The Red Dragon Just Wants To Do As It Pleases
Chapter 59 - 58: Green Dragon

Chapter 59: Chapter 58: Green Dragon

"Everyone, freeze! Stand guard right where you are!" Drow, without saying a word, waved the agreed-upon tactical hand signal.

If it hadn’t been for Drow’s timely control, any rustle of wind or blade of grass might have caused the ’reactive’ Elves to scatter in panic.

Yet, despite holding their breath and remaining on guard for over half an hour, they encountered no Bear Goblins, Kobolds, or Half-Dragon Elves.

"What should we do? Retreat, or...?" the Elf Yevgeny whispered.

"Do you dare?" Drow scoffed, indifferent to their unspoken predicament.

With her soul firmly in the hands of their Red Dragon master, Drow, who should have cherished her life, had become unusually fearless.

I would dare if I could, Yevgeny thought; she too had become fearless after being denied death countless times. But with our souls cramped in a shared prism, *you* wouldn’t let me!

If she dared harbor a single thought of refusal, she couldn’t imagine what unspeakable punishment this devil, Drow, would inflict.

However, after everything she had endured recently, she had almost grown accustomed to it.

Before this, it seemed Drow had played every trick imaginable—and some unimaginable. Yevgeny, having endured countless ordeals in body, mind, and soul, now harbored a faint expectation that Drow might deliver some new, unexpected thrills and surprises.

Such explosively intense experiences and emotional journeys, if undergone by someone like David, would probably have skyrocketed his Lust attribute to at least triple digits.

It was a pity David, even if he could guess, would likely not want to undergo such an extraordinary, non-human, non-dragon experience.

He might first become a toy broken by Drow before ever evolving into a god-tier creature.

"We might be in luck; this seems like an empty nest," Yevgeny’s spirit ’whispered’ in Drow’s ear from within the prism.

"Not very likely," Drow said, pushing Yevgeny’s ethereal face away with a frown.

Just as all the Elves were breathing a collective sigh of relief, thinking they could smoothly escape this harrowing adventure, two swooshing sounds suddenly tore through the low sky.

"A Dragon is coming! Run for it!!!"

No one knew which Elf had suddenly lost their nerve and screamed.

Over two hundred Elf prisoners of war instantly scattered in all directions like panic-stricken hamsters.

Even the previously fearless Drow and Yevgeny were no exception.

After all, if a Dragon appeared—any Dragon—it meant their master’s pre-set objective had been achieved.

If not now, when?

Who would deliberately seek death if they could avoid it?

Having just discovered a new realm of pleasure, they certainly weren’t ready to die. As Elves, they still had six to seven hundred years ahead of them to explore new limits of happiness together.

However, as two draconic shadows swept overhead, not a single Elf cried out in their final moments. The Elves, who had been scattering in despair, suddenly seemed less eager to flee.

Because there was another possibility.

As the Elves looked up, they indeed saw two figures: one robust, one lean, both crimson.

It was their Red Dragon Lord, David, and his new Red Dragon consort.

Of course, they only dared to gossip about this in their minds, not even with companions or close friends.

After all, these were Elves who had lived for hundreds of years. To whom could they truly confide?

Even sharing a meal or shopping together could involve countless hidden schemes and mental chess.

Now that they were all prisoners of war, who knew if one might betray the others for freedom or to become a free subject under a Dragon’s rule.

Meanwhile, David, looking rather displeased, and Lizrite, the female Dragon with an expression of novel curiosity and fearlessness, landed in the empty Green Dragon Nest perched on the cliff.

As for David, his sister hadn’t come this time. Tania had gone to give their "empty-nester" mother, Pafila, some Elven specialties from the new continent of Dewensen to try.

After all, catching dragons was important, but keeping their Red Dragon mother in a good mood was equally vital.

Bribing her with snacks to stay home and sleep soundly was a good strategy. It implicitly deterred threats to the sibling pair and was far better than her alternative: having nothing to do but eat, wander around, and occasionally beat up David for amusement.

"Looks like for the rest of this year, the only dragon you can rely on is me," Lizrite said.

After nearly a month of ’busy’ preparations, they had suddenly come up empty-handed. Yet, for some reason, Lizrite was inexplicably in a good mood, even finding the leisure to tease the clearly disgruntled David.

"Damn it! Did they pack up and move overnight just because I glared at them from the sky? Are these Green Dragons really that sensitive? Seriously?"

David was mid-curse when he suddenly remembered something. "Wait... could it be?"

He lifted his forelimb, took a strong sniff, then looked bewildered. Unwilling to accept it, he pressed Lizrite’s head against his neck. "There’s hardly any scent left! Smell it!"

"What are you doing? I haven’t agreed to this yet..." Lizrite instinctively struggled, suddenly forced into close contact with the Evil Dragon.

But as some subtle elements wafted into her nostrils, Lizrite froze, as dumbfounded as a cat that had just sniffed its master’s smelly sock. Her mouth fell slightly agape, her hindquarters wriggled involuntarily, and her tail trembled.

Her expression shifted rapidly from initial shyness and resistance to shock, then ecstasy, and finally to a nymphomaniac-like enthrallment. She draped her upper body over David, sniffing him wildly, stopping just short of licking him.

"Wow! It’s Lady Pafila’s scent! Let me savor it, just a little longer!"

"Get lost!"

David, like a Scum Dragon who had already had his way, shoved the now-defenseless, infatuated female dragon aside with a claw, his face etched with an ’I knew it’ exasperation.

His mother had told the truth. ’Come here, don’t move. Let me put a mark on you. This way, just like your sister Tania, no other dragons will dare provoke you.’

However, this scent marking was likely not obvious to young dragons whose pheromonal olfactory systems—their Jacobson’s organs—hadn’t fully developed.

But for adult dragons, this mark was akin to being ’red-named’ in a legend.

Except for those with a grudge who could—and would—take immediate revenge, most would give him a wide berth long before he even got close.

For the first time, David truly felt how burdensome and heavy his mother’s ’love’ could be.

With this mark placed by the Crimson Calamity herself, it wasn’t just within her territory. Even now, standing outside Pafila’s domain, probably no dragon past its youth would dare approach him.

"Damn it! Let’s go, let’s go. This was a complete waste of time," he cursed.

I’d better just go to the new continent, smuggle some ’munitions,’ and earn my first hoard as a dragon, he thought.

But just as David, still cursing and lashing his tail, was about to lead his underlings back to his territory, a melodious and soul-stirringly seductive voice drifted from the cave behind the empty Dragon Nest.

"My, my. If it isn’t the son of the Crimson Calamity, Prince David Uthos, gracing us with his presence. We have been remiss in our welcome."

"On guard!"

Upon hearing this mature, dragon-enticing voice, the scales of both Red Dragons, David and Lizrite, bristled. They spun around sharply.

They stared incredulously at what should have been an empty cave, lowering their bodies, tails raised, claws bared, poised to fight a formidable enemy.

He truly hadn’t expected a Green Dragon to play a reverse empty-fortress stratagem on him.

From the vine-covered depths of the dark cave, two deep green glows slowly materialized, like emeralds in the night. Their owner emerged, speaking as she walked with elegant strides. She performed a respectful bow to David, in accordance with draconic etiquette from the Age of Dragons, completely ignoring Lizrite, who had begun to tremble instinctively beside him.

But before she could speak further, one of the High Elves, who had just struggled halfway up the mountainside carrying that heavy iron rod, yelled.

"Holy crap! The Green Dragon’s out! Run for it!!!"

The Elven prisoners of war, already suffering from PTSD due to Green Dragons, once again scattered like startled hamsters.

They fled in all directions.