Another week had passed since our st meeting. The elder of the forest elves had sent twenty groups of warriors, and with the addition of my servant, there were now twenty-one warriors from the forest elf tribe. As for the guardian nymphs, only ten had arrived, including the dryad’s clone.

  “My lord, the elders send their blessings for our victory,” Faul said after receiving the message from one of the warrior elves.

  “Umu, I understand their decision not to participate directly. There’s also the matter in the Barren Lands that requires their presence,” I replied, acknowledging the elders’ position.

  “There’s something else I must address regarding the warriors,” I continued, turning my gaze toward them. They instinctively flinched under my eyes.

  “You’ve all been informed that I am now your master. As my subjects, your only duty is to obey my commands. Do you understand?” I decred.

  “Yes, my lord, we understand,” they responded in unison.

  “Good. Now, let’s talk about your weapons — they’re all trash,” I said bluntly. A wave of disbelief washed over them, their expressions a mix of surprise and discomfort.

  “Faul, strike with your weapon using all your strength,” I ordered, extending my hand as a target.

  “Eh… m-my lord, where should I strike?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “Strike,” I repeated firmly.

  Faul stepped forward and took a stance, readying himself. After a brief moment of hesitation, he swung with all his might. When his weapon struck my outstretched hand, it shattered instantly.

  Cng.

  “Your weapons are worthless in our eyes,” I said. “They can’t even leave a mark on our scales. Understand this — our scales aren’t just tough. They’re also protected by an invisible barrier that repels both physical and magical attacks. This is what makes us dragons nearly invulnerable.”

  “Does that mean we have no way of harming a dragon, my lord?” asked a female warrior elf.

  “No, there are still ways to break through our defenses. A powerful magical attack, like the one that nearly killed the green dragon, can wound us. Or, a weapon crafted by a master artisan, one who works with magical materials or dragon resources, could also pose a threat,” I expined. The warriors seemed taken aback at my st words.

  “That’s right,” I continued. “Even dragons can become resources, it’s a fact.”

  The dryad let out a soft hum, clearly amused by my candid expnation.

  Perhaps she found my action unusual. After all, what dragon openly admits that their body can be turned into materials for crafting weapons? Dragons are symbols of power and pride. Their very nature resists the idea of being reduced to tools or commodities. And yet, in this world of magic, it’s not unthinkable that somewhere, a dragon has already been forged into a weapon.

  “Faul, I presume the arrowheads on your bow are made of the same material?” I asked my servant.

  “Yes, my lord,” he admitted, clearly disappointed—not just in himself, but on behalf of the other warriors as well. They all seemed to realize how useless their presence was for this particur mission, and that realization left them disheartened.

  “Drya, you mentioned before that you can manipute any tree, correct?” I turned to the dryad.

  During our earlier meeting, just before she departed for her home, she had told me to call her “Drya.” I accepted the request without issue. She also asked if I had a name. I almost gave her my old one out of habit, but stopped myself. That identity was long gone. I won’t say I still mourn my past, but I’ve accepted that I can never return to it. Instead, I told her I haven’t given myself a new name yet.

  “Yes~,” she replied honestly, her voice light.

  “I have an idea,” I said, and then proceeded to expin the pn forming in my mind.

  The idea was to have Drya and her kin craft arrows for my warriors—arrows that could, once fired, transform into vine-like nets to ensnare our enemies.

  “Hm~ An intriguing idea,” she said, clearly impressed. “But I don’t think it will work quite the way you envision. However… I might have an alternative.”

  “Then let’s test it,” I replied without hesitation.

  Drya acknowledged that my concept—transforming arrows into entangling vines—was a good one, but ultimately impractical. Instead, she came up with a different invention. She crafted an arrow from a tree branch, embedding a seed inside the arrowhead.

  “This is what I devised after hearing your idea,” she expined. “I pced a seed within the arrowhead, acting as a conduit for our nature magic. When this seed receives our power…”

  As she spoke, she demonstrated. Upon receiving a surge of magic, the seed sprouted rapidly, releasing vine-like roots that wrapped around a target, effectively immobilizing it.

  “I see…” I murmured in awe, impressed by the demonstration.

  “But there’s still a problem,” she added. “This alone won’t be enough to hold down the green dragon. It commands the power of wind, sharp enough to slice through anything. It even broke free of my grip before, though it was severely wounded.”

  “I noticed that as well,” I admitted. “But perhaps it's still enough to trap it—assuming it’s exhausted. At that time, I believe it had just enough strength and magic left to make a desperate escape. But what if we push it to the point where its power is truly depleted?”

  “Hmm? Are you suggesting we wear it down until it has nothing left?” she asked, now more serious. “Dragons are intelligent. If it sees a group like ours, it might choose to flee rather than fight.”

  “I have a pn,” I said calmly. “I’ll engage it alone first, while the rest of you stay hidden. Wait for my signal.”

  “You seriously think you can hold your own against an adult dragon?” Drya asked, seeking confirmation. “Even if it’s just a hybrid, it must be at least two hundred years old, by my guess.”

  “If you’re right and it’s still recovering, then yes—I may be able to stand my ground,” I decred boldly.

  “We’re allies now,” she countered. “We should face this together.”

  “If you appear, it will flee,” I pointed out. “It remembers how close you came to killing it st time. And besides, I don’t intend to fight it head-on. My goal is to wear it down.”

  “And you’re confident you can do that?” she asked again.

  “I am,” I said with arrogance.

  But the truth is, I don’t actually know if I can. Back then, I nearly died fighting those pigs and the giant ants. But I’ve grown since then—stronger, rger. The creatures of this forest are no longer a match for me. My confidence likely comes from surviving so many deadly encounters. I won each time, and that victory has made my pride soar higher than ever.