CHAPTER 234: CHAPTER 233: FOREIGN AID

Leon was quite confident in himself. His mind worked well; no trick or scheme could stump him—or so he believed. Though in others’ eyes, it was often another story: while he had his moments of brilliance, there was no shortage of foolish moves either.

No matter what, with tears welling up in Vilanser’s eyes, Leon finally understood something he’d never been able to make sense of before: why those elves focused so much on controlling him rather than attacking him outright. Turns out, they went to great lengths just to strip off his Dragon Armor, thinking his weakness lay hidden beneath it.

Consider it further, put yourself in their shoes—it wasn’t hard for Leon to understand why they had that thought. Normally, armor exists to protect weak points, not to show off. No dragon has ever worn Dragon Armor simply to look stylish, right?

Vilanser was undoubtedly a beauty—a tear-streaked beauty that could easily evoke pity. Fortunately, Leon was already surrounded by extraordinary women, whether it was Tassera or Cecilia, both stunning in their human forms. Salovis’s Dragon Form was ferocious, but her human form was adorably captivating; she’d long since desensitized Leon to such allure.

Even if he hadn’t developed immunity, it wouldn’t matter—Leon was still an immature teenage dragon, not fully in his mating phase. His lower instincts could hardly overpower his rational upper mind. Knowing the stakes, he mocked without hesitation: "What foolish elves."

"Yes, foolish. I truly was too foolish." For a long-lived elf, Vilanser still counted as young, and young people were prone to breaking under pressure.

Failure is not scary; what’s truly terrifying is succumbing and collapsing thereafter.

Nothing ever proceeds smoothly without setbacks. Adversity and failure are the greatest teachers—sunshine follows the storm. If Vilanser could endure this failure, the future would surely hold great triumphs for her. But if she couldn’t, shrinking back with caution, her prospects would likely take a grim turn.

Either way, a mere few minutes weren’t enough for Vilanser to recover, but they were sufficient for Leon to realize he might seize this opportunity to shatter the elves’ psychological defenses in one fell swoop.

Opportunity waits for no one. Leon shouted loudly, "Don’t overthink it, even if your ace-in-the-hole, painstakingly prepared over three days, was shattered with a single touch. It’s not your incompetence; it’s my overwhelming strength."

"I am invincible." As he spoke, Leon activated his "Menacing Presence." Whether or not Danalan’s Maze Lock was in effect—allowing elves within its confines to be immune to fear—it didn’t matter. Activating "Menacing Presence" didn’t consume mana. "Submit to me; you may yet live."

Seeing the Red Dragon disregard their meticulously planned attacks and now pontificate, some elves began to waver. Maze Lock could grant them immunity to magical fear effects, but it wouldn’t dispel the emotion of fear itself.

This is the way—keep pushing.

"Still resisting? How long will you cling to your stubborn defiance?" Leon continued, noticing several elves gasping for breath. He couldn’t help but show a sinister smile.

The moment one elf’s psyche crumbled—when someone took the lead—it would only take one or two. Morale could collapse in an instant like a chain reaction. When those elves finally fled, it would be the perfect moment for his Soul Summoning Mantra to shine.

If no one stepped forward to intervene, Leon’s gambit might actually succeed. The breakdown could occur in mere seconds. Alas, such a scenario was destined not to happen.

"Silence! Red Dragon. You are strong, but not so strong as to be invincible." Vilanser had cracked—not out of fear of the Red Dragon, but regret over her own cleverness gone wrong. Meanwhile, Eran, the Elf General, remained utterly unmoved from start to finish.

"If you were truly that formidable, you’d have freed yourself by now. Instead, you’re bound by vines and held down with tentacles, unable to move—like some ridiculous clown." Eran continued, "It’s a shame I wasn’t the one to cast Bigby’s Hand. Otherwise, I’d have stuffed that mouth of yours shut, sparing our ears from your absurd, laughable prattle."

Leon finally took note of his current predicament.

After Eran pointed it out, the others also noticed the immobilized Red Dragon. Many elves even curled their lips into faint smiles.

Seeing this scene, Leon wasn’t angry—just a little embarrassed. His confidence was undented, like a wealthy man shrugging off accusations of being poor, as he chuckled, "Do you think you can actually restrain me like this?"

"What else?" Eran raised an eyebrow and pulled out a Dragon Slaughter Arrow.

Dragon Slaughter Arrows were undoubtedly precious; creating just one requires immense time, effort, and resources. Yet for an elf city like Danalan, with centuries or even millennia of accumulation, it was unlikely they’d only have a single arrow. Carrying a whole bag wouldn’t be out of the question.

Of all those present, the strongest was undoubtedly the Elf General. That Great Druid in the rear was formidable as well, but he’d remained in the back lines the entire time. Watching Eran lift her bow once more, Leon remarked, "It’s pointless. No matter how many arrows you shoot, the result will be the same."

Eran ignored Leon.

Leon noticed that Eran maintained her bow-drawn, arrow-nocked posture while muttering something indistinguishable under her breath. He vaguely caught a name—Solonor Shanrandri—a figure he remembered as one of the elven deities, the god of archery and the protector of Elf Rangers.

Is she praying for divine strength?

In this world, where gods exist, divine power was very real and granted to mortals.

If this were out in the wilderness, it might not be a big deal. Gods couldn’t possibly monitor every corner. But here, within a populous elf city—especially as Eran, the Elf General, wasn’t necessarily a champion of the divine but certainly a figure known to the pantheon—it changed everything.

Using his Heavenly Eye Technique, Leon saw a faint trace of power not belonging to Eran manifesting around her—a force that swiftly intensified.

We were fighting fair—how did this turn into calling for backup?

Wasn’t this supposed to be about bullying the young?

It’s true: hang around rivers long enough, and you’ll get your feet wet. Walk down dark paths too often, and you’re bound to meet ghosts.

Diamonds may be nature’s hardest material, but they are not unbreakable. If a god intervenes, Leon couldn’t guarantee his Vajra Body could hold up. One crushing blow might shatter him, sending him to his doom in the Yellow Springs...

Unless the god intervened directly—a god appearing as a Saint Avatar, providing power at most—taking him down with one arrow seemed overly optimistic. Gravely wounding him, however, was certainly feasible.

Leon truly felt endangered, his scales nearly bristling in tension. A pang of insecurity hit him before he spun his thoughts around: crisis and opportunity are two sides of the same coin. If he could withstand this arrow, not just the elves, but even Eran might suffer a shattered conviction, unable to muster resistance again.

Do it.

What a joke.

That ludicrous notion lingered for only a second in Leon’s mind before he rejected it outright. The logic was simple: he was here in Berlin, not Moscow. He had countless escape routes ahead, with ten thousand miles to retreat if needed; there was absolutely no reason to act tough.