With all matters settled, Cassius dragged his dragon body alone into the cavern. The warm hollow, which had nearly scooped out the entire mountain, would undoubtedly serve as his most perfect lair.
"Finally..."
In the cavern illuminated by Continual Flame, surrounded by glittering gold coins and treasures, the red dragon slowly lowered himself to the ground, curling his massive frame into a loose coil as his broad wings folded gently at his sides.
Scalding white steam billowed on all sides, and the pungent reek of sulfur saturated the air.
Ripples like flowing magma drifted across the surface of his body, radiating unimaginable heat.
Once, red dragons needed to sleep in volcanic lava to absorb abundant fire elemental energy. But now, as a red dragon bearing the bloodline of a progenitor dragon, Cassius was himself an inexhaustible fountain of power. A dragon that wielded fire grew hotter as it aged in the most literal sense, to the point where even his fundus vessels could scarcely contain the brimming heat.
All he needed to do was unleash the power slumbering within his bloodline seed—those waves of light were nothing more than energy overflowing from his body.
*Clatter, jingle.*
A faint ringing echoed through the chamber.
The red dragon's long, thick tail gently swept across the floor, pushing aside scattered gold coins to clear a wide patch of open ground, leaving himself ample room to expand.
"I hope that when I wake, there will be a pleasant surprise waiting for me..."
An anticipatory gleam surfaced in Cassius's golden eyes.
He slowly closed his eyes. His breathing deepened, and the glowing ripples across his scales pulsed in rhythm with each drawn breath.
Brimming fire elemental energy gradually gathered over his scales, condensing into a thick, nearly solid film of light that swathed the dragon's form tightly.
Thus, a rare wonder unfolded within the cavern: an enormous "cocoon" nearly thirty meters in diameter took shape. Unlike an ordinary cocoon, ripples like molten magma flowed across its surface, and the creature wrapped inside was a red dragon on the brink of metamorphosis, not a caterpillar preparing to become a butterfly.
Considering his species, however, calling it a "dragon egg" seemed far more fitting.
This was an instinctive defense born of Cassius's subconscious. Using his overflowing surplus of energy, he had woven a spell akin to an Egg of Refuge; any creature that touched the radiant shell would be reduced to ash by the extreme heat, shielding the vulnerable red dragon from any outside harm.
Boiling magma welled up from the ground.
Cocooned within, Cassius fell into a deep slumber, with no telling when he would awake.
...
At the cave entrance, inside the Steel Dragonwing Palace:
"Hurry up!"
"You lazy fools!"
Trump's impatient bellow rang out.
The towering dragon-blooded ogre mage was leading dozens of the kingdom's spellcasters, working frantically to erect defensive spell circles.
All manner of spells—explosions, toxic mist, acid rain, and even earth spikes—were crammed into the formation, transforming the sole passage into the cave into a lethal gauntlet of traps, a tomb that any adventurer would dread to approach.
Suddenly, Trump hauled up a wizard mid-cast by the scruff of his neck, snarling viciously, "Moron! Who told you to put an ice spike trap here?!"
"If someone actually invades, they're going to trigger the Wall of Fire on the ground first! Before your damned ice spikes can even scratch anyone, they'll be boiled into a puddle of water!"
Trembling all over, the wizard stammered in a tearful voice, "Lord Trump, y-yes, it's my mistake!"
Only then did the ogre drop him. Turning around, he inspected the permanent warding array on the other side. Shimmering runes marked the boundary where the magical cylinder met the floor and surrounding surfaces; creatures would be unable to enter the cylinder voluntarily through nonmagical means, forcing them onto the paths laden with traps.
Yet with his seasoned eye, Trump spotted a problem at a glance. He barked, "Who set up this warding circle?"
A black-robed wizard stepped out from the crowd with a fawning smile, confident that his work was flawless and hoping to earn Trump's praise.
Little did he expect a torrent of furious abuse the moment he stepped forward.
"Take another look, you idiot! Your spell is aligned in reverse! This keeps people from getting out, not from getting in!"
"Y-yes, Lord Trump."
Foul-smelling spittle from the ogre flew into his face, but the black-robed wizard could only muster a strained smile while cold sweat beaded on his forehead. After all, Trump's stature within the kingdom went without saying, and the wizard still relied on this crude ogre to disburse the funds for his magical experiments.
Trump raised his staff, pointing at a dim array carved into the wall, and bellowed, "Who was in charge of this blasted Glyph of Warding?"
The hall fell dead silent. Not a soul dared answer Trump while he was in such a rage.
"The materials for a Glyph of Warding require incense and at least two hundred gold coins' worth of diamond dust! Which idiot swapped out the diamond dust for bone meal?!"
"Even goblins with brains smaller than fruit pits wouldn't resort to such clumsy embezzlement! Did you really think I wouldn't notice?!"
Before Trump could finish, a sudden gust of searing wind swept through the hall.
*Whoosh—*
The sweltering heat made even Trump, with his red dragon bloodline, grimace in discomfort. The tender-skinned human wizards hopped in place as if their flesh were peeling, scrambling to cast protective wards.
Yet the temperature inside the hall continued to climb. Within mere breaths, it surged close to forty degrees—a temperature impossible to reach naturally in Anzeta.
Trump frowned slightly, his expression growing solemn. "It's the Master. He has entered his slumber."
"Before this, he deliberately kept the immense power in his body suppressed. Now that he's asleep, he can no longer contain it, and it's spilling out."
With that in mind, Trump addressed the spellcasters: "Everyone, out. It's no longer fit for you to stay here."
He gave his staff a casual flick, tearing open a spatial rift leading to the wizard tower before them.
Relieved as if granted an imperial pardon, the spellcasters scrambled into the portal, eager to escape this hellish furnace.
Among the crowd, a grey-robed figure let out a long sigh of relief and slipped through after them—he was the very wizard who had cut corners, silently congratulating himself on escaping retribution.
Little did this wizard know that Trump had caught that single sigh with his sharp perception. A savage sneer curled across the ogre's face; he fully intended to settle the score later—now was simply not the time.
Once all the wizards were gone, Trump flew out of the palace alone; only the red dragon bloodline flowing through his veins allowed him to linger here at all.
Gazing at the sealed entrance of the cavern and feeling the air bake against his skin, he could almost picture the magnificent sight within the sleeping dragon's lair—and the immense, awe-inspiring majesty coursing through it.
"May you grow ever mightier..."
"Until... you surpass the gods themselves."
The ogre murmured under his breath, his hideous face brimming with the fervor of a devout zealot and an indescribably sincere devotion.
Chapter 234