"Duoluo."
Cassius called out the next name.
As the military commander of Cinder Nest and the designer of Bedrock Fortress's defensive works—its trenches, palisades, gates, guard towers, and pit traps—Duoluo genuinely needed an increase in personal strength as a guarantee.
The hobgoblin commander let out a sigh of relief.
At the very least, this proved his standing within Cinder Nest had not slipped too far—after all, hobgoblins loved power even more than they relished war.
Duoluo scrambled onto the boulder and dropped to one knee, waiting.
Blood surged into his mouth.
Scalding heat.
That was the hobgoblin's sole sensation.
Once it passed down his throat, the blood churned within him like boiling magma, scorching every inch of his body. He finally understood Langpu's agony.
Yet, trembling violently all over, he kept to his kneeling posture, clenching his teeth so hard they threatened to shatter.
*I will not die here.*
*I will climb higher—at least higher than that stupid ogre.*
That was the hobgoblin's only thought at this moment.
The hobgoblin's skin was naturally reddish, but the searing elemental energy rendered it translucent, casting a faint red glow.
His frame pulsed rhythmically.
With every heartbeat and breath, dragon blood was pumped throughout his entire body. One could even glimpse his throbbing blood vessels through his translucent flesh.
"Perhaps its effect is more pronounced on creatures without dragon bloodlines," Cassius observed quietly, drawing his own conclusions as he watched the hobgoblin's transformation.
"Ahhh—!"
Finally unable to endure the blistering heat coursing through him, the hobgoblin screamed aloud.
His body began to swell rapidly, scale-like bumps surfacing beneath his skin.
As his roars grew more agonizing, the hobgoblin expanded at a pace visible to the naked eye.
His height shot from around 1.8 meters straight to 2.5 meters. Crimson scales forcefully tore through his frail skin, bared to the air while hissing with white smoke.
"Haaah... haaah..."
He bared his teeth slightly, exhaling bursts of white steam.
His already long, pointed yellow teeth had become as razor-sharp as dragon fangs.
Scales spread onto his face, while ridges formed along his ears, blending into the scales covering his cheeks. Atop his brow, two small, nub-like horns sprouted outward.
A dragonblood hobgoblin was born.
An earth-shattering transformation had overtaken his body. His strength surged dramatically, and his build now rivaled that of an ordinary ogre.
However, being a creature oriented toward legion warfare, he did not awaken a breath weapon. Instead, he gained the ability to cast the cantrip Fire Bolt, alongside a thick suit of protective scales and elevated fire resistance.
Hobgoblins originally had lifespans comparable to humans, and because of their penchant for war, they rarely lived to die of natural causes. Now, he had become a "long-lived race" with a lifespan of around three hundred years—though to a true dragon, that was still fleeting.
Dragonblood Hobgoblin Commander
Challenge Rating: 7 (2,900 XP)
"I thank you for your generous boon."
"I cannot wait... to taste the blood of my enemies on the battlefield."
Duoluo panted heavily.
His naturally red face flushed crimson with exhilaration.
The hobgoblin commander felt an unprecedented surge of power coursing through him. As a being born with an innate lust for war, an intense urge seized him to unleash every ounce of this strength onto a battlefield.
"Well done," Cassius said.
Without the backing of spellcasting, Duoluo gaining this much of an enhancement was already a remarkable feat.
"Smaug."
Cassius called the next name.
The largest wyvern in the flock grew instantly beside itself with excitement upon hearing its summons.
Drooling thick saliva, it hopped eagerly onto the boulder, propping itself on the stone with the wing bones of its forelimbs, its thick tail tipped with a venomous barb swishing rhythmically.
Of course, this was no native name of this world, merely a touch of Cassius's cheeky humor.
After making an example of the previous leader to warn the rest, he had casually appointed the largest among the surviving wyverns to take over as the flock's new alpha.
As low-intelligence beasts, wyverns rarely possessed names.
Seeing how the wyvern rested on its forelimbs, Cassius had been reminded of the famous depiction of Smaug from the movies of his past life, and on a whim, he had bestowed the name upon it.
The wyvern dubbed "Smaug" screeched with excitement, strands of slime dripping from its jaws onto the stone surface.
These beasts possessed both draconic and gryphon lineage, and they hungered insatiably for the bloodline of a true dragon.
The blood flowed into its mouth.
Supporting itself on the ground with its forewings, the wyvern let out low growls.
Even though dragon blood already ran in its veins, generations of dilution had rendered it exceedingly faint, completely incomparable to a red dragon's Boon Blood.
Thus, when the blood infused with violent elemental energy flooded its body, the beast was still wracked with agony.
As the blood churned through its body, the wyvern thrashed and rolled across the boulder.
It let out shrill, piercing shrieks.
The sound was harsh and grating, like scraping metal shards, grating so painfully on the ears that the spectating monsters squirmed in misery.
The wyvern's frame also visibly swelled.
From over five meters to six, and all the way past seven meters, before its growth finally leveled off.
Hard, crimson scales sprouted across its once wrinkled, mucus-coated hide. The fleshy bumps gradually hardened into keratinous spikes, and its jaws, which previously could only spew foul-smelling mucus, could now exhale scorching fire.
The wyvern had undeniably moved several steps closer to a true dragon.
Yet it remained lean and sinewy, still propped on its forelimbs.
Atavistic Wyvern
Challenge Rating: 8 (3,900 XP)
"Not bad. At least you won't be battered senseless by the North Wind Eagle Guard now," Cassius remarked impassively.
The wyvern blasted a gout of flame toward the sky before leaping down from the boulder, lifting its head smugly toward its kin—acting every bit like the beast it was.
By now, little dragon blood remained in the shallow depression.
Only a thin film lingered.
The blood drifted sluggishly, giving off an intoxicating, coppery scent.
By earlier measures, it seemed enough for one final boon.
At this moment, more than a thousand eyes throughout the valley were glued to the remaining blood. Breathing heavily, their gazes burned with fanatical fervor, eyes practically blazing with fire.
Having witnessed several transformations firsthand, the blood had become, in their minds, an indisputable symbol of absolute power.
Agonizing though the transformation might be, what was that sliver of pain compared to such immense power?
And now, the few undisputed figures of the highest standing in Cinder Nest had all partaken.
Did the rest of them stand a chance to claim a share?
Silence still hung over the valley, but the breathing grew increasingly heavy, and the thumping heartbeats sounded ever more distinct, beating like heavy war drums.
Beads of sweat the size of beans rolled down the bugbears' foreheads, trickling through fur to the corners of their eyes, yet they didn't even blink, fixing their unswerving gaze on that pool of blood.
Lizardfolk stood motionless in shaded corners, watching covertly, observing the blood like statues.
Wyverns craned their necks and parted their jaws slightly, saliva dribbling from both sides, their hideous heads brimming with longing.
Who would be the lucky one?
They all waited in eager anticipation.
Chapter 41