Aiskin and Humph sat nearby, gnawing on shards of ice with wide-eyed curiosity.

  "Is this big fellow a Dragon-kin? He mentioned coming from the Red-Horn Tribe," Tars said, glancing at Old Gold-Tooth, who was still clinging to life—and looking as though he might continue to do so for some time.

  The warrior who had fought the great serpent lay weak and white-eyed beside them. In terms of stature, he was slightly taller than Humph, though his shoulders weren't quite as broad. However, judging by his ability to go head-to-head with the serpent, his raw strength far surpassed Humph's.

  "Woo! Different... he looks like one, yet he's not quite the same..." Old Gold-Tooth muttered, scrutinizing the stranger with equal curiosity.

  Tars stepped forward to examine him. The big guy's fur was exceptionally thick, with only a few red scales patches around his elbows. This was the most striking difference from the Dragon-kin Old Gold-Tooth had described. Tars scooped up a handful of ice shavings and slapped them onto the red-scaled warrior's face.

  Beside him, Humph smacked his lips, clearly not having had his fill of the ice, but he didn't dare make a sound.

  Spurred by the freezing slush, the red-scaled warrior gradually showed signs of waking. A sudden commotion erupted from the main kobold settlement in the distance; Tars and the others spared it only a brief glance before turning back to their captive.

  The warrior's eyes rolled slowly, and focus returned bit by bit. He seemed to possess a fierce temperament; the moment he regained consciousness, he bared his teeth in a snarl and tried to lunged upward. Unfortunately, Tars kicked him back down. To Tars, this display of aggression was merely a mask for fear—the unease of a strong creature finding itself powerless in a strange environment.

  "Red-Horn?" Tars asked with a smirk.

  Being kicked down by an exceptionally short kobold like Tars seemed more than the brute could handle. He visibly teetered on the edge of a violent rage.

  "I ask, you answer. I know you understand me," Tars said calmly. He knew the nature of his race too well; reasoning meant nothing compared to a demonstration of power.

  Without giving the brute time to respond, a blue-white light flickered at Tars's fingertips. The warrior ducked instinctively, rolling half a turn, only to take a direct hit from a Frost Ray squarely on his back.

  "Your fur is so thick... quite impressive. You must have been eating very well to grow such a coat," Tars whispered like a demon. He let out a sincere yet sinister smile—one he intended for the warrior to remember forever. He slowly raised his hand, preparing his next spell.

  In truth, he didn't need the hand gestures to cast, but the deliberate movement and words served a dual purpose: they allowed him a moment to recover his spent mental energy and, more importantly, they projected an aura of absolute pressure.

  Zero-Ring Spell: Depilation!

  The rage bubbling in the Red-Horn warrior's head vanished instantly, replaced by sheer shock. The spell’s effect was startlingly efficient. Instead of a small patch, a completely bald kobold was born in a single heartbeat.

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  Old Gold-Tooth and Aiskin stared at Tars in horror. Humph, who had been enjoying the show, instinctively began to scuffle backward.

  Zing! Another Frost Ray hit the mark!

  "Awooo!" the warrior shrieked.

  Every piercing cry felt like a needle stabbing into the hearts of the three onlookers. After a few more bursts, Tars finally stopped—partly to avoid freezing the "Dragon-kin" to death, and partly to save some mental energy for whatever might come next.

  "We are all kobolds, all family. I just wanted to have a little chat," Tars said, sitting cross-legged so he was at eye level with the prisoner.

  The warrior didn't dare meet his gaze. Once a kobold is defeated by one of its own, it submits immediately—a trait that ensured their species maintained a basic order in such a harsh world.

  "The Red-Horn Tribe? Are there many more like you?"

  The bald warrior nodded frantically. "The King... the King gave us strength. Many, many brothers. We go out, we find tribes, we bring them back. I couldn't win against the others in the hunt, so I traveled very far..."

  The warrior's voice trailed off. He was shivering violently now, with chunks of ice clinging to his shoulders and back. Tars gestured, and Humph stepped forward, piling the discarded fur back onto the warrior and cracking the ice shells with his fists. Humph even snuck a piece of ice into his own mouth, though he quickly realized it didn't taste very good.

  "Your King... is he a Dragon-kin?" Tars asked.

  The bald warrior nodded, then hesitated and shook his head.

  "The King failed. Back then, he wasn't the King. He was thin and small, but he started getting very smart. The King said he woke up 'Ancient Memories.' His head filled with things. He said kobolds have no masters. He said we once had our own civilization, our own empire. It was big, very big..."

  The warrior kept rambling, but Tars's group turned to look at Old Gold-Tooth in disbelief.

  "Then one day, the King suddenly grew tall. Red curved horns grew from his head. The King killed the tribe's Great Lord. The King said it was just a 'Lesser Drake,' not a true dragon, which is why the tribe always failed. The King led us far away to a pool filled with 'Red Water.' It was very hot. He made us drink. We became smart, we became strong. We cheered! We ate the dead Great Lord! By the King's command..."

  The bald warrior's eyes burned with fervor as he looked at them, even glancing at the dying Old Gold-Tooth. Tars realized the brute had indeed become smarter; this sudden cooperation was an attempt to show off the King's power and philosophy, hoping to convince them to join the Red-Horn Tribe. Clearly, the warrior had set his sights on these three "intelligent" kobolds.

  "Where is your King now? And what did you mean by 'wizards'?" Tars asked, finding the situation increasingly amusing.

  "The King? He usually stays in the pool. He only comes out for powerful enemies. His horns are getting redder. The King says we have a curse—a wizard's curse that makes little kobolds born stupid. We must kill the wizards."

  The warrior paused, looking at Tars. "You are very short, but you are very smart and strong. The King would love you! The King loves smart kobolds. He always complains that we are too dim..."

  The warrior's recovery speed was remarkable; the grey, defeated look was gone, replaced by an intense, fanatical heat in his eyes. Tars considered giving him another "treatment," but as soon as he raised his hand, the warrior flinched, all his bravado vanishing instantly.

  "On your way here, how many times did you go hungry? And what else does the King make the tribe do?"

  The bald warrior thought hard, but the effort seemed to fail him. "The King orders us to dig more mines and catch more grubs. Find more kobolds, get bigger land, dig more mines, catch more grubs... and... and I forgot how many times I was hungry." His eyes drifted nervously to Tars's hand.

  Finding himself unpunished, the warrior began to drone on about the King's greatness. Tars stopped listening closely. He was thinking about how to handle this peculiar messenger.

  "In your lands, are there complex tunnels like these?"

  The warrior was busy telling Humph about the King's bravery, but he jumped at Tars's voice and nodded vigorously.

  "Have you ever reached the end of them?" Tars pressed.

  The warrior shook his head hard.

  In the distance, the shouting of the tribe grew louder again, waves of sound rolling through the tunnels. Faint cries echoed through the dark: "The Great Grey-Neck Lord is gone! He's vanished!"