupils came into view. Rhaegar was momentarily stunned, seeing a complex mix of emotions—hatred, resentment, and a deep weariness—flicker in those massive eyes. A wave of realization surged through him.
This was no mere wild dragon. It was a creature that had once known a master, now wandering alone across the continent of Sothoryos. Rhaegar lowered his head, recognizing the error in his initial assumptions.
The wild dragon was old; its loose, sagging skin revealed as much. Though not as decrepit as Vhagar, it was certainly older than Vermithor, which had matured and aged rapidly. In contrast, Dreamfyre and Silverwing, though smaller and less imposing, still retained their youthful vigor, with no signs of aging. Even the Cannibal, with its thick scales and prominent horned crest, had not yet left the prime of its life.
Rhaegar's mind cleared, noticing a subtle shift in the wild dragon's eyes. Dragons have distinct growth periods, peaks, and aging phases. This dragon looked ancient, but who knew its true age?
Dragons typically live around two hundred years. The Doom of Valyria occurred over two centuries ago, aligning with the natural lifespan of a dragon. If this wild dragon had hatched in Sothoryos, its age would be roughly accurate. But if that were true, it would be a wild dragon by nature. Yet the saddle on its back proved it had once been ridden.
Was it once the mount of an ancient Dragonlord before the Doom? Or a descendant who fled to Sothoryos afterward?
'No,' Rhaegar thought, shaking his head. 'The descendants of the Dragonlord could not have tamed a dragon without some great effort.' This wild dragon likely existed before the Doom, meaning it must be over two hundred years old.
"Roar..."
Cannibal tore off another piece of flesh, causing the wild dragon to tremble violently in pain, letting out a mournful cry of despair. At the edge of life and death, the will to survive surged stronger than anything else. The wild dragon’s neck shook wildly as it launched a desperate counterattack, its massive body—over 100 meters long—striking back.
Crack!
"Croak."
A toad croaked in his ear, and a gray toad materialized out of thin air. In that instant, both man and dragon, locked in their fierce struggle, felt their pupils darken...
The foggy space was so dark that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Slowly, a consciousness began to awaken, its presence tentatively exploring the shadowy void.
Suddenly, a shout pierced the silence, echoing in High Valyrian.
"Uragax!!"
Silence.
Not a sound disturbed the oppressive stillness.
"Uragax!!"
The cry was repeated, this time with more urgency, as if summoning a companion.
In the darkness, three eggs appeared, their surfaces gleaming faintly: one dark red, one deep green, and the last speckled white.
Roar.
One of the eggs began to tremble, tiny cracks forming on its bright, moss-like rhombus-patterned shell.
One second, two seconds...
"Roar~~"
The egg split open, revealing a small, green dragon head that poked out, tiny and agile.
"Uragax, your reincarnated body has hatched!"
A hoarse voice rang out, trembling with excitement.
Roar.
No sooner had the green dragon hatchling emerged than a large hand seized it by the neck, lifting it roughly as if it were no more than a chicken. The hatchling panicked, its wide eyes darting around in fear.
The cave was dark, the walls carved with strange inscriptions that gave the impression of a place dedicated to the worship of dark gods. Figures in black and red robes moved about like shadows, their faces hidden, their movements eerily mechanical.
"Roar~~"
The young dragon froze momentarily, its pupils quietly shifting. Then, all at once, the sounds around it vanished, as if the world itself had fallen silent. In the void, a pair of purple eyes appeared, seeming to pierce through time and space, reaching deep into the hatchling’s consciousness as if entering a dream.
"Croak."
The sound of a dull toad broke the silence, and the illusory scene shifted.
...
Outside the cave, an open canyon spread wide. A towering volcano loomed in the distance, its crater boiling with molten lava, spewing pungent black smoke into the sky. Despite the volcanic fury, the canyon floor was thick with vegetation, birds chirping and squawking as they twisted their heads on branches and rocks.
In the depths of the canyon, a heavy, low breathing echoed ominously.
Clap!
A pale dragon tail, as thick as a ship’s mast and as long as a pine tree, swayed and then fell limp against the stone wall at the edge of the canyon, sending a shudder through the earth.